#i really want to get back to the flames of din story | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 2 years ago

Text

Let's settle down for the night.

Quick summary: You’ve been each other’s for a long time. You trust him with your life, your body, you time, and he trusts you with his. Sometimes, though, you find yourself craving a quieter kind of intimacy. Without the helmet.

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings: A lot of fluff 😩😩; may be inaccurate ‘cause, I gotta say, I’m a Star Wars fan but I did not proper hyperfixate on it like with some of the other stuff I’ve written about (buffs, please help me out here); kind of angsty??? like, reader’s an orphan etc; allusions to smut (under the shirt stuff amiright amiright); explicit mentions of smut.

A/N: What a fittie, guys. Bound to happen. This one goes out to @manicdream for giving me a lil’ prompt where you and Din are in looove aaaand—I guess you’ll have to keep reading for the fluuuff and feels! I really had fun with this one! Love this stoic, brooding, dramatic lad, and I enjoyed exploring love languages, their communication, etc, etc. i have no idea when this would take place, so just try to follow along, I guess??? I hope you enjoy this short, little story! I think this is gonna be just one part by the way. For all you Pedro Pascal sluts out there 😌😌😌, I do think I’m gonna write a smut thing for Joel Miller TLOU. NO PROMISES, THOUGH. Just finished the latest episode and what the fuck 😀😀😀 it just gets more and more traumatising huh. Anyway, please enjoy this happy fic!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

We’ve been walking for a while, now. Muscles aching, legs straining. The low, sloping sands of the Tatooine desert are pink in the setting suns, stretching on for years and years.

The light flames up brilliant red and orange and bright white in his beskar, and I have to squint my eyes when I look over at him. From this angle, he looks like he’s all armour. When the suns finally go down, he’ll be a silhouette. That time of day always suits him best. You know how people you meet just seem like things sometimes. Din’s like rich soil, the kind that you can sink your fingers deep into with one single push. Or like a rock – with how little he talks, I used to think he was a rock. He’s also dusk. Dusk happens to be my favourite time of day.

My feet are dragging again. If I were with anyone else, I’d never let my guard down—but it’s just us, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and we’ve got a whole bunch of credits in my pack that’s almost enough to finally buy us our own ship. Won’t have to put up with sceptical glances on commercial flights anymore, or getting bashed about by produce on cargo ships we’ve had to sneak onto. Maker, I miss the comfort of the Razor Crest. But, y’know, it’s—it’s what it is. Lucky for us, transportation is the worst of our problems – it’s been a relatively quiet trip over the planet; no trouble—yet. Quietly trading with sketchy contractors in isolated taverns. We never ask questions about the high-paying ones, whether we’re implicitly tipping the scales of some political bantha shit, but I’m always curious.

A dry gust of wind cools my stifling skin, a break from the still weather.

“You alright back there?”

Din has his head angled slightly back towards me. His grainy, modulated voice curves my mouth up into a smile, and I stare fondly over at him as he slows his pace a little to fall into step with me. I urge him not to slack with the jerk of my head.

“Yeah, ‘f’course,” I assure him, tongue buzzing with foul saliva. Can’t drink just yet, though, ‘cause I already chugged about half of my waterskin way back at sun-up. He’s offered me the rest of his, but I refused to take it. Though, right now, grimacing at the bile in my mouth, I am thinking hard about changing my mind. “We’re safe,” I say confidently. We’ve been careful.

“I know.” Yeah, I know he knows. “I was just wonderin’ cause, y’know, you’ve been a little quiet.”

Playfully, I nudge into him (damn that beskar) and laugh as he shoves me back. “What, so you’re saying you want my ‘mindless chit-chatting’ back now, huh?”

I’m talking out of my ass, of course. We’ve had a thing going for a while, now – it’s been just us for a while. I know he doesn’t mean any harm when he teases me like that. It takes a lot for him to hurt my feelings, and he never does. Maybe at first, when neither of us would admit that we were happier being together than apart. I don’t know why I didn’t just tag along with him sooner. If I had known that those gruff, little grunts he’d make during conversation when we’d cross paths during jobs meant that he was enjoying himself?—well, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time in asking him to be my partner. In all senses.

But still, he feels the need to explain: “Ah, you know I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I suppose that, after so long needing to be strong and tough and brave and coarse to get on with life and work, he likes being soft. This is soft for him: letting me walk ahead just slightly, his shoulder behind mine, so that he’s always got my six; teasing me about things he’s told me are his favourite qualities of mine; secretly watching me from behind the security of his visor. I don’t tell him I love it, and I don’t tell him I notice, but he knows, I think.

He turns away to complete a quick scan of the horizon on his blind side, and I do the same for mine, before we turn back to each other. He’s tired – I can tell by the way he’s leaning in towards me, like he wants to be held. The privacy of this big, wide desert must be a comfort to him. I know it is to me.

“How’s your day been?” he asks me lowly.

I laugh. “You mean the day we’re currently spending together?”

He nods. “Tell me about it.”

Stars, I’m glad it’s getting dark, because my cheeks start to glow with warmth. Not necessarily just his voice or even the words. Consistently, he always asks about my day. Yesterday, it was in a dingy tavern, after avoiding a bar fight (some prick tried to trick me out of a drink the contractor bought me fair ‘n’ square). The day before, it was in the dead of night, looking up at the stars, with the bounty, unconscious, lying between us.

“I liked it.” He scoffs. “I did. There’s been no trouble, and, y’know, I grew up on a desert planet like this.”

“Bantha farmers, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grunts.

I laugh again. “You bastard! You’re so judgemental. Honestly worse than those Coruscanti pricks we worked for ages back. Remember how they looked at us when we traded? Tried to underpay us? Bet they’ve never risked even chipping a nail.” Bounty hunting is a little more difficult these days without the assurance of carbonite freezing, without the security of the Guild – we’ve had to complete ten times as many jobs for five times lesser rates just to get where we are now. Reminds me of when I first started out: bounties fighting back, trying to make a run for it. But what else are we supposed to do?—take up a job where?

The suns slip below the horizon, and everything is washed a low, gentle violet—and Din is that silhouette, now, and everything seems peaceful, like it all fits together just right. Even though, of course, it might not fit together just right when I try to haggle the price of that gunship down a few credits or so and the vendor absolutely obliterates me with the most personal, cutting insults in the entire galaxy. Din’s no help in the communication sector there – the stoic type – but, if anything, he’ll be able to stand behind me with that armour and steel glare and weapons of his to try and intimidate that damn stubborn seller all the way to fuckin’ Bargain Town. Because, damn, we’re relying on it. Peli, bless her soul, doesn’t have anything large or powerful enough to support the three of us on our run from the Empire.

Speaking of the three of us, the kid’s absence, I hate to say it, is kind of nice. Of course, I worry about him, but I trust that he’s being well-looked-after at the garage. Safer than he would be with us. But I haven’t had Din to myself in what seems like years. Last time he touched me was—was—a long time ago. Too much stress. Not enough time to savour it. And he’s all about savouring those kind of things, those moments, dragging them out as long as possible.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My sweaty, greasy, clogged face – stars, I can’t wait until we reach a water supply.

“Are you looking at me right now?” I ask, amused.

He does another strategically-timed scan of the area, turning away from me even though I can’t see his face. I wonder if he blushes under that helmet, if it’s really obvious. “You’re looking at me.”

I roll my eyes and smile softly, lowering the scarf around my nose and mouth and tucking the fabric beneath my chin. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Good why?”

“‘Cause I’ve got your mindless chit-chattin’ to keep me company.”

Forcing a laugh, I glare at him again. “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Din. Real knee-slapper right there.”

It goes quiet again – he becomes like that, sometimes, after I use his name. The first time I spoke it was in the dark hull of the Razor Crest, in hyperspace. He sat and stared straight ahead at the streaking silver, motionless, wordless. Here, the desert air is still and calm. His shoulder is still brushing up against mine.

“Are you tired?”

Yes. My legs feel like they’re about to fuckin’ fall off. Here, walking along the plain, is good, but earlier, climbing over dunes and rocks and boulders, was hell. But we need to be getting back to the kid as soon as possible. As much as I trust Peli, I need to see him and make sure he’s okay. So, I shake my head and say, “It’s only a little ways up till the next settlement.”

“It’s a lot further.”

My heart drops. “Oh.” Wishful thinking’s just got me forging fake memories at this point. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

“D’you think we should stop?”

“No, we can—”

“I’m tired—” he abruptly comes to a halt, apparently deciding that this little patch of sand will be a nice bed, “—let’s stop for the night.” He beckons me to him, coming in close and retrieving the lamp from inside the sling-bag, setting it down.

Well, if he insists.

You know, it’s moments like these where I just let myself be fond of him. I let myself stare freely at him, admire the shape of his body, the sleek, smart make of his helmet, let myself wonder if his face is any bit as handsome as he sounds. Everything about him is rough. The way he fights, the way he bargains, the way he pilots. His hands. I think about the texture of his hands as I sit down. I remove my gloves and stuff them away, gliding my skin across my skin to just try and simulate that touch.

“You’re not cold?”

I untwine the bag from my shoulders, setting it down and retrieving our remaining food for this day. “I’m not cold. I have, like, five layers on.”

He eyes me doubtfully. “Okay.” And he sits down on the opposite side of the lamp, facing me, one leg propped up as a rest for his arm. The pulse rifle lays by his side, ready.

I offer him a hardening clump of bread and a few stout, odd-looking, white-and-purple vegetables (generously given to us by a farmer we passed a while back)—but Din shakes his head and urges me to eat as much as I can. I bite back a remark about that helmet of his – he must be starving.

“We’ll get something better to eat when we get to the city.”

I snort. “It’s hardly a city.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stupid Din always making stupid decisions and rationalising them because he thinks it’s for me. He knows I can take care of myself, that I’m good at it, but that doesn’t stop him from dropping everything to try. It’s nice for someone to have my back, for that someone to be as wonderful as him, but, holy kriff, he’s so stupid sometimes.

I tell him flat-out, “We don’t have enough credits,” because we don’t. We have barely enough to cover a scrappy, little ship. We definitely don’t have enough to purchase any food. We’ve relied on favours and luck for long enough, and we can go for longer until we’re off-planet. Peli’s got—edible food—probably. I don’t trust it won’t make me shit my brains out as soon as we’re in hyperspace, though.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, though. “We’ll get a worse ship.”

“Din.” Stupid. I toss him a chunk of bread, swivelling around to give him privacy.

He protests, “I’m not hungry,” and reaches over and taps it against my shoulder – I shrug him away.

“I’m already stuffed, so what’re you gonna do about it?”

He sighs in exasperation. “Thought you might say that.”

“‘Cause I’m just so predictable?”

“You’re stubborn.”

Snapping my head over my shoulder, I scoff and give him an incredulous look. “I’m stubborn?”

He tilts his head to the side as if to goad me further. “Yes.” The warm light of the lamp glows along the strong planes and clean lines of his armour. His hand leisurely dangling from his knee, he rubs his gloved fingers together, and I’m suddenly jealous of a clothing item. I know he must notice the slight catch in my breath.

I turn back around to face him, the sand moulding easily beneath my smooth movements. “And there’s not a brooding Mandalorian sitting across from me now, refusing to eat.”

The first few years of working with Din, I never once saw him eat or drink a thing. It was like he was a droid (don’t tell him I said that): always working, working hard, but fuelled by seemingly—nothing? Obviously, I figured he had to eat some time. When I became his partner, sharing the Razor Crest, he’d retreat to his bunk to eat. And when I asked him his favourite food, he said he didn’t really hate or love anything – as long as he could consume it and it wouldn’t kill him, he’d tolerate it. Over the years, though, I’ve learned he tries to steer clear from any kind of berries. Doesn’t trust ‘em. And he’s not a fan of fish, but the kid is, and I am, so we have it more often, now.

Din jerks his head and allows me to toss him one of those weird vegetables. Having already finished my chunk of bread (on the brink of mould—so yummy!), I take a large, eager bite right out of the vegetable. My mouth is flooded with its bitter juice, and I squint my face up a little at the greenish tang.

“How’s that taste?” he asks.

“Like dirt.” I chew the mouthful slowly, careful not to judge too quickly, and eventually hum in contentment. “But—” I retract, “—sorta sweet underneath. You ever tasted a beet?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s sorta like that.”

He watches me for a few heartbeats, calm in the steady, amber light. I smile at him.

“Turn around,” he tells me brusquely.

I wink at him and do as I’m told, shuffling around again and turning to back the blue and purple horizon, the lamp and his gaze warm on my back.

I’m silent as he unseals his helmet with a quiet click and hiss. I try to imagine him again. Every single time, I feel guilty over it, because I know how dedicated he is to his religion—but, oh, I can’t help myself. I run my tongue over my teeth, enjoying the remains of that bite, before taking another, crunching down into the flesh. As I do, I hear Din do the same. My heart stops a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

“It’s nice.”

Stars. Stars, that voice. His voice, unfiltered by the modulator. Slightly hoarse from lack of water, scraping a little in his throat, but smooth in its low, rich tone. Like dirt you can sink your fingers right down into.

I set my hand flat on the sand my by side before pushing them vertically down, down, down, past the cooling surface and to where the glowing spirit of the day lingers.

Calm yourself down. It’s just a voice.

“You should have the rest of it,” he continues, and there’s the tap of the vegetable against my shoulder again.

Oh, stars. He hasn’t got his helmet on. He hasn’t got his helmet on. If I turned, he could be right there. Just him. I think about clamping my eyes shut to avoid the temptation of looking at him, but I can’t really co-ordinate myself at the moment. He taps again, encouraging me to take it back. My fingers hook up inside the sand, and it slips around me to my satisfaction.

“If you like it,” I say dryly, “you should eat it.”

The vegetable disappears from my peripheral. Another crunch, and another, and another. We sit in silence as he finishes it. The horizon is finally flat and unwavering in the cool of the night.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze when he’s done, hiking up the scarf around my head so it doesn’t slip too far over my hair. When I turn around, the helmet’s back on.

I wonder if he saw the colours of the sunset earlier. I had my head turned up for hours, watching every single shift in pink and orange and blue with wonderstruck eyes—but Din was striding on ahead, uninterested. I’m no engineer, alright? I don’t exactly know what he’s seeing in that helmet of his, or why. Infrared sensors for tracking, like in a rifle I once had that – that was one of the best damn weapons I ever owned, guaranteed to locate and hit your target, and I loved it to bits—until it got fuckin’ stolen by a bunch of fuckin’ Jawas. Point is, isn’t it just black and white in there? Sort of a purple-y black and white, and you can see changes in tone and depth and all, but black and white nonetheless. Red for footprints, though. Is that what he saw when I told him to look at the sky at sundown? Black and white? What is he seeing as he’s looking at me now? Me, I’m admiring the regal gleam of his beskar again. But he won’t be able to interpret the warmth of the lamp’s light on my face the same way as I did for him. I’m not the prettiest in the galaxy by a long shot, I know, but isn’t he missing out? On the beauty of the natural world? I think I’m prettiest at sundown – something in my undertone, I dunno – but he’s only seen me in that greyscale. Imagine if he just thinks I’m—okay-looking.

Overthinking it again. Din doesn’t waste time with things he doesn’t think add to his life. He doesn’t think I’m just okay-looking.

“You’ve got a good voice,” I tell him, grinning widely.

“You’ve heard my voice before.” The raw clarity of his words are lost once again behind the modulator. I shift my position, wriggling away from my disappointment.

“I know.”

A chill passes brightly through the air, and I tug my cloak tighter around myself, bringing my knees in close. Din doesn’t move a muscle, though, and he sits there and observes me a little longer.

We’ve been each other’s for a long, long time. We’ve been through a lot of shit together. And I’m not exactly thinking critically, and I’m not sure where I’m going with it, but I find myself asking, “When Mandalorians get married, they can take their helmets off around their partner, right?”

The mortification immediately sets in.

Holy kriff.

Din looks at me carefully. Then, he nods the slightest of nods.

Holy kriff.

“I’m not—” I stutter out, eyes darting away, over there, over here, anywhere but his constant, steady, shameless attention, “—‘m not asking you to marry me, Din. I was—I was just wondering ‘cause, y’know, I think you mentioned it to me once, ages back, and—and I was just thinkin’ that maybe—” you pause, glancing up at him; he doesn’t move a muscle, and there’s nothing that gives away any kind of anything he might be feeling, “—maybe I’d like to see—what—you—look—like.”

Wow. Wow, I’m almost amazed at how slick I am with these things. God, Imperial spies could learn a thing or two from the master.

I clear my throat, deciding to embrace the grave I’ve dug for myself. “But I’m not asking you to marry me, so you can stop looking at me like that, now, alright?.”

He says nothing, does nothing.

I situate myself with untying my waterskin from beneath my cloak, hiding my face in my shoulder and cursing, “Damn voice. Gets me too damn stupid-excited,” under my breath, like it’s a secret, like he can’t hear every fuckin’ word I’m saying on a planet seemingly stripped from all other noise.

Seething at myself, I crunch back into my vegetable, then tearing off a piece of bread to stuff in alongside it, taking a careless swig from my waterskin to wash it all down. Honestly, at this point, I’d rather die from dehydration than address the awful, awful statement I just made. Stars. Probably scared him right off. We’re as close to married as the real thing anyway. Din’s more of an actions-over-words kind of guy – I don’t need to call him my husband. It’s not like—well, marriage is companionship, and we have that already. Marriage is trust, and we have that already. I don’t need to call him my husband. He’s just—my guy. My person. Would be nice to have it on paper, I guess. Proof that he’s my person, that he wants to be my person. Bless him, but for every single thing he does for me, every action, I still crave him saying those words. Not shit to do with marriage, exactly. Just: “You’re my person. I’m yours.” Words aren’t his forte.

“I’d marry you.”

I swallow the hard lump of bread with difficulty, scrunching my face up into a grimace. “Hmm?” I ask, drifting back to the present.

“I’d marry you,” he repeats, and my eyes go wide. Oh. “Right here. If you want me.”

Huh. Huh. I dunno what the appropriate reaction is here, so I just continue staring unblinkingly at him. My stomach is erupting in flutters, and I just stare at Din.

Then, I look around us, at the barren desert. And look, yeah, I grew up on a planet very similar to Tatooine, and, yeah, sure, I have fond memories of my childhood. And then they get not-so fond. I scrunch my nose up in disapproval. “Not here.”

“Where?”

I shrug, brows knitted together in deep consideration. “I dunno.” And I really don’t, because—because I didn’t think we were the marrying type. Just the together type. Growing old and pissy together, living together, fighting together, figuring it out together—type. Mandalorians value community and strength and The Way over everything else – not necessarily love. Didn’t take him for the marrying type.

I screw my mouth together and exhale deeply. “Just somewhere prettier, I guess,” I decide on. “Not this quiet, but still pretty quiet. Y’know, somewhere with trees. Proper, green trees. But not the kind where there’s stuff in there waiting to kill you.” I want there to be as many colours as possible, in the sky, in the flowers, so he can see me and see all that beauty all together at once.

He tilts his head. “Like, with mountains?” he asks.

I smile. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind mountains.”

He glances down at the sand, tracing some kind of pattern into it with his forefinger. “We could go to Takodana?”

Stars. My smile widens. Stars, is this a proposal? Did I just propose to him? Did he just propose right back? That’s actually quite funny, that is. In the middle of nowhere, running out of water, running low on food. Romantic.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Din?” I ask, more confident.

He grunts and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“‘Not really’,” I mock him, deepening my voice and attempting to widen the shoulders. I laugh at my own impression, leaning back on my hands and huffing a strand of hair out of my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, clearing his throat and adjusting to a more comfortable position. “I mean, I’ve kissed you—between your legs,” he tells me, nervous, like I’ve managed to forget how well he treats me, how eager he is to kneel down in the pitch-black and take care of me like that.

Heat blooms in my stomach. “Great work down there, by the way,” I tell him through a sly grin.

“Thank you, mesh’la.” Is he blushing? Does he blush? I find myself wondering over that again.

I smile and stare at him.

“Could I kiss you?” The suggestion just slips out without a second thought. I just think that, after some food and water and rest, I don’t really have to filter anything out anymore. I don’t have any complaints – just some recommendations for fun we could be having.

Din doesn’t reply.

Ah, shit. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Mandalorian, remember? Stupid, stupid. If there’s anything anyone knows about Din, it’s that he’s a Mandalorian first. He’s a Mandalorian before he’s mine – he’d never say it out loud, but we both know it’s true. I’d never ask him to choose because that’s cruel. Am I being cruel?

Either way, I can’t seem to stop, and I don’t seem to care: “I’d keep my eyes shut,” I blurt out, trying to keep my breathing from becoming heavy with lust, and failing a little more than a little bit. Stars, I’m turning myself on at this point; he just has to sit there and look pretty. “You know I’d keep ‘em shut. I wouldn’t look. I just—wanna—” you sigh, “—I just wanna kiss you. It’s nice, I swear. Nice feeling. I’d keep my eyes closed. Or—or you could tie something around ‘em?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Stars,” I curse. “I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes from dust and dirt and blink hard. “I think I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Is ‘tired’ why you’re pressing onto yourself down there?”

He flicks his fingers over to where I’ve got my hand stuffed between my legs, rocking softly against the heel of my palm. I swallow hard. Fuck, I didn’t even notice I was doing that. I convinced myself I was—ha!—I was just warming up my hands.

I shift my eyes sheepishly back up to meet Din’s, guilty as charged.

He sighs deep from within the chest. “You keep ‘em closed and we tie something around ‘em.”

Silent, I nod in agreement. My thighs squeeze together.

He jerks his head to beckon me over, and I go shuffling on over to him on my knees, probably looking like a right idiot, but, then again, I don’t really give a fuck because I’m about to kiss Din Djarin. I’m about to kiss my Mandalorian. I’m about to kiss my companion of almost a decade, more if you count all those shady bounties we used to end up competing for. My Mandalorian, my Din Djarin, mine, mine, mine. I’m not possessive, I don’t think, but, gods, I—I—I can’t believe it sometimes. That I get to know him like this. That I get to know such an incredible person. That he won’t say more than two words at a time to anyone, not even those we’re close with, like Peli—but, with me, he’ll talk for hours. He jokes that he’s just humouring me, but I know he loves it. He tells me so.

Din makes a motion with his hand to turn around, so I do, and I let him tie an old, folded food cloth around my head – unsanitary, sure, but, again, I don’t care, and my head’s reeling, and my heart’s racing so hard, thrumming in my ears, and he’s so close, and his fingers are tangling through my hair as he lowers my scarf, and they’re brushing against the nape of my neck now, and—

“Can you take your gloves off, Din?” I ask, and, unfortunately, the neediness seeps right through my voice. “Please?” Stars, I’m pathetic.

Behind me, there’s the shuffle and quiet groan of leather as he tugs them off, and then a quiet pat! as he tosses them to the side.

And then his hands are back. Rough, calloused fingertips ghosting over my ears, my hair, as he knots the cloth, then knots it again for good measure. Darkness is closed over my eyes, tinged the rich green of the fabric. My breath seems nearer this way, short, shallow, hot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, still, as he cups the back of my neck, his touch cool.

I reach over my shoulder, taking a deep inhale as I run my fingers over the dips and hills of his knuckles. I fold my hands over his and squeeze, bringing them forward and kissing his fingertips gently. I feel the texture and thickness of his fingers, trace the lines of his palm. Din comes in close behind me, the solidity of his chestplate (cuirass? I dunno, once, he got all pissy ‘cause I didn’t call by it’s actual name) pressing up against my shoulder blades.

I smooth my thumbs along the deepest crease in his palm. “Y’know, once, before I met you, I met someone who told me he could foretell my whole life, and my child’s life, and their child’s life, just from the lines on my hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is right in my ear, low and intimate. Maker. “What do mine say?”

“All good things,” you reply shakily.

“Anything about Takodana?”

He twists his hand over, enveloping my right and rubbing circles into the back of it.

Then, he’s letting me go, leaning away—and there’s that hiss and click of him removing his helmet. I blink against the green cloth, my eyelashes dragging up slowly. If I hold my breath, I can hear him breathing.

“Turn around,” he tells me, and I do.

It’s too dark for silhouettes anymore. If we were in daylight again, maybe I could’ve seen the vaguest outline of him. But we’re not in daylight. I blink again against the cloth, hard.

His hands reach out and grasp my hips, and they’re warm and large and I never get used to it. The breath is still knocked out of my chest. He angles and adjusts me to face him, and I place my hands on his shoulders, fumbling around his armour before settling them instead on his neck.

His neck. Bare skin. I smooth my hand up the column of his pretty, perfect neck, feeling every inch of him. I already know the texture of his hair. When he’s between my legs and kissing me there, I like to thread my fingers through it. It’s thick and wavy and slightly too long. But otherwise, I keep my hands to myself. Even though I’m not technically seeing him in the dark when he takes his helmet off to taste me, I don’t reach out and touch his face—because it’s his. It’s his, and he’s taken an oath to keep it that way. He’s never initiated a kiss, so I’ve never asked. I’ve been content. I’ve been patient.

But I guess my patience has reached a limit. Slowly, tentatively, I drift my touch up, up, and feel along his jawline, coarse with longer scruff. His breath hitches, and I smile and continue. I smooth my fingers right along his cheekbone – Din gently circles his hand around my wrist, pressing his nose into my palm, then kissing it, soft, careful, dragging the tip of his nose along the line of the vein that trails over my arm.

Stars.

I blink hard again behind the green cloth, clenching my jaw down till my teeth grit together.

I feel along the jagged bridge of his nose, take note of how it’s slightly crooked to the right, like he’s broken it before (wouldn’t surprise me). I learn the shape of his brow, the broadness of his forehead. I feel the feather-light brush of his eyelashes against my wrist. I’m silent—and I’m grinning like an idiot, because what else can I do? It’s like I’m seeing his face. I’m not, but it’s sure as hell the closest thing. The weight of his head in my hands, the cautious squeeze of his hands on my arms. I whisper some kind of babbling, incoherent request, and he relaxes his eyes – I can feel the muscles in his face release tension – for me to trace my middle finger over the shape of his eye. I’m not crying, but, fuck, it’s getting a little moist up in this blindfold.

His eyes droop down slightly at the ends. I like eyes like that – kind eyes. My mother used to say these types of eyes only belonged to the kindest of people. Stars. Don’t cry.

“You look insane, mesh’la,” he whispers, close to me, lifting his hands to tenderly hold my face, like I might break.

“Ah, bantha shit, baby,” I retort. “You’re loving this.”

And I can feel him smile. I can feel it crinkle up the sides of his eyes, and I can feel the squint of them, and the way his cheeks lift. He smiles a little lop-sidedly, actually, the left corner of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. I try to memorise every single bit of information I discover, as urgent and as desperate as if my life depended upon it.

Quivering with want, I press my lips to the inner corner of his eye, firm and sure and needy, my hands grasping around his face. Din grabs fistfuls of my cloak, bringing me nearer to him.

He smells like dust and tastes like sweat and salt, but, Maker, this is good. Satisfies some deep, hellacious ache that would have otherwise consumed me.

I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone with the same fervour, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, the left side, the side that quirks up when he smiles.

Only, he’s not really smiling right now. He’s breathing heavily, almost panting, and stroking my hair away from my face and neck before mumbling out, “So pretty.” I press my nose against his, breathless with anticipation, heady at the warmth of his body. “S’good. You look so good—like this. Y’look good all the time—”

But I’m kissing him already, frantic, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, into his shoulders, bringing him as near to me as humanly possible. I sob dryly as he reciprocates, nudging his nose flat against my cheek. He opens his mouth to suck in a breath, and I lick into him, taste him deeply, practically having climbed into his lap during my whirlwind pursuit. His cold hands slip under my cloak, arms wrapping around me in a second.

The kiss is dry and rough, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It seems befitting of him somehow.

And when he makes a pathetic sound, a whimper or something, at the back of his throat, I almost melt right into the ground.

Closer, closer, closer – that’s all I can really comprehend at the moment. Even with our bodies slotted together, even though I can feel each shaky breath he takes as his stomach flexes over my own, I feel hungry for more. It’s Din. My Din, kissing me, his hands on me, his eyes on me. My Din, grunting into me as I shift in his lap and squeeze my legs around him. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine—

He grabs my face gently by the chin, urging me away from him for a few moments. I sit there, blind, his open mouth still hovering over mine. Oh, stars, I think of the softness of his tongue, and I kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting, asking.

Din angles my face to the side, coming in slow, warm, and languidly slides his tongue into my hot mouth, breath fanning out across my glowing face. Maker. I can’t control myself – a helpless noise passes through me as I take it good and kiss him back, eager, wide open.

I guide his hand down the the base of my throat, just to feel his touch somewhere else. He squeezes there lightly.

His other hand manages to snake under my shirt, pressing flat across the small of my back, sliding up my spine and sending shivers all the way right through me.

It’s—good. Really good. Can’t-open-my-eyes-for-a-good-few-heartbeats type of good.

“Maker,” he curses hoarsely under his breath as I pull away, still leaning forward for me, chasing my touch.

“Good?” I ask him.

He presses a kiss to my cheek, smiling. “We can do this—more often—‘f you want.”

“If I want, huh?”

He kisses me deeply again, his thumb slotted beneath the cloth over my eyes. He pulls it taut to the side over so slightly, and I can make out that beautiful, warm glow over the sand and his armour again. I shut my eyes as he tilts my head up, though, as kisses down to the hollow of my throat and back up again.

I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” I just know it. Everything about him is just beautiful. It’s just lovely, and I love it.

“Marry me and you can find out for sure,” he mumbles into my neck.

I can hardly hear him, of course – blood is pounding so hard in my ears that all I can understand from his words are that they rumble deep right through his chest, warm under the cool beskar.

I lift his head and press my nose into his cheek. “I can tell,” I continue, words brushing his lips. Again, I smooth my fingers over his face. “You’re so pretty, Din.”

“Marry me,” he urges, whispering against the fabric over my eye, warm.

I grin. “Later.”

He curses, something in Mando’a. “We’re going to Takodana as soon as we get that damn ship, you hear me?”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #rip razor crest #din you little fittie #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian #din djarin #mesh’la is the cutest nickname 💀#grogu #is a little shit #but he’s perfect #i’m feral for this man #star wars

160 notes · View notes

moreorlessfish · 2 years ago

Text

Después de la Playa

din djarin x female!reader

---

Word Count: 6,412

Summary: How perfection can turn someone into a mess.

Warnings: no y/n usage, cursing, mentions of alcohol and weapons, small smut, 18+ - no minors allowed!

Notes: Did I stay up writing this chapter? Yes..yes I did. Enjoy :)

Previous Chapter - Moscow Mule

It has always come to your attention that there are a plethora of amazing and talented bounty hunters. Those who excel in catching their quarries, those with phenomenal navigation skills, those who never lose in a fight, and those who manage to make connections anywhere they go. You had your strengths and weaknesses and there's no doubt in your mind that others have their own as well. Being on your own, you had these thoughts in the back of your mind, but when you joined Greef Karga's guild - man did these thoughts take the driver's seat. See, you thought that your flaws were on display for everyone to see - that wasn't the case.

No matter how many times Greef Karga applauded you for another great job, you just couldn't get yourself to believe him. There was always something you could have done better - actually making a plan and following it, not getting cornered and having to use more ammo than usual, observing your opponents' moves - then you wouldn't have had so many wounds - whatever it was, it could have been executed better. Being a member of a bounty guild meant that you knew who excelled more in places where you lacked. That was the first time you heard about him. The Mandalorian.

He was a member of the guild before you joined, and yet you had never seen him. You only ever heard the stories about a member who was a Mandalorian or the jealous comments hunters made when they learned he captured more quarries. Everything that he did was perfect. In fact, he was the entire definition of perfect. Which is why you laughed hard when you realized he wasn't perfect at all.

"Wait.. so you mean to tell me that he tried scorching a few Jawas over him not being able to speak Jawa fluently?" You said as you tried calming down the roaring laugh that was creeping up your throat.

"I was right next to him when it happened," said the Ugnaught man who was currently adding wood to a fire. To add to the flame, he repeated what the Jawas said about the armored man. Now that really got you going.

After a few seconds of your rumbling laughter and unclenching your abdomen from laughing, you pointed in the direction of the man of the hour and giggled, "They said you sounded like a Wookiee," you tried calming your laughter again, "that's fucking hilarious!"

You heard him grumble a small - "Shut up."

You laughed some more, "It's so funny!"

"It really isn't," He retorted.

The humor of the joke had died now, but you still wanted to tease the man, "Aw.. are you upset? Did the Jawas hurt your feelings, Tin Can?"

Before he could throw one of the loose pieces of the starship in your direction - the Ugnaught man spoke up, "C'mon, let's get back to work you two."

...

When you met the Mandalorian, he seemed like no fun to you. In fact, you thought he wasn't capable of having fun at all. He was reserved and quiet - only speaking when he deemed it necessary. It makes you a little giddy seeing how he's opened up to you - even if it was a small opening.

You remembered how he acted during your first interaction.

"Mando, welcome back," Greef Karga said with a smile. You watched the man's helmet nod. Greef Karga looked at him and then at you. You took his hint.

"I'ma get another drink," you uttered as you rose from your seat and made your way to the bartender.

You watched from the bar both men having a conversation. You assumed they were talking about the quarries the Mandalorian managed to capture. Your assumption was answered when you saw the armor-clad man almost snatch the bounty pucks off the table. Maybe the credits just weren't coming in as they use to. You made your way back to the table after being handed your new drink.

"Are you sure there are no new jobs available?" The Mandalorian sighs.

"I can assure you that I have no new jobs. Plus, you just finished five of them.. wouldn't you want to relax?" Karga responds.

The beskar-wearing man doesn't answer the question. "When new jobs open up, I'm the one taking them, got it?"

Greef Karga only smiles and you watch as his face turns towards you. "Actually.. a new job did just open up."

You tilt your head at him. The Mandalorian responds, "Give it to me."

"You see, Mando, my lovely friend here has a bounty on her head, but I'm working on getting it taken down. In the meantime, I'd like for you to watch over her."

You choke on your drink after hearing his statement. You notice as the visor on the beskar helmet makes its way over to your form. In a matter of seconds, the man responds, "No."

Now your eyes are on him. You hear his modulated voice again, "I'm not about to play babysitter for a grown woman."

Greef Karga tries to respond, but you interject, "Yeah, I don't need someone to watch over me.. plus Tin Can seems like a bore. If you're gonna give someone this 'job' let it be anyone but him."

"Tin Can?" The Mandalorian whispers.

You scoff, "That's what you heard me say...?"

Greef Karga speaks up, "C'mon," he looks between you and the Mandalorian, "it's perfect for the both of you." His eyes stop on yours, "I need you to stay here on Nevarro while I work on removing your bounty," his eyes move back to the frame of the armored man, "and you want a new job, so I'm suggesting you do it."

Before the two of you could try and object, Greef Karga chugs his drink and stands from his seat, and says, "It's final. You can't change my mind now." He makes his way out the front door of the cantina.

That leaves the two of you just there in the cantina - staring at the chair that the guild master was just sitting on a second ago. You sigh and decide to take the seat across from the helmet-wearing man.

As soon as you sit down, the man stands from his and starts walking out of the building. You slurp your drink down and follow him out. Before he can even get away from the building, you tap his shoulder and watch as he slightly turns towards you.

"Dude.." you raise your arms in a 'what the hell' gesture and continue, "You can't wait for me to finish my drink?"

"I'm not waiting for you, period," He declared.

He starts to walk away from you, but you're not giving up that easily, "Hey, Greef Karga said that he wanted you to watch over me."

"So? You think I'm going to listen to him?"

"Uh.. yeah?" You puzzled, "I mean he is your boss."

"He's not my boss," he responds, "he's just the one giving me the jobs."

"Isn't that technically what a boss does.." you added.

The man doesn't respond and continues walking. You didn't know what to do. You didn't see which way Greef Karga headed, you had no other business to do on Nevarro, and worst of all.. you didn't have your own ship to head back to your home planet. So, you made a decision that would forever change your life. You followed the Mandalorian like you were a lost puppy.

...

It had officially been five hours since the both of you had left the bounty guild. Within the five hours that the two of you were together, the Mandalorian had tried to sneak away from you - he failed.

Every time.

He tried to run into alleyways - nope, you ran after him. He tried stopping at one of the market's stands to buy something - nope, you waited patiently till he finished. He tried hiding behind buildings, nope, you found him every time. At last, he made his way back to his ship and you managed to still keep up with him.

At this point, he was annoyed, yet he sort of enjoyed the little cat-and-mouse chase. He pressed a button on his vambrace which opened up the hatch of the spacecraft. He walked forward and as he thought - you didn't follow him. Although he was happy that you finally weren't right behind him, he was curious as to why you continued following him despite him refusing to 'watch' over you.

"Why are you following me?"

You sigh, "Not sure. Got nothing better to do."

"Well... I'm not letting you on my ship. Can't you go somewhere else?”

You watch as you kick your feet against the ground, "Yeah, I do.. I just wanted to waste some time..," You continue, "Plus, I have to get my bags from the guild."

"You should have just done that instead of following me," He deadpans.

You chuckled, "Yup. Well, it was nice following you around, Tin Can. Maybe we can do it again sometime?"

He responds quickly, "No."

You shook your head and then started your journey back to the bounty guild. He watched your form retreat until he could no longer spot you.

...

Your back hurt. Instead of taking your bags and finding a place to sleep for the night once you made it back to the bounty guild, you decided to enjoy some alone time and drink. Or well... you tired to enjoy it.

At some point during the night, a group of members of the guild asked you to play a few drinking games with them. A small drink of alcohol to calm yourself down turned into you mixing alcoholic drinks, so you could have bragging rights about winning the games against your old guild members. The games must have lasted the entire night because the last thing you saw before you slept was the sun creeping its way on the horizon.

You sat up and scratched your head. What woke you up was a slight banging on the table that you currently were laying on. You searched for the person who thought it was the best idea to wake you up and kickstart your morning hangover. Your eyes widened when you caught a glimpse of your reflection on beskar. You rose your head to look straight into the visor of his helmet.

"Let me guess, the members ended up asking you to play their games?" He asked.

"Why the hell are you here?"You grunted out as you rubbed your eyes to see if he was physically standing in front of you or if it was a figment of your imagination.

"I'm looking for Greef Karga. You happen to see him around?" He responds.

You stared at him.

You raised your voice, "Do I look like I fucking know where he's at right now?"

You immediately regretted it and the Mandalorian knows.

"If I were you, I wouldn't be opening my mouth to shout at someone when I'm clearly hungover."

You growl, "Go the fuck away, Tin Can."

You hear a chuckle pass through the voice modulator, "That's funny coming from someone who followed me like a dog yesterday."

You roll your eyes, "Are you going to leave? Or do I have to walk away from you this time?"

You see him shrug his shoulders. You sighed and walked towards the bathrooms located in the back of the cantina.

...

"Geez.. when are you going to leave me alone?” You asked.

It was officially an hour after the Mandalorian had abruptly woken you up. You were currently walking through the city of Nevarro. The whole thing was funny to you. One minute you're walking around like a lost puppy and the next minute you got a lost puppy following you. For some odd reason, the Mandalorian decided to stick by your side as you walked around. The two of you didn't really speak. Matter of fact, you didn't dare look his way due to the blinding sun being reflected off his beskar armor - that was the last thing you wanted to see after barely being awake.

You made a few stops at some stands to try and gather some supplies. You needed to figure out a way to get off Nevarro and return back to Kipler. Just because you left the guild, doesn't mean that your skills as a bounty hunter left you as well. You could defend yourself if needed and let's be honest - you did not want to spend your time on Nevarro.

You thought about asking the Mandalorian for a ride, but he'd most likely say no. He was probably only following you around as revenge for you following him the day before. You just wanted to get away, but like you - he wouldn't let you leave. How in the hell were you going to get home?

You finally decided to take a leap and look at the man walking beside you, "Why are you following me?"

He doesn't say anything. He just keeps looking straight.

You were getting tired of this game the two of you were supposedly playing. In fact, you were just straight-up tired since he woke you up before you could knock out for the entire day.

You speak up, "Seriously, Mandalorian, why are you following me?"

Same thing - no response.

That's it.

You abruptly stop walking and fully face him for the first time since the two of you left the bounty guild.

"Lame-o, you wanna tell me why the fuck you're here?" You snapped.

He was a few feet ahead of you when he turned back and responded, "Lame-o?"

You threw your hands up in the air - the bags of supplies almost hitting you in the face, "Really? That's the only thing you focus on?"

You can feel his gaze on your form despite his visor blocking the view of his eyes. You ask sarcastically, "What, you've never been called stupid names before?"

He just shakes his head, "Nope - most just call me the Mandalorian as normal beings do."

"Good for you," You snickered.

The two of you continued walking around. It was nice to people-watch with another person. Even if this person sort of annoyed you. It was a nice feeling that you didn't expect to have. About an hour or two later, the two of you rounded back to the bounty guild - where your bags were left... again.

You placed your new supplies in one bag and hunched one onto your shoulder. You picked your other two bags up from the floor. You looked over at the armored man and sighed.

What the hell am I gonna do about him?

You started, "I'm going to try to find a place to stay."

He doesn't say anything.

"From here on out, do not follow me..," you pause, "I don't want to have to wake up to you again."

He stays silent.

You make your way to the door and that's when you hear a modulated heavy sigh.

"Follow me."

...

You followed his orders. Not completely uncharacteristic of you, but definitely something you didn't do often. He was a stranger. Normally when strangers tell you to follow them they're up to no good. Yet, your instincts weren't giving you any signs of malice from the Mandalorian. It didn't take long for the sight of his starship to make its way to the both of you.

It was like the events of the day before were unfolding again. Only this time, you would be following him into his ship. Well - you didn't know that yet.

"What are we doing here?" You ask as you witness the hatch of the ship slowly meet the ashy ground of the planet.

The Mandalorian walks into his ship before he turns around, "You can stay here."

He said what?

"You're joking, right?" You say after a minute goes by.

"Do you want it to be a joke?" He retorts.

You stared at him, "No. I just don't think you're serious."

Now, he's the one staring at you.

"If you'd rather sleep on a table in a cantina, then knock yourself out." He turns his back towards you and walks further into the ship.

You hear a small mumble of, "That's the last time I offer someone a place to stay."

You chuckle to yourself. Maybe this stranger could turn into a friend. Who knows?

At some point, you had dropped your bags inside the man's ship. You insisted that he showed you around; although to him, there wasn't much to show. The ship was a nice space and you had no doubt in your mind that it was precious in his eyes. So, you would treat it the same way.

After the small tour, you rummaged through your bags and grabbed a blanket you had packed. You felt awkward because you didn't want to intrude on the Mandalorian in his own space. Luckily, he let you sleep in one of the chairs in the cockpit.

You were knocked out for a few hours. Or so it seemed. Turns out, a whole day had passed. You were woken up by the sounds of the armored man walking around. You could hear a few tinkering sounds and then a sigh. You decided to see what he was up to. As you climbed down the ladder, you saw him facing the opened hatch. He seemed to be doing maintenance on his ship. He noticed your figure after your left foot was no longer on the ladder. He turned around and nodded your way before he walked outside. Most likely to check on the laser cannons.

You freshened up a bit before deciding to take out your journal and write. Write about what? Maybe the random stranger you met who is allowing you to stay on his ship. Wait did he say how long you could stay?

Before you could think of making your way to ask the man, you heard footsteps enter the ship and a little later you heard him mumbling to himself, "It's going to take a lot of credits to fix that."

Maybe you'd wait to ask.

...

Blah, Blah, Blah.

You kept mimicking his voice, "If you have a problem with me working on my ship, then you can get off it."

Blah, Blah, Blah.

Those words just kept repeating in your head. Not in a serious way, but in an annoyed way. The sun was beaming on you as you walked through the main part of the city. You noticed that a few new vendors had set up shop while you were knocked out. Maybe you could buy a few things?

It was busier than the past few times that you walked these paths. You didn't mind. You could easily take a seat somewhere and people watch for a few hours. You weren't entirely sure what to do - you just didn't want to head back to the ship yet.

As much as the Tin Can annoyed you, you had to admit that you were enjoying his presence. A little too fast.. which frightened you. Nevertheless, you would let life take the reins for a bit rather than control it. You thought about the Mandalorian for a bit. Maybe you'd bring him some lunch since he's been working hard on maintaining his ship?

Your thoughts died down when your gut instinct started blurting out for you to flick your knife out of your sleeve. You let your hunter instincts sit in the driver's seat of your brain. Immediately, you noticed a shadow - no two - following you. When you went down an alleyway - a few seconds later the two shadows would follow. Now, you were becoming more aware of your surroundings. Did someone want to attack you in broad daylight? You wouldn't be surprised - it's happened before. You were now making your own small path between the cracks of buildings. The two figures were now catching up to speed. You needed to do something. Do you attack and risk making a scene? Or do you lay low and wait for them to attack you? What do you do? You were now frantically asking yourself. You were so occupied with getting away from the figures that you didn't realize someone was also rounding the corner you were.

Bump.

You had bumped into something. No. Someone.

"Hey, I was looking for you."

You felt a hand holding your arm - stabilizing you after bumping into someone. You looked up and you thanked Maker that you bumped into this person.

Mr. Tin Can.

"Did you hear me?" He asked after he removed the hand that held your arm.

"Huh?" You furrowed your brows.

"I said I was looking for you," He repeated, "I just met up with Greef Karga - he said he got a job for me."

...

As much as you tried, you couldn't stop thinking about what happened in the alleyways of Nevarro City. Even when Mando was telling you about the planet the two of you were heading to - you just couldn't focus. It bothered you a lot. So imagine the look on your face when the Razor Crest lands on Arvala-7. Maybe you should have been listening...

You witness the preparations that the Mandalorian takes before hunting for a quarry. It all seems so.. perfect.

It mesmerizes you how he prepares for his job. Something you have no idea about because he hasn't uttered a word to you about it.

"No, you're not helping me out. You're staying here because this is my job. Not yours," He states.

You shrug your shoulders, "Go ahead. I'm not a bounty hunter anymore, so the quarry's all yours."

"Try not to steal my ship while I'm gone. Or I will hunt you down and claim the credits your head is worth." He chided.

He made his way down the hatch with his Amban Sniper Rifle in his hand - ready for something to jump at him - and boy did something jump.

You witnessed as a blurrg attacked him - immediately taking his arm into its mouth. He was struggling to fight it - let alone put some space between him and the blurrg. You saw another blurrg running towards him. You were about to step in, but that's when you saw something fly in the corner of your eye. It turned out to be a tranquilizer. The two blurrgs were now laying on the floor. Another blurrg comes into your sight, only this time it has a rider.

You walk over to the Mandalorian - just in case he needed backup. You shiver as you hear the noises that accompany the removal of the man's arm from the blurrg's mouth.

He pants, "Thank you."

The rider nods at him, "You are a bounty hunter."

"Yes," he says as he fixed his glove.

"I will help you."

You watch as Mando gives him a once-over.

"I have spoken."

The rider turns around and heads back the way you saw him come. Mando looks at you - expecting an answer for some reason. You shrug and start following the blurrg and its rider.

The sun was now setting on the horizon. Mando's savior had taken the both of you back to his moisture farm. He led you two inside his home - there he prepared a small drink for the two of you.

"Many have passed through, they seek the same one as you."

"Did you help them?" Mando asks.

"Yes," the Ugnaught man pauses, "they died."

"Well then, I don't know if I want your help," Mando states.

You interject, "No, no. You would have died back there. I was not about to save you. You should give him a chance since he did."

The two of them continue their conversation - you gladly listen as you sip on the drink the Ugnaught man poured for you. Nighttime fell peacefully and it did not prepare you for the chaos that would await you when you woke up the next morning.

Your idea of Mando being perfect was chipping bit by bit. Stories of Mandalorians being fierce warriors plagued your mind as you watched the one in front of you struggle to ride a blurrg. You tried not to judge him since you opted out of the blurrg-riding lessons yourself, but you couldn't help but snicker each time the Mandalorian fell. One try after the other, he just kept falling until he got frustrated - and your constant snickers were not helping.

"Perhaps, if you removed your helmet."

"Perhaps, he remembers I tried to roast him," Mando pants out.

"This is a female.. the males are all eaten during mating."

"Oh, so she's a girl boss," You add. Kuiil nods at you.

The two of you now witness another one of Mando's attempts to ride a blurrg. He comes close to staying on - which makes both you and Kuiil hopeful.. that is.. until he falls again.

Mando quickly walks to the spot where both of you were observing his failed attempts. He asks Kuiil for a landspeeder, but the older gentleman refuses to let Mando give up. Someone had to encourage him, and you were not about to be that person. After a million attempts - or what felt like a million attempts - the Mandalorian was able to ride the blurrg.

You were proud of him.

Kuiil nods his content at the Mandalorian - you on the other hand are overcome with joy.

"Mando! You're doing it!" You shouted.

You couldn't see it since his face was covered by his helmet, but a small smile lifted up the corners of his mouth.

After lunch, Kuiil explained to you that he would be riding with Mando to the site where his quarry was last tracked. He said to make yourself comfortable in his home while he was gone. What a generous man, you thought. You watched as both Kuiil and Mando rode away on their blurrgs. You looked over to the one that was left behind. Maybe you would try and learn to ride a blurrg... how hard could it be?

Mando was not in fact exaggerating when he was trying to learn how to ride the blurrg. You're not sure why you thought it would be easy. Maybe you just wanted to feel on par with him. Either way, for the life of you - you just couldn't figure it out. You gave up way before Kuiil returned.

"I see you tried riding the blurrg while I was gone."

You looked up from your journal with shock on your face, "How'd you know?"

"You have dirt all over your legs," He chuckles.

You shake your head as your mouth forms a smile, "Fine, you caught me."

"If you'd like to learn, I'm glad to teach you," He pauses, "it's better than you struggling and not asking for help."

Your smile fades a bit...

it's better than you struggling and not asking for help.

...

Mando doesn't return until the day after. You weren't too worried about it - he was a man capable of taking care of himself. During his absence, Kuiil's presence aided in blocking the feelings of worry and loneliness that would overcome you in small waves.

"You are a bounty hunter," He says as he prepares dinner for the both of you.

You shake your head, "I was."

He looks at you briefly before his eyes return to the food, "So, why are you with him?"

You sigh, "Not sure."

"You two don't seem awfully close. Are you two even friends?"

"Not sure."

He hums. Silence takes its place before he continues, "For what it's worth, I think this can bring a new experience for you.''

You don't say anything.

"I'm well aware that I don't know your backstory - nor do I know his. What I do know, is that you both have been through things in your lives. This partnership, friendship, whatever it is, may it be something beneficial for the two of you."

One can only hope.

When Mando returns to the moisture farm, it's nighttime, and you're watching Kuiil repair his moisture vaporator. Your eyes wander over to Mando's form, but they don't stop on him. They stop right next to him. A floating sphere that remained by his side.

That was his quarry? A child? What kind of monster puts a bounty on a child? Unless the child was deemed dangerous, but c'mon, look at the little guy - he instantly won you over.

You hear Mando and Kuiil talk about the child, but you didn't pay any attention to them. You only focused on the little green child that watched a frog jump by. You crouched down to get a closer look at him.

"It didn't take long for the kid to get his hands on it," You say as the three of you witness the child swallow the frog whole.

You dusted invisible dirt off your hands by rubbing it against your shirt. You realized that Kuiil went off somewhere - he's probably inside his house. You realize that Mando was watching you.

"I'm not sure if you heard, but my ship was destroyed."

You furrowed your brows, "How?"

"Jawas."

"Good luck with that," You said as you patted his back before walking inside Kuiil's house.

Kuiil and Mando returned the day after at night. They both hauled the parts from the Razor Crest that the Jawas stole. You were assessing the damage when they returned to the ship.

"Holy shit, you reek.. go wash up, Tin Can," your voice is pitched up since you're holding your nose.

"You're not helping," he says with a deep voice, "I already know that I smell."

"Well, do something about it."

He ignores you as he walks around the ship and assesses the full-on damage. He stops in front of you. You swear he's doing it to annoy you, but you just back away so that his stench isn't as potent.

Kuiil turns on his light as Mando says, "This is gonna take days to fix."

"If you care to help, it might go faster," Kuiil says as he starts to organize the different parts.

Before the thought of running away even crossed your mind, Mando pointed an accusing finger at you, "Don't even think about leaving, you're helping us."

You whined, "Do I have to?"

"Yes. You don't get to ride along for free," He snaps as he hands Kuiil some of the spaceship's parts.

You kick your feet against the ground and sigh, "...Fine."

...

After ten breaks deemed mandatory by you, five arguments, and one 'pillow fight' with the parts of the Razor Crest between Mando and you, the ship was complete as daylight started to rise in the sky. Man were you proud of yourself - you helped Mando and Kuiil restore the Razor Crest to its natural beauty. You totally didn't refuse to get your hands dirty.

"Thanks for only handing us the parts," Mando says as he walks around the ship. He no longer smelled which made him a bit more tolerable to you as of now.

The two of you bid goodbye to Kuiil - the wonderful Ugnaught man who you prayed would be safe and happy for the rest of his days.

"Good luck with the child, may it survive and bring you a handsome reward," Kuiil says as he waves goodbye to the both of you. Once, the three of you were settled in the cockpit, Mando started preparations to fly back to Nevarro.

"The kid's still asleep, right," You whispered.

Mando only nodded his head. As much as you wanted to stay silent, you just had to ask him.

"Hey, Lame-o, what do you plan on doing with it now?"

He shrugs, "I have no choice but to finish the job."

You scoff, "That's bullshit. It's just a kid, you're not seriously thinking about returning him to the client.., are you?"

You had fallen asleep during the journey back to Nevarro. You curled more into the seat when you heard footsteps leaving the cockpit. Peace and quiet. You didn't think about where Mando was going - you just went back to drifting into dreamland.

When you woke up the second time and realized that you had landed back on Nevarro - you decided to make your way to the bounty guild. Maybe Greef Karga had an update for you.

He didn't - which made you annoyed, but that feeling went away when you overheard his conversations with the guild members.

"You had your shot, dust breather, but you failed. No pucks for you, now get out of here."

You sat across from Greef Karga as he carried out his duty of being the leader of a guild. You raised an eyebrow at him, "Dust breather.. seriously? That's the best you got." The man just shrugs.

"So, I've heard you've been hanging around with an infamous man. Who so happens to be one of the best members of my guild," He smiles at you, "How's that been for you?"

You signed, "Oh, it's been something."

"Speaking of the Devil," He laughs, "Mando!"

You take a sip of your drink before you call out to him, "Sup, Tin Can."

It didn't fully register to you, until you saw him standing next to the table you shared with Greef Karga. That's when you choked on your drink for a second time at this very same table.

"What the fuck, Mando? Now, you actually look like a Tin Can."

He doesn't try to make a comeback. He just asks, "How many of them had tracking fobs?"

Greef Karga tells him the answer and then he says, "Please, sit my friend."

You scooch over so he can sit right next to you. You can clearly hear the conversation between the Mandalorian and Greef Karga, but you can't understand it. It's like your ability to comprehend went out the door when you saw Mando decked out in pure beskar armor.

Wow. He looks...

Perfect.

From what you could hear, Mando was choosing another job to go on. He doesn't seem like the type to know how to relax, so you're not completely surprised. You're just wondering where you're going to go now. You're sure that his invitation to stay aboard his ship was temporary, but man, you didn't know how to feel.

The next thing you heard was Mando asking about the child and what was going to happen to him. Clearly, something that is out of the hands of the bounty hunter, yet it seemed to bother him deeply.

Oh.

That's why he has on pure beskar.

You tried your best to not let the guilt eat at you, but you couldn't stop thinking about the kid's beady brown eyes. The way they peered into your soul when you first met him. The way he snored as he was worn out from saving Mando from a mudhorn. That poor kid.

You continued listening to their conversation - now realizing that the Mandalorian was standing rather than sitting next to you.

"Buy a camtono of spice. By the time you come out of hyperdrive, you will have forgotten all about it," Greef Karga says to him, but alas, Mando walks out without another word.

You catch up to him before he makes it to his ship.

"So.." you start, "how about that camtono of spice?"

"I don't do spice," He jabbed.

"Yeah, I can tell. You act like you always have a stick up your ass," You jabbed back.

There goes another moment where he doesn't make a comeback towards you.

By now, you could tell the guilt was eating him alive. Even if he hadn't muttered a word to you.

You sighed, "Look, what's done, is done. You can't change that. You just have to wish the little guy the best and move forward."

He stays silent - only looking at what's straight ahead of him.

What's something that would help him..?

"Let me take you to the hot springs," He stops in his tracks and stares at you, "My treat."

...

It surprised you that he agreed. So here you were, on the Razor Crest, gathering your things, so you could stay in the motel next to the hot springs. You encouraged Mando to bring a bag with him, but he insisted that it was fine. Maybe he's never gone to hot springs before?

You had checked into your motel room. Mando waited patiently for you to put your things away. Once you finished, the two of you headed down to the hot springs. Since Nevarro was still growing its community, the hot springs were a small place run by a family of Twi'leks. The place was pretty secluded. Not many made the long trek from Nevarro City to enjoy the springs.

You weren't sure if they would have you and Mando go to separate hot springs, but unfortunately for you - there was only one hot spring open that day. You had undressed yourself first and let your body get warmed up by the hot water. You closed your eyes to fully take in the warm sensations coming from the bubbles that the water made.

It felt incredible.

Another thing that surprised you was hearing the water around you splash. Feeling the ripples of the water. You opened your eyes to see Mando's bare chest. It was a beautiful sight to see.

Perfect.

That's what you thought when the lights dimmed. Seeing your reflection on his helmet be reduced.

Perfect.

That's what you thought when he moved closer. You could have sworn the temperature of the water got warmer each time he moved.

Perfect.

That's what you thought when he started touching you. His soft and gentle hands roamed over your body. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders. Letting your fingers make indentions on his tanned skin. You ran a finger from his collarbone to the tip of his shoulder - back and forth. He squeezed your hips towards his.

Perfect.

That's what you thought when a soft modulated moan hit your eardrums. When he guided you on the things he wanted you to do to him. When he followed the orders you gave when it was his turn to reciprocate for you. When he finally slid himself inside you. The sighs that left your mouths at the same time. When he took his time with you - there was no need to rush and he made that perfectly clear. When you both made a mess in the hot springs. Perfection.

It was a perfect situation between strangers.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #din djarin fic #din djarin x you #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #grogu #greef karga #din djarin series #din djarin smut #mando #mando x you #mando x reader

23 notes · View notes

trashquisitor-shirozora · 1 year ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🤍

Aww, thank you for dropping this off in my askbox! Also oh god, I have so many favorite fics that I wrote, how will I ever choose just five? Anyway, these are arguably my favorite five fics that I wrote.

We Are Pilots (Tron Legacy, Sam/Tron, 90k words) changed my life. I answered a Tron Kink Meme fill with the kind of insane fervor that I later felt when writing another fic on this short list, and the response was phenomenal and overwhelming. This fic was the confidence booster of a lifetime and made me feel that actually, I am capable of writing stories on an epic scale. This fic went through several full rewrites and the final one is my favorite because this was where I really learned to let a story breathe and to make the environment as immersive as possible.

Wishing Well (Captain America: The First Avenger, 10k words) was a capkinkmeme fill (I was really big on LJ anon kink memes and I miss those so much for the unhinged communal vibes) and I love this short tragic tale of all the love that couldn't be. If I need something sad and cathartic, I read this fic. I need to feel the tragedy. I committed so hard to the bit that I deleted a fourth chapter set during Iron Man 2 and replaced it with a ficmix playlist.

born in a thunderstorm (Star Trek AOS/Guardians of the Galaxy/Thor Ragnarok/Captain Mavel, Kirk/McCoy, 68k) is the most unhinged thing I thought up since I was a middle schooler daydreaming a crossover of a bunch of Saturday morning cartoons and interestingly dubbed anime, and since I was a high schooler who went all out on a Kingdom Hearts fic by printing the screenplays for several Disney movies so that I can mimic the actual game as closely as possible. To think that this is the STXI fic I ended up writing after years of wanting to and never doing so out of fear I'd fuck up and get gatekept out of Star Trek.

Sweather Weather (Star Wars, Din/Luke, 22k) won the fight with Gravity Well because fall is here and the cozy vibes are strong in this one. Years back, I tried to write a cozy vibes fic and flamed out because I was a fool and didn't stick to the "slice of life" mentality. Anyway, this is my slice of life/cozy vibes fic and I adore it.

The Storm (Star Wars, Din/Luke, 45k) is the story I wrote in a fever dream, fueled by the song "Dangerous Dreams" by Lebrock, and my life has not been the same since then. This story is still so vivid to me. I still think about the claustrophic setting, the old stone temple on a forgotten world ravaged by weeks-long thunderstorms, and how that forged a curiosity and connection between two people whose cultures and ways of life were destroyed by the Empire yet still survived. I still think about this fic the way I think about stories that just seared themselves into my brain and won't go away (like the other fics on this list, Peter Jackson's LOTR trilogy, and Andor). It's all fucking insane. How the fuck did I write that?

Anyway, appreciate getting this ask! Now back to writing the next chapter of the 4th story of the series spun out of The Storm.

#shirozora awkwardly responds to asks #writing is hard #dinluke #samtron #I still feel sad that I never wrote the samsteve post-CATWS sequel to Wishing Well #trust me to walk out of CATWS obsessed with a different ship than one of the Big Ones #the real big moral of the story here is fuck the gatekeepers inside your head and write what you want #it's a labor of love is what it is (and also the only way to not go fucking crazy)#the compulsion to tell stories is how and why i will never know peace #the way I'm so desperate to tell this final story to wrap up Dangerous Dreams tho omigod

9 notes · View notes

cactuswaterscactusfields · 2 years ago

Text

Never About Us - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Offerings from a Beroya

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.7k

For anyone who has trouble imagining a sith din, here’s a link to a Tumblr post with something I made on mandocreator.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, a hint of fluff for you goblins, violence, descriptions of injuries and blood. Arguing, Greef Karga (is he a trigger?), fluff, mando being an overprotective socially inept brick wall, I’m making things up about armor and metal. Should I tag this as slow burn? Idk anymore. Hinted at S/A (unsuccessful), fennec shand is cool. Forced drugging, more passing out. Please let me know if I missed any, I know this was a pretty heavy chapter. I love you all, and thank you for staying with me.

Translation guide: Beroya (mando’a): “Bounty Hunter”

I have no excuses for why this took so long. Love you all! Thank you to geo for betareading!

“I thought you said you knew how to fly this damn thing!” You scream out, as the ship around you rocks, screams, rumbles, and twists through the atmosphere as the flames lick at the plasteel viewing panel. Of course, he should have known how to fly, he’s Mandalorian.

“I…may be a little rusty.” He is clearly struggling, his teeth gritting as he fights to correct the ship’s course so that you two don’t end up as two little bug splatters on the blazing surface of Nevarro. You’re thrown into the ship's wall, as he yanks the controls, dodging around a mercantile ship as you arc through the clouds.

“Learn to drive, Mando!” You shriek, as he spirals down towards the landing docks. He yanks back on the controls, sending you into the back wall of the cockpit, and the ship gently slows to a stop with a thud as it lands on the ashy sand.

He turns back to look at you from his seat and tilts his head.

“Are we going?”

You glare up at him, before standing up and dusting yourself off.

“Once you learn not to kill me. One of us doesn’t exactly have a full suit of beskar.”

He watches you, and you can imagine under there he might be smiling if he even smiles. You’re still not even sure he’s human under there. Who knows? Is he just some really well-designed AI, some killer robot masquerading as a Mandalorian waiting until you have a weak moment and then leaping in for the kill? What if he–

“Keep moving.” He bumps into you as you’re caught in your thoughts, gently pushing your shoulder toward the exit of the Crest. You blush, and hurry toward the exit, not wanting to irritate him by getting in his way, lest he leave you there on Nevarro without a ship. You walk by his side, the painting of his armor as an inquisitor parting the crowd around you like the sea in some religious story you were told as a youngling. You smirk a little to yourself, feeling like he’s protecting you from the normally unsafe and crushing crowds of Nevarro’s city. In the distance, you can see the sun beginning to set, a dull blob of light against the ash of Nevarro’s atmosphere.

You finally arrive at the entrance to the guild, and you enter first, your Mandalorian bodyguard an ominous shadow behind you. You sit down in front of Karga, sliding him the completed puck of the bounty you took. He doesn’t need to know you completed it only with the help of a very dangerous inquisitor.

“Ah, my favorite little crash-lander. How are you?” He flashes his signature grin at you, his eyes flicking up to the beskar-clad warrior currently trying to squeeze into the booth next to you.

“I want to add him as a bounty hunter. We’re a pair now.” You cut to the chase, hoping he won’t make you drink more of his sand-flavored spotchka. Mando watches him, his fist resting on the table between you, and he nods slowly.

“You picked up…an inquisitor, and you want him to join you. Become part of your…little..team. I...I suppose that can be arranged, but I do need to know his name.” He begins to tap away on a holopad, and you look up at Mando, hoping he behaves himself and doesn’t kill the good guild leader for asking for his name. Mando’s shoulders tense, and he looks at Greef, his hand beginning to tighten.

“Can’t you just put it as Mando Lorian?” You cut in, hoping to prevent a murder.

“I can make that work.” He taps it into the pad and slides it over.

“Sign there. He’s your responsibility now. As for the bounties, here is the payment, and new pucks. I have one I think you’d like.” He chuckles nervously, and you quickly sign with your finger.

“Figured this one would be good to get you on the good side of the empire. It’s all under the table, not even an official bounty.” He slides over a puck and a tracker.

“The one on the left is a normal Tattoine bounty. You’re capturing an assassin named Fennec Shand, she’s evaded Republic capture for a long time. The one on the right will lead you to the offerer of the private bounty, who will provide you with the tracker to the bounty itself. And get this, paid in beskar.” He smiles at Mando, whose shoulders stiffen further when he hears that it’s being paid in beskar. Your eyes widen at the sound of your payment, fist clenching on the table. You’re being paid in stolen beskar that should have been yours.

“Hey, let’s not get too aggressive, now. Why don’t you two head to Tattooine and see if you can’t capture Ms. Shand? If you’re successful, I’ll give you the private bounty.”

You slowly reach your hand out to the puck, but Mando snatches it off the table and slips it into a pouch on his belt. He slides out of the booth, and you look at Karga again.

“Thank you for the puck–” Your arm is grabbed by a thick leather glove, and Mando drags you out of the bar without any more discussion.

“He’ll take advantage of you.” Mando releases your arm, and you have to jog to keep up with his strides.

“Advantage? I’m perfectly fine. I’ve survived this long, I’m not scared of some slightly–”

“You don’t understand.” He spits your name, quickly grasping your wrist again and dragging you into an alley. He crowds you against the sandy brick, and you have to crane your neck to look up at him. His arm presses at the brick next to your head, and he studies you through his visor. You can feel his eyes searching your face, and he tilts his head again.

“Oh? Is that so? What do I not understand, Mando? Don’t treat me like one of your stormtroopers. I’m not your servant.” You glare up at him, your snarky mouth running before you can stop it. Of course, you’ve been trained to stay independent, to push people away, it keeps you alive. Your secrecy is your survival, after all. With each word, you can see his hand clenching into a fist, and he takes an audible breath.

“He will hurt you. Badly. He will take and take until There. Is. Nothing. Left. It was never about us. It’s about keeping you safe.” His helmet glints in the last light of the sun, leaving you in almost total darkness, save the artificial lights of the night market.

“I don’t need your protection.” You slide out from under his arm, and begin to walk back toward the direction of, you hope, the ship. He follows you with his helmet, and you push into the crowd. You weave and bob through people, half-hoping that he stays following you and half-hoping to lose him.

Of course, he follows you. You keep bobbing and weaving, hoping and praying to the maker that you know where you are going, even as the sun sets and you’re cast into the artificial yellow and white of fluorescent night market string lights. And then you see it. Like a beacon from the darkness, your ship, glimmering with the barely-visible stars and the blinding lights of night, laying there in the docks. You speed up in your steps, almost running, and you finally clamber up the too-steep ramp and practically jump up the ladder into the cockpit.

You hear his heavy footsteps thud up the ramp, and you begin to press buttons almost haphazardly, trying to get off this makerforsaken planet, as if leaving Nevarro will leave Mando there. Who does he think he is, commanding you? You’ve survived your whole life alone, doing nothing but rejecting those around you so that you stay safe. After all, attachments could lead to your heart or bones being broken. But..why does a part of you feel raw for wanting to leave him? He saved your life, hunted you down and kept you alive from that awful Trandoshan, but..he wants to hold you like you’re some pristine artifact, any scratch capable of shattering and ruining you.

So why do you feel this way?

All too quickly, your thoughts are once again interrupted as his hand lands on your chair’s back. He looks down at you, tilting his helmet toward the copilot’s seat expectantly. Right. He likes to drive. You sigh, get up, and move back to the copilot’s seat, not without shoving past him.

He sits down as if your pass at him hadn’t felt like more than being brushed by a Kowakian monkey-lizard’s feather, and begins to plug in the coordinates for Tattooine, and you’re both pushed back by the jump from reality into hyperspace.

“Hey, mando.” You finally break the silence, and he turns to look at you.

“We should..probably repaint your armor. Inquisitors aren’t exactly popular, and that suit of armor puts a target on your back..”

He looks down at himself, as if having just realized the implications of walking around in a suit of metal propaganda, and he nods. He gets up, and looks at you, as if waiting for you to follow. You quickly get up, and follow him down the ladder, grabbing a box of basic ship repairing equipment as you move past the storage closet.

Mando sheds his armor quickly and without grace, revealing that..the armor wasn’t exactly lying about how muscular he is. His arms, covered by that sinfully tight flight suit, flex as he pulls his chestplate off, dropping it onto the floor with a thud that sends shockwaves through your system and right to your core.

He hands you one of his bracers, and a piece of sandpaper, before he plops down and begins to sand his chestplate. And you sand. And sand. And sand. And sand. And sand. How much sanding can one piece of beskar require? Your father wasn’t kidding when he said that beskar is some of the strongest material in the galaxy.

After what feels like millenia, you finally finish sanding, and you put the armor piece down, finally stripped of its paint. He looks at you, having finished about three in the time it took you to finish one bracer, and he gestures to the paints you pulled.

“How about just raw beskar? We can smooth the surface and coat it with a gloss..” Your mouth begins to run off mechanic terminology, and he nods slowly.

“Will you be sanding your helmet?” That touched a nerve. His hands tighten on the gloss tube, and it splurts some of the expensive, albeit shiny gel.

“I don’t take my helmet off.” He growls in your general direction, and you raise your hands defensively.

“Sorry. You’re…one of those mandalorians, huh.”

“One of those?” He squirts more of the gel onto the floor, and you glare at him.

“Could you put that down? That shit is practically worth more than bacta.”

He sets down the tube, and you scoop up the gel and begin to smear it onto a piece of equipment that he’s finished sanding and shining.

“Yes, one of those. There’s a cul–a group of people that have elected to never remove their helmets because that is how the ancient mandalorian culture used to be, and they’ve lived their lives entirely behind a mask. I’m assuming you were..brought up by them before the empire took you?”

He nods slowly, scooping up the rest of the floor gel, and spreading it onto his armor.

“Got it. So no helmet removing. Do you sleep with it on?” You try to lighten the mood, and he begins to wipe the excess gel away with a cloth.

“Yes.”

“Have you taken it off at all?”

“If you’re asking whether or not I shower with it, no. I don’t shower with it on.” He casts away the cloth, sending it into a box of other mechanical equipment, and he examines his now finished armor. He nods, and you smile softly.

“Does it come off in bed?” You wink at him, and he pauses for a moment. You can almost see his ears flushing red, his lip quivering as he tries to come up with what to respond to that. He clears his throat, before beginning to pull his armor back on.

“...Depends on what you mean.”

“During s–” You’re cut off by the ship beeping loudly, signaling its imminent departure from hyperspace, and you both quickly clean up before heading to the cockpit and getting strapped in.

You’re jolted as you’re pulled into interplanetary space, and the great yellow and dusty planet lies before you. Haven’t you had enough sand for one life?

As you enter the atmosphere, you’re strangely reminded of Geonosis, even though that had been sterilized artificially. Can people really live on this hellish planet? There’s no water, hardly any shade, and the stories you heard as a child of Krayt dragons terrified you to no end. Then again, they likely ask the same thing about Geonosis. Irradiated, hellish, with zombie parasites and abandoned pre-empire factories filled with the skeletons of droids that could have been, now condemned to live in perpetual imperfection, with cults and slavery and shadowy figures that could snatch a small child from their mother’s arms and burn them into a worshiper of death and darkness.

“You have that look again.” You’re jolted out of your fears by his voice, baritone and honey, and you sigh.

“Sorry. Was thinking about Geonosis and Tattooine. I just don’t understand how people have grown to live and settle on these apocalyptic planets..” You trail off, embarrassed to bother him.

“They make do. We live and we learn.” His words are jarringly wise, almost strangely so. For a moment, his somber tone makes you wonder what hell he has been through. Has he seen the burning flames as you have? Did he see death like you had? What has the emperor put him through, to become a mandalorian inquisitor, hunter of jedi and now hunter of bounties?

“I do not think you want the answer to that question, little mandalorian. And you’re not bothering me.” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“You carry the galaxy on your shoulders. I am here to help you carry that burden.”

He tightens his grip, and it’s..strangely comforting, like you’re two beings against a galaxy of hate. Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all, you have to learn what makes the other tick, but at the end of the world, it’s you two, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world. As if he can smell it on you, he pulls his hand away, and the comfort is gone.

At least you have the memory of his warmth.

Blood. So much blood. Charred flesh, hatred, glowing red blade strikes and bruised throats are all you can see before everything goes dark. The crunch of a shattering femur focuses your senses, and you’re brought out of shock. Hot. Arid. Burning sand sprays across your face, and are you..are you on Geonosis? You blink quickly, trying to clear the sand from your eyes, and you narrowly avoid a flying limb, which, upon further inspection, appears to be inhuman in form. You look toward the loud sounds of blade cutting through flesh and bone, and you see him, like a silver wraith in the shadows.

He’s standing over a crying man, hunched over and spitting green blood. He raises his hand toward Mando, who tilts his head silently as he clenches his fist, crushing the man’s windpipe into oblivion. You quickly stand up, unsure of how long you had been unconscious, and begin to survey the scene around you.

Lots of blood spattered across sandstone alley walls, three or four mangled bodies, some missing a limb or two, glowing with molten cuts, and so, so, so much sand. Mando turns toward you, stepping over body and limb alike, and he reaches out to touch your face. He gently reaches down, lifting you to your unsure feet.

You remember now.

“Hey, sweet thing, why don’t you leave droid boy there and come have a good time?” One of them had slurred at you, clearly drunk out of his mind. You’ve been catcalled before, it’s nothing you’re not used to, and you let the insult slide off your shoulders as you attempt to continue your journey across Mos Espa, but that hadn’t been enough for them.

You can sense them beginning to surround you, wall you in, and you begin to calculate escape routes as they slowly corner you and Mando into an alley.

“Surely you mustn’t have heard my friend here. Leave droid boy and come with us, it’s been so long since–”

There is a glowing red blade right through his throat, and as he reaches up, eyes widening to feel the new..air hole in his trachea, Mando slices to the left, cutting the man’s head off. He then twists, and as he twists, you feel a small prick in your neck, a disgusting arm wrapping around your torso as it presses the plunger of the small syringe in your neck. You’ve heard of drugs like these before, used on drunk or unsuspecting patrons at bars and clubs, used to take them home for…for…

You can’t remember. Your train of thought begins to fade, as the world around you feels silent, gray…it’d be so easy to sleep right now, so easy to just…

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He gently touches your face with one hand, keeping your dizzy eyes focused on his hand, and you pause for a moment to clear your head.

“F-four. Four fingers.” You shake your head.

“Why did you do that? You have a target on your back, Mando..” You look around worriedly, concerned of the implications of him revealing himself.

He just tilts his head at you, as if he’s confused.

“We need to leave, surely word has spread by now..” You grab his hand, and pull at it, stumbling as your legs relearn how to take your weight.

“Why are you worried? This is Tattooine, little mandalorian.” He follows you, holding onto you to make sure you don’t collapse again.

“Couldn’t you have just knocked them out?” You hiss, and he pauses mid step.

“And let them walk the earth unpunished for what they did to you?”

“They didn’t do anything until you got involved. They wouldn’t have drugged me, I could have just…jedi mind tricked them..I could have figured it out…that was completely unnecessary, Mando!” You finally regain your confidence, and he pulls you into another alley.

“I was doing it to protect you.”

“I don’t kriffing need your protection, Mando! I’ve been surviving on my own this long, I do not need some overgrown sith warrior in indestructible armor following me like a lost puppy, and I especially do not need one to protect me! First, Nevarro, now here! When will you learn? I escaped from you, I can escape from the empire. I do not need you painting an even larger target on my back than the one that is already there because you cannot control your temper!” Your voice is shaking as it increases in volume, and you feel saltwater tears streak down your dirty face, dripping onto the parched sand below. You step back, and glare at him, wiping your tears furiously. You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your heart rate, trying to lower your blood pressure, and look back up at where you hope his eyes are.

“I don’t need your protection.” You finally reiterate, before turning and leaving the alley. His visor never leaves your back.

“Fennec Shand. Assassin and sniper.” You quietly murmur to no one in particular, not that the man in metal next to you is even listening. Since you finally broke and screamed at him in that alley, he’s been silent, even more so than usual, not even responding when you try to communicate with him or get his attention, not even when you try to make the jokes that always would have gotten at least a quiet chuckle from him.

You peer back into the binoculars pressed against your face, scanning the horizon in the distance for any sign of life, any sign of the legendary ranger that is worth so much she could pay your fuel costs for three months, not that you’re even being paid in credits.

“There. Next to that outcropping!” You notice the bright red glint of a sniper’s red laser, and you quickly duck your head down as a red blaster bolt flies through where your forehead just was. His head jerks toward you, before he starts to stand, and you grab his arm and yank as hard as you can.

“She’s using heat tracing. We have to wait either till morning when the sun blinds her or until we can come up with a new idea to stop her. We’re sitting ducks anywhere but here.”

He nods slowly, before he turns to look down at his toolbelt, and you can almost see the idea lightbulb above his head blink on.

“Grenades.”

“What?”

“She’s using heat tracing. Flash bangs will blind and defean her temporarily, which lets us get close enough that I can freeze her.” He finally speaks after a moment, having figured out how to explain his absolutely batshit idea to you.

Except..it’s not batshit, It’s genius. He does think like a mandalorian, like a bounty hunter, coming up with ways to weaken his opponent until he can immobilize or kill them. He hands you three of the little handheld suns, and looks toward the speeders that brought you all the way out here into the Dune Sea.

“On three, I’m going to throw the first one. Get on your speeder, and wait for my signal. We will alternate, until we’re close enough to get cover at the base of her cliff.” He commands you, and it reminds you strangely of times that have never happened, of lives long past. What if you had been a soldier, or captured and became an inquisitor? Would you and he be close? Would you–

“Three!” He throws the grenade, and it explodes, a red blaster bolt shooting off a ways away, Fennec’s shot having been thrown off its course. You jolt up, your feet propelling you to your speeder, and you leap onto it, revving it and speeding off into the dune stretch between you and your target.

“GO!” He shouts, his voice straining to be heard over the wind rushing past your ears, and you press the button on top of the grenade before tossing it, and it explodes, sending another shot careening into the sky.

He tosses his, and your speeders weave back and forth on the dunes like dna, intersecting and then arcing away from eachother. You continue this deadly dance, this dance of evasion and light and blaster shots, until the once tiny cliff on the horizon becomes a monolith in front of you, all you can see, and you slow to a stop at its base.

“How do you plan to get up?” You pin your back against the rock, in case there is any way Shand could shoot you if you’re too far out.

He tilts his head, before he crouches and flies up into the air like a rocket. That’s right. You could just force jump.

You crouch as he did, hoping to replicate your success on Geonosis, but all you do is a nice little hop. In the distance, though, you see a ramp, and you sigh before climbing aboard your speeder and taking the naturally formed ramp up the side of the cliff. What feels like hours later, you ride up expecting to see his blade out or a dead body, but instead you see a bound Shand and a mandalorian inquisitor shining his bracer.

“I was wondering where you were.” He looks up at you, and you blush before slowing to a stop and climbing off the speeder.

“Not all of us were trained in the force from birth, Mando.” You pick Shand up by her wrists, gently laying her onto the back of your speeder.

“I suppose I’ll meet you at the bottom–?” You look up, and he’s already falling toward the sand below.

Of course he is.

“So now that she’s in carbonite, what’s our next bounty, oh keeper of the pucks?” You twist the towel around your sopping wet hair, patting it dry and casting the damp towel into a hamper. You stretch, feet padding against the metal floor of the ship, and you look at the interior of your ship. The bruise on your neck from the injection site still aches, but the pills Mando made you take before you showered must have been some kind of reversal agent, since you feel almost back to 100% much quicker than you should have been in any other situation involving those drugs.

After you retrieved Fennec, it was a fairly simple matter getting through the streets of Mos Espa and getting her frozen in the on-board carbonite freezer. You’ve never seen one work up close, and it took you at least twenty minutes to stop shivering from the gas. You finally decided to take a shower, cleaning yourself of the dust and sand, and the warmth helped your still slightly frazzled mind clear. You’re glad for midichlorians and the force, for it allowing you to heal quicker than the average person, the dull ache in your ankle from what feels like years ago nothing but that–a dull ache. He looks up toward you, his visor tilting up and down, and he leans back against a wall. His visor locks onto the small bruise on your neck for a moment, before he looks back down at the tablet he was swiping through.

“You look comfortable.”

“Been a while since I’ve had clean clothes, Mando. Thank you for washing them for me. While I was unconscious.”

He looks away, and you blush at the memory, not having meant to be so passive-aggressive to him. After all, he didn’t exactly knock you out, but he didn’t keep you awake on Hoth. It was probably for the best, you would have screamed and bit the whole way back if you had been awake.

“Our next bounty is a long jump away, and it’s another desert planet.” Was that..humor? From mando? You let out a small giggle, never having thought you’d see the day where a mandalorian inquisitor cracks even the worst of a joke.

“What is it? Tell me it’s not Geonosis.” You shiver, the radiation coming back to you like burning flames and licking hell against your skin, ripping apart your machinations like nothing but wet paper. You don’t ever want to have to venture out into the irradiated deserts again, the one time Gakrux made you having left you crying and screaming as you could imagine your flesh melting and burning away. You were just a teenager then, your life barely having started, and already you had been scared of it ending. The radiation isn’t too terrible now, nor was it when you ventured, but the trauma and idea was enough to tell you the most radiation you ever want to experience again is a star’s light from the comfort of a spaceship.

“No. It’s called..Arvala-5.”

I am so sorry this took so long. My life kind of got kicked in the shins and I had a massive burst of writer's block, rewrote the chapter, and today I had the biggest burst of inspo while listening to music. I'm so sorry this took so long, again, but thank you so much for writing. I'll try to have the next one out in a timely manner :)

Cactus

#mando x f!reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #mando x you #mando x reader #mando and reader #fanfiction #fanfic #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin #star wars

2 notes · View notes

dlrconlicense · 2 years ago

Text

So some thoughts on The Mandalorian S03 now that it's all said and done.

Spoilers ahead

I totally understand the criticism of this season by some, it did seem like Din Djarin and Grogu were a bit sidelined this season. But were they though? They were absolutely a part of how this season's arc progressed, that arc being Bo-Katan's redemption and the retaking of Mandalore.

In a way, this series was made because of Jon Favreau's love (and obsession with) of his character on Clone Wars and his background. He got to explore and flesh out the lore of basically "his" people along with the guidance of Dave Filoni.

Of course, he was was going tell a story about Mandalorians. Din Djarin is our gateway into the Mandalorian culture, sub-culture etc. Din Djarin and Grogu actually changed Bo-Katan's view on the world, her people, and leadership. At the beginning of this season, we saw a dejected Bo-Katan. She has lost her way. Din and Grogu helped her back on her path. Their relationship evolves in a good way. Grogu now has another parental unit and Din Djarin gained another powerful ally and confidant.

(side note: I wouldn't mind if they had gotten together, but am totally fine with them not. I did get co-parenting vibes throughout the season though)

I also do feel like the live actions projects finally allowed Dave Filoni to tie up some ends that were left in the animated series. He definitely want to give the Mandalorians a fitting resolution. While she was definitely front and center of this season, and I do feel like scheduling and Clickers is part of the reason, Din Djarin and Grogu were instrumental in completing her arc.

They did have some character development, Din's pledge and the growth in his diplomacy, Grogu using the Force not for offense but defensively, it's subtle but it's there.

I think the only episode that I thought was a bit jarring was "The Convert." I didn't particularly like the episode but I don't think it wasn't important. This does plant the seed as perhaps the explanation of the start of "The First Order", but then again Dave Filoni was always tasked with things like this. Clone Wars was created to make the Prequels make more sense and more compelling. It was like watching the more serious, political episodes of Clone Wars, whereas the divisive "Guns for Hire" was more a planet-of-the-week episode of Clone Wars.

Speaking on "Guns for Hire", if you really ignore the whole cameo stuff, it's really fun to see a in-universe Star Wars police procedural. That and "The Mines of Mandalore" end up being the two episodes I really liked this season.

I was particularly surprised how neatly they wrapped up the story. In a way, it was a rather smart ending. You can leave them as is, but judging from the conversation with Carson Teva, it allows for a soft reset of the series. Jon and Dave can resume the task of the week format of the show in later seasons, while linking to the bigger scope of the Mandoverse and Mandalore. We can always check in on Mommy Bo. No, I do not think Gideon is dead. If Maul lost half his body and lived, Gideon is alive getting a bit flame-broiled. But seriously, they couldn't allow 30 puppet seconds for a "See you later, Mom!" scene with the boy?

I was a bit disappointed we didn't get unmasked Din Djarin this season. It's understandable given Pedro was in Canada with his other adopted child for a good chunk of production. But it narratively it also made sense. He literally just fell and almost drowned bathed in the Living Waters, no way he is going to remove his helmet any time soon. By the way, does anyone else play "Which is the Mando?" when they watch? I am definitely convinced it was Pedro in some of "Guns for Hire" and "The Spies". The way the helmet moves and where it sits is quite telling.

#The Mandalorian #spoilers #Din Djarin #Bo-Katan Kryze #Grogu #Moff Gideon

3 notes · View notes

impossibleprincess35 · 1 year ago

Text

I love this and I'm about to give you the opposite end of that comment and I am apologizing in advance! I totally appreciate that your original post goes into detail with citing the sources and illustrating different theories 'cause I've referenced it multiple times in my own personal quest for plotting their ages! <3

(Me, ranting to the quiet corner of the internet where crickets chirp and I share my silly little stories and memes:)

I've previously mentioned on my Tumblr how I spent an ungodly amount of time earlier this year trying to map out Satine and Bo-Katan's age, and my conclusion is:

And this is one of my biggest beefs with Mr. All Hat No Cattle, and I'm sure it's a hot take that will get me flamed by some, but:

I really think the dude has no fucking clue what he's doing.

Maybe, back in 2013, they had an idea..? But even then, I side-eye that.

At least where the Kryzes are concerned.

When Disney bought the IP, that's when things started to really get fucked. They didn't want to contend with existing content that they couldn't control (re: couldn't make profit from), so they scrapped probably a metric fuck ton of stuff. So, all of the shit that Cowboy Man might have had in the works has mostly fallen by the wayside because now, none of it really fits into Disney's vision.

Like the Bo-Katan thing.

I will never believe that Old Space Jesus is out here in Tatooine looking like he did at 57, and you've got Bo-Katan out here kicking ass and having a Hot Girl Summer at nearly 70 years old.

Are there ways to explain it away? Totally, and the OP mentions them above and they're feasible.

But I just think the reality is this: It doesn't matter how old we speculate Bo-Katan to be in the eyes of the show runners and the Powers That Be. Because, really, the story doesn't matter to them. I love Bo's character. I love Katee Sackoff. I love Din/Bo. I casually enjoy "The Mandalorian" (Pedro's voice! Ming-Na! ANZELLANS!). But I will forever believe that the only reason we got a live action Bo-Katan was because (1) Katee Sackoff was a willing participant, and (2) Disney said, hey, she's a fan favorite, let's see if we can up our Disney+ subscriptions and sell some merch.

And look, since I'm on a roll today, here's my personal favorite theory: I think Obi-Wan and Satine were born the same year, so they're the same age. Satine is 15 years older than Bo. This age difference makes Bo-Katan around 53 years old in Mandoverse content. That's just my head canon.

You would not believe the hours I've spent arguing my stupidly passionate and nonsensical opinions about Satine and Bo-Katan's ages with my husband, because it's a lot. He is a fan of the carbonite theory, but I'm always like, "Why wouldn't someone have mentioned that? Why wouldn't they allude to it?!"

I'm going out to touch grass, kthxbye.

(Huge apologies and <3 to the OP who didn't ask for this. I just couldn't help myself from rambling today.)

And an addendum 'cause I'm a soft ass pisces and I don't like for people to feel like I'm attacking them or insulting them: There are a lot of good things that Filoni has done. He's not entirely useless! I just have some negative feels and I'm wallowing in them. If you love the dude, by all means, this is your time! Because dude is running the show. And look, joke's on me because I don't care for him but I'm still gonna watch all his content and hold onto hope that someday we'll get more Satine/Bo-Katan content. So, really, I'm just bitching. ;)

Bo-Katan Kryze’s Age

Or rather, it’s not polite to talk about a lady’s age, except in this Lady’s case

How old is Lady Bo-Katan Kryze by the time she appears in The Mandalorian?

We don’t have a canon answer, but we can get pretty close. And yeah … it’s a weird answer. But it’s not without reasoning.

Though Bo’s exact age has not been explicitly confirmed, Bo-Katan is in her mid-60s by Mando S2.

How did I get to that conclusion?

1. Dave Filoni has implied that Bo-Katan and Satine are twins, or at least very close in age.

At least twice, Dave, who has said that he has an “extensive genealogy of Clan Kryze,” has referred to a formative event that happened in the Kryze family when “[Bo-Katan] and Satine are six.”

The first is in a YouTube video (source listed in reblog, or search YouTube for the title listed below)

You ask yourself why is [Bo] acting one way & why was [Satine] a pacifist? I have a theoretical backstory that outlines them even at six years old—the two of them—& what transpired to make them who they are today.

- Dave Filoni, The Clone Wars Hangout - February 2, 2013, start at 28:15

The second is in an interview with IGN (source listed in reblog)

I have a rather lengthy backstory that even explains how [Bo] became a Death Watch soldier that goes all the way back to the time she and Satine are six. Because to figure out how she got to that point, and yet Satine is a duchess… I have a whole story about who their father was and what their relationships were and everything with Vizsla, going back for a very long time and how that intersects with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

- Dave FIloni, IGN Interview, 2013

Both of these sources come from shortly after The Lawless aired in 2013. Yes, it is possible that Dave has since backtracked on this idea, however, until we know more, that’s unwarranted speculation (however, we’ll speculate on whether or not Bo could be younger than her mid-60s by the time of The Mandalorian later).

2. Bo-Katan (and Satine) are close in age to Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Even establishing that Bo and Satine are probably twins or close in age, we don’t have a canonical age for Satine in order to solidify how old they are. However, we do know that Satine is close in age to Obi-Wan Kenobi. They fell in love together while they were on the run together during the time that he was a padawan.

Because this is all we know, the reasoning behind Bo’s age has to rely on Obi-Wan birth (57 BBY). I’m willing to allow for a slight difference between Obi-Wan and Satine & Bo, but it can’t be much (especially since we know that Satine begins ruling Mandlore immediately afterwards). Thus, we’ll consider the difference basically negligible at this point, and just assume that Obi-Wan, Satine, and Bo were all born in 57 BBY.

That makes them 38 years old at the time of Satine’s death in The Clone Wars (19 BBY). Bo and Obi-Wan are about 56 when they appear in Rebels (1 BBY), and Bo is about 67 years old by the time of The Mandalorian Season 2 (~10 BBY).

So yeah. That’s definitely different from how Bo looks in Mando S2. Katee Sackhoff is 40 years old (about the same age as Bo in The Clone Wars), but they really did not try to age her up at all.

Could Bo be younger?

So, just for the sake of argument, could I be wrong about all this? Let’s say that Dave has backtracked on his original plan to have Bo and Satine be twins. Could Bo be younger? And by how much?

If Dave backtracks on them being twins, he’ll probably have to backtrack on the story that he had about something happening to Satine and Bo when they were six that had a formative effect on why Satine became a pacifist and Bo a warrior.

(Though it’s only speculation, I’ve always assumed that event was the death of their mother, so in my mind, Bo can’t be more than six years younger than Satine, but I could be totally wrong about that headcanon)

But let’s say that just for the sake of argument, Bo is quite a bit younger. Let’s say she’s 15 years younger than Satine, and that would make her a little older than 50 in The Mandalorian Season 2 (still over 10 years older than Katee). That means that she would have been about 23 years old at the end of The Clone Wars.

There’s nothing that concretely denies this, but we do know that Bo’s nephew, Korkie is about 18 at that same time (he’s listed as being in his “late teens” in Season 5, in the original novelization of The Lawless), and it’s just hard for me to believe that Bo is only five years older than him. She’s clearly much closer to Satine’s age.

Plus, making her that much younger robs Bo and Satine of a connection that they clearly had at one point. In The Lawless, Satine says that it’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other and that there was a time when the two of them weren’t enemies. Again, there’s nothing concrete here, but I’d have a hard time buying an actual enemies-life feud between them when, for example, Satine is 25 and Bo is 10.

Impossible? No. But personally, I just don’t think that’s what Dave is thinking about.

Was her appearance in Mando S2 intentional, or was Bo’s age simply forgotten/ignored?

As I mentioned, Katee Sackhoff is 40 years old, but they really did not try to age her up in The Mandalorian, even though Bo likely is in her mid-60s.

While this is strange, I do not believe that this is an oversight. Dave Filoni loves timelines, and Katee has said that between takes all they would do is sit together and Dave would tell her everything about Bo’s backstory and work through all the timelines with her.

So what could the explanation be? Well … it could be an out-of-universe explanation. It could have been decided not to age Katee at all in order to make her as instantly recognizable as possible in live-action for those who already knew her from the animated shows (I struggle with this though, because some streaks of grey in her hair would not make her less recognizable, especially with that iconic armor).

However, there could be an in-universe explanation. Instead of having Katee play someone who looks like she’s in her mid-60s, Dave may have decided to have her play someone who doesn’t look like she’s in her mid-60s (but still is).

Some options include: 1. Canonizing the idea that was present in the EU that Star Wars humans simply live longer than regular humans (personally, I’m not a fan of this because we’ve never seen characters aging in a way different from Earth humans before, so I think it would set an awkward precedence).

2. Giving Bo herself a reason for why she looks much younger than her age. The one I’m most fond of is the idea that maybe for most of the time between TCW and Rebels, Bo was stuck in carbonite (perhaps by the Empire for some reason). 15 years in carbonite would allow her to be 65 but act as if she’s 50.

3. Hanging a lantern on the whole situation by saying that “wearing a helmet in the sun really keeps the wrinkles away!” or something like that. Bo’s in great shape. She’s led a healthy (if dangerous) life, but it’s not unheard of for people in their mid-60s to be very athletic. However, I do think that if that’s the fact, it still needs to be explicitly referred to.

Will we learn more in the future?

I sure hope so. Katee has basically confirmed that Bo’s story will be ongoing and she expects/hopes to be in The Mandalorian Season 3. It’s possible we’ll learn more about Bo’s backstory (including how old she is), and hopefully we’ll get an explanation for her appearance.

Katee has said that she desperately wants to know more about the story of Bo and Satine, and how Obi-Wan/Satine’s relationship affected Bo as well. Those are all things that Dave has expressed interest in exploring:

I’d give you more detail [about Bo and Satine’s backstory] except I’d like to tell that story at some point in some form of Star Wars media in the future. I’ve discussed it with a couple people, and we’ve started to architect it into the timeline of Star Wars somewhat, just to see where these things fit.

- Dave FIloni, IGN interview (2013)

So I’m just clinging to the idea that perhaps some day, we’ll be getting more answers. Bo’s appearance in The Mandalorian and bringing her story to a more general Star Wars audience certainly bodes well for more details on the Kryze family story in the future.

#satine and bo-katan age shit #i side eye dave filoni on the regular #mr. all hat no cattle gives me airhead vibes #bless me fandom for i have sinned #it's been 0 days since the last time i cursed filoni #i'm a hater

223 notes · View notes

javier-pena · 4 years ago

Text

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao, @filthybookworm, @frannyzooey, @khalysa, @leannawithacapitala, @mothandpidgeon, @mrsparknuts, @mxsamwilson, @piscespussybabe, @something-tofightfor

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #star wars #din djarin #pedro pascal #fanfic #the hunt fic #yes i've queued this #yes i'm asleep right now #and yes i'm too much of a coward

302 notes · View notes

thefanbasewhore · 4 years ago

Text

United as One. || Part 1.

Summary: Din returns home after fulfilling his mission of saving his foundling, after completing it he can now claim his rightful spot as clan leader. There is one problem he needs a wife to secure the future of his clan but his clan is not to happy with his choice and they make that very clear.

Warning/content: None for this part except for blood, wounds and angst but future ones will be 18+, have mature themes, pregnancy and etc. This does contain chapter 16 spoilers!!! No use of y/n.

Clan leader Din AU. Also not edited because im lazy.

paring: din djarin/female reader

Part 2. || Master post.

Din holds the child close, it's a bittersweet moment as Grogu is finally untied with his father. Tears threaten the Mandalorian's eyes, he's thankful of helmet at this very moment. His eyes find her, another reason to get emotional. He realizes just how much she’s grown on him during this journey, and could easily admit he didn’t want to say good bye. She can't help it as her own eyes gloss over as the words are said. Din leans over, cool helmet flushing against the warmth of her forehead. “Now that the child is safe I must return to my clan.”

"I'm glad we found him Din, I'm glad you can go back home." Din sighs, the leather pad of gloves rubbing the highest point of her cheek, soaking in the feeling of skin. "I wish you could stay."

“It’s my obligation." Din mumbles, metal kisses her ear as he presses his forehead into the her collarbone. He was close, never wanting to let go as he pulls her in as much as the child will allow against his chest. "The clan needs me, I'm to be the new leader."

"I know, someone out there needs you more than I do." It's a whisper only meant for his ears, the rough edges of his visor meets her face, surprised at the words. She can’t see it, the way his bottom lip quivers with emotion, the longing eyes that just want her. Those words mean something to him.

“Come with me, I can’t be without you.” he admits, he wishes Boba and Fennec weren't close by, he wishes he can tell her to shut her eyes so he can feel the softness of lips, the rush that fills him whenever he kisses her. Pink, soft and plump, the perfect fit for his own.

"Din I'm not -."

Din doesn't allow any excuses, "I love you. I need you."

"You're making this hard." Tears swell immediately, sucking her bottom lip between her teeth with a soft sob, disguising it as a laugh. Din doesn’t move a single muscle, just stares intensely.

"Please." He begs, the hand against her cheek lowers to her hip fingers pressing in attempt to close the gap between the two.. Grogu's soft fingers touch her collarbones, his own quiet plea. Cheeks rise to form wrinkles under eyes as her smile makes Din's heart rate increase.

"Okay. I'll go." Din let's out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in, chest expanding once again, a ghost of a smile.

"I wish I could kiss you Cyar'ika, I am so thankful for you." Din's heart felt like it was going to explode, the unbearable emptiness of leaving her here was suddenly gone. "You're are my other half. I can't wait to share my home with you."

While the ride was long, Din manages to make it manageable, he tells stories of his clan, talks about the different types of foods, the ceremony that will be held in days time when he arrives. It’s cute.. how passionate he is about his people. It never really hit her before.. Din is to be a leader of his clan and it fits him, a little to perfect. He’s a protector but caring, it’s the perfect blend for one.

Din's fingers squeeze her own as the ship lands, reinsuring as he senses the nervousness seeing her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Standing tall, stiff and uncomfortable. "It's going to be okay, you look nervous."

"I am nervous." Fidgeting with the hem of tunic says it all, he leans in closer he smell of him is almost enough, but the warmth is what really calms her down. Din's fingers fill the gaps in-between hers, his own little way of saying he's here, there's no reason to be nervous.

The ramp of the ship is slowly opening while her eyes dart over his side profile over and over again; of course it’s just his helmet, but somewhere in those points of basker bring comfort. The moment he does notice, she’s blushing, caught but he doesn’t seem to mind.

"There's no reason to be, I'll always protect you my love." There it is, the love of the man that got her nto this in the first place. It's a small gesture, a glove hand pressing softly into her cheek, dragging across smooth skin. "I mean it, I'd do anything for you."

Her mouth open to say the same words back but the smell of fresh pine, earthy tones of moisture are distracting, there is absolutely nothing, just trees and dirt that run for miles. The small child is asleep but stirs in the bag that wraps across his neck and down his side.

"We have to hike there." The Mandalorian throws a pack over his shoulder, hand finding slipping into hers again. "The clan survives by being a secret, no one but us must know the location."

"Not even Boba?"

Din's eyes drag along her face, looking back at herself in the reflection of his helmet. "No, he is not a Mandalorian."

"Either am I." Din steps out in front of her, hands still crossed in each other, extending it until your feet move out from under her.

"You're with me, no one will say anything." He pauses, slight amusement in his voice. "If they know what's good for them."

"Come on." Despite Din controlling the pace it does not meet up to expectations as he pulls her closer and slightly in front of him. "Stay right next to me and we have to move quicker, it gets dangerous around here at night time."

Dark was near, hanging right over the horizon as the planet’s sun begins to set lower, it was quieter then when she first arrived, the small animals and bugs of the forest seemed to also agree with Din.

The big fill moon on display provides just the amount of light needed to maneuver the thick brush and trees. It’s peaceful, beautiful, the forest is different hues of greens, pinks and blues from growing flowers make the trip just a little more bearable.

It’s serenity, peaceful and ebbing so gently throughout the darkness. Din’s hand never leaves her own except when he drapes his cape over shuddering shoulders, or to check on the child, the darkness brought a chill with it.

It’s happens in an instant, suddenly all of her breath is knocked out of as Din pushes her with a shout, “Get down!” Protective hands press accidently press her face against the foliage of the forest, the heavy body shielding her own from harm.

Large sharp spikes take wing above them. Both of their hearts thump at the crunching of leaves in the distance with the snapping branches falling all around when a loud unhuman sound fills the air, a growl so close she couldn’t decide if the hot air was it was coming from under Din’s helmet or snapping of jaws in front of her face. It’s covered in fur black red eyes peering as it’s long claws reached for both of her but Din is quicker, his fingers grasp her hips, yanking up and pushing her back as he secures the bag against his chest. “Run!”

The sounds of chanting could be heard, a group large in numbers just ahead in the tree line, a large bright light that an only resemble a large fire burning, the smell makes her nose twitch, it’s so close but very very far for the predicament the pair find themselves in.

She couldn’t breath, air ways blocked by paralyzing fear that swirls deep inside of her stomach sending her whole body into a frenzy. Feet ran with a blur, not being make out anything due to how fast she were going, the pitch dark didn’t help either, but Din was were to guide her, with one slip up he was pushing her into the right direction. Alarms and bells began to sing, loud drums as chaos broke out, yelling and the sound of blasters as she finally hit the tree line. Din’s finger press into her shoulder to finally stop her from running, the beast did not dare past the tree line.

Only because of what in habited it. Loud wheezing falls from burning lungs, long, shallow breaths as she lean one hand against the ground for support. It was obvious her body was still in flight mode when hands try to touch her face only to be pushed away with brutal force.

“It’s me, it’s just me. Breath with me.” The Mandalorian’s face is in front of her own, pressing his hand against the swells of her chest to remind her to breath. As her body starts to calm, it feels hot. The sound of crackling and popping as scarlet flames dance right in behind her, Din doesn’t like the close proximity as he stands between her and the warmth.

“Come over here, you’re too close to the fire.” As she starts to take in the rest of the environment she can’t help but notice the faces around them, well some were faces the rest were similar to Din, the helmets weren’t as seek, silver as him but a variety of different shaped eyes, symbols and lines. Now she understood why the creature didn’t dare cross the forest lines. There was a small amount of commotion, some eyes question her but the majority seek out Din.

“The Mand’lor has returned.” Din nods in acknowledgment, hands pulling his girl from the ground. Din’s fingers swipe her hair from her forehead as he sees the look of disapproval on the few bare faces.

“Listen to me.” He pleads, watching as a smaller woman, elder woman slowly ascends towards them. “Anyone can challenge rank in the clan, you must fight if need be.”

“Wh-What?” Wide eyes meet his visor, stomach twisting as Din’s words stun her. It was too late, the elder’s staff is pressing against her throat harshly. “Who is this woman you’ve brought us?”

The growl that Din lets out is enough to scare that monster in the woods, it’s protective, frustrated but expected, how did he ever think his people would accept a outsider? especially a non-mandalorian one. The elder sneers at her, different symbols of no legitimacy are painted against her forehead, black charcoal lines that reach to her lips. “Let her go. She’s with me.”

The elder’s eyes shift towards Din. While Din may be the leader of the clan, the elders are responsible for making sure the rules are followed, guidance for such a leader. The pressure releases from her throat but the venom in her tone says it all. “She doesn’t belong here.”

If a staff to the point of almost unconsciousness doesn’t say you’re not welcomed here the words make her cheeks red with embarrassment. Din’s fingers find her shoulder quickly, pulling her against his chest protectively. Eyes turn in disgust as they realize, the way he flushes her against him, his willingness to protect her. It’s wrong, so very wrong to the clan but Din doesn’t care. All eyes are on him as he steps in front of her, the child now awake is shoved against her chest, Din’s fists ball against his sides, he’s strong, sturdy like a wall as the crowd meets his own gaze. “She is under my protection, if anyone wants a challenge, they go through me first.”

Just like the the tension leaves the air, no one dares to step forward as the cold, icy gaze of the visor warns them, then to the elder that stands a few feet from him. “Is that understood?”

Watching all these people cower at his words makes her throat dry, Din Djarin was passionate, a little rough around the edges but never this scary. Shaky finger rub against her throbbing throat as another wheeze leaves her burning throat. Without a second glance Din is dragging her along the field, the peaks of houses just over the land.

“Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, only presses herself into his hold as they near one of the biggest huts in the field.

“Where are we?” It’s cold, but clean. Neatly organized books against the walls, a fireplace with two comfy leather chairs, the kitchen is small, almost right next to the living room but it is cozy. Din manages to find some matches to light the room up, “My home.”

The child fights against her grasp as she sits down on the brown chair, large dark eyes meeting her own as he lets out a whine of frustration. . It doesn’t register, everything happening to quickly doesn’t give her time to even breath as she looks up at the Mandalorian. When Grogu is finally free, he manages to find the other chair, curling up comfortably in it “What just happened?”

Din tries to speak but she decides for him. “They don’t want me here, why did you bring me here?”

Din shakes his head, falling between her thighs, hands press against them with intent to comfort but it makes her more frustrated. “They’re not used to strangers, and you’re not Mandalorian, it caught them by surprise.”

“Din I saw the way they looked at me, that old lady almost murdered me. “Did you know it was going to be like this?”

He bites the inside of his cheek, bringing his helmet forward to her shoulder. “Yes but no one will challenge you for now, not until you’re part of the clan.”

“No one wants me here.” Tears of frustration slip past eyelashes, rejection sitting deep inside the pit of her stomach.

“Sweet girl.” Din’s covers her eyes with his palm using the other to pull the helmet off placing it next to him. “Close your eyes.”

Even if she wanted to she couldn’t open them, they’re too heavy with emotion as Din presses his fingers against tears, wiping them gently. “No tears, for the love of maker, no tears.”

“I-I’m -” Din doesn’t let her finish, instead he uses his lips to taste the salty mixture that formulated from her pain, lips meet hers gently.

“They will love you, they haven’t seen a stranger since I left two years ago, give it time.” Din promises, hands wrap around just below her breast, pulling her against his chest. “The clan is sacred, they just see -.”

“An outsider.” The sourness of the words taste strange in her mouth, “Why did you bring me here then?”

“I love you.” It’s the first time those words move past those lips, “I can’t be without you.”

It’s hours later when Din returns to the tent, while many hours have past she was still asleep. The bed was comfortable, stuffed with feathers, covered in layers and layers of animal pelts. Soft fur smooth against skin, perfect for the chilly night.

The child notices, instantly perking up to extend his arms out to his father. The foundling coos as Din’s hands hold him close to his chest, “Hey buddy, are you hungry?”

The next few days are almost enough to make her regret coming with Din, she’s alone half the time, Din leaves her for what he called ‘very important business, and snarled at when she leaves the hut. Never in her life has she felt so.. unwelcomed, out of place. She has never been a person to care about things like these, but the child was soon becoming her only source of social interaction and everyone knows how well that is.

“What are you doing out here?” Din’s voice startles her, the child in her arms jumps as she does.

Eyes shift in confusion at the Mandalorian, the raspiness of his voice, hands bare but open cuts painted across them, dried blood show signs of a struggle as she tits her head. “What happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about sweet girl.” The hand finds the crown of her head, rubbing the hair softly, then to the child’s head before disappearing silently into the hut, while it was very Din the tone of his voice was very uncharacteristic.

“Din?” It’s much later in the night, so late that they should both be fast asleep like the child tucked between them. Din’s helmet reflects the dying fire across the room, despite the inches of distance between them it felt like miles. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He sighs, turning onto his side so he can look at her. He was stripped down to a thinner tunic, comfortable pants rid of all amour except his helmet, the fire was still alive. “It’s just -.”

He cuts himself off, bringing his hands forward to her hips fingers dig into the flesh to pull her close against him. “What is it?”

“The elders.. they don’t like that I brought you here.”

“i know that.”

Din turns his back towards the fire, the broadness of him dimming the room almost instantly. The helmet falls to the floor with a thud, lips meet the junction between her clavicle and sternum, nose pressing against her skin. “I want you to stay here with me.”

“I don’t feel welcomed here, no one even knowledge me.”

“Marry me.” The words make her choke, body momentarily freezing as fingers release his hair. Din freezes as well, not believing the words fell from his lips so easily.

“If you marry me, they will have no choice but to accept you. You will be my queen.” A pregnant pause falls amongst them, Din doesn’t dare move from his spot but pushes further. “They will make me take a wife anyways, I want it to be you.”

Emotion is heavy in her throat, “It feels forced, you’re only doing this for me. For you can have me.”

“I’m doing this because I love you, I want you to stay with me. The elders have no control over what I’m saying to you. I want you to marry me because I love you.” The words aren’t forced, they’re spoken with carefulness but freely mumbled against her chest.

“Marry me, I’ve always known you’d be my riduur from the moment I met you.”

A/N: I swear its going to get much better, first chapters are always so slow. Thank you for reading, I’m accepting tags just comment below, thank you!

#din djarin fan fiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the mandolorian imagine #the mandolorian x reader

294 notes · View notes

ckneal · 4 years ago

Text

I already have a pretty firm idea of what I would like to see Chuck go through on his first day in Hell that would really be more cathartic for the other characters involved than anything else. On his second day though, I would like to see his real torture begin, by being trapped in an endless loop of being a human single-father, who is just completely incapable of dealing with his children.

It would start off slow, with Chuck and his four beautiful boys, Michael, Lucifer, and the twins, sitting at the kitchen table. Chuck could have his “World’s Best Dad” mug in hand. Gabriel and Raphael would be dressed in matching outfits like something out of a 90s sitcom. Except Raphael has the biggest and most penetrating eyes, like he can read your tax returns in your very soul, and he knows that you did them wrong, and as Chuck’s staring across the breakfast table, telling himself there’s no way his six-year-old can be working for the IRS, Michael, who’s nine, taps Chuck on the shoulder to let him know Lucifer’s started a trashcan fire in the living room.

Chuck runs to put it out, and as he’s trying to smother the flames with the couch cushions, Gabriel announces that he’s running away. Chuck looks out the gaping front door to see him jubilantly barreling across the front lawn, straight toward a busy street. He starts to run after him, but then Lucifer comes sprinting out of the kitchen, happy as can be, with a meat cleaver. Without thinking, he yells, “Raphael, go get your brother!” And he only realizes after he’s wrenched the knife out of Luci’s hand that that was a terrible idea. In his panic to get outside, Chuck chucks Lucifer in the closet and orders Michael to keep it closed until he gets back.

Outside, Linda Tran is marching his twins back across the street, and she is judging Chuck’s parenting.

Inside, Michael is struggling to hold the closet door shut with both hands while Lucifer pummels it from within, screeching at a decibel that really begs the question of whether children can actually hear themselves. Chuck puts the twins down, takes a deep breath, and turns to deal with the closet situation—only Michael and Lucifer are no longer there. Instead, he sees Metatron, age nine, excitedly waving a packet of papers at him, because he’s just written his first short story, and he wants Chuck to read it. Chuck scrambles for a gentle, bullshit, reason as to why that will never happen, but is saved the trouble when Lucifer and Michael, who are somehow now fifteen and fourteen respectively, come crashing down the stairs. Lucifer yells over the din that Michael pushed him. Michael yells even louder that Lucifer tackled him.

From upstairs, Balthazar, who is currently holding the bathroom hostage until Samandriel agrees to pee into a jar, yells that Michael’s telling the truth.

Fortunately, the boys seem to be made out of rubber and jump up to continue chasing each other through the living room and out into the yard.

Music erupts from the television because Gabriel, who is now thirteen, is suddenly playing Mario Kart with Benjamin, Tyrus, and Virgil, with the volume at full blast. Chuck asks them to lower the volume, but Gabe just yells back that they can’t hear him over the music.

Next, the doorbell rings. Dean Winchester is on the other side, here to pick up one of Chuck’s kids for a date.

Anna immediately appears at Chuck’s elbow, and he instinctively turns to her. “Anna, your boyfriend’s here!”

Anna then promptly bursts into tears and goes running toward the stairs, yelling about stolen boyfriends and the fact that Chuck doesn’t know her at all.

Castiel then sidles up to the door instead, with a “Hello, Dean.”

As Castiel ducks under Chuck’s arm, Chuck does a double take, staring at Dean. “Wait, h. . .how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Dean does not look sixteen.

Dean throws Chuck a wink and tells him not to wait up as he and Castiel climb into the impala, and that—that really seems like something he ought to be concerned about as a father, but unfortunately Chuck is distracted by a massive crash from the depths of his home. Either Michael or Lucifer has thrown the other through the fence separating their backyard from their neighbor’s.

Loki, who had been enjoying a lovely game of catch with his three sons in his own backyard before the sudden property damage, is glaring at Chuck through the wreck, and he is judging him.

The first thing Chuck hears when he comes inside after dealing with Loki is Naomi crying because Bartholomew threw her biology homework out the window. The first thing he actually reacts to is the smell of smoke coming from the basement. He goes down already expecting to find a fire, but instead he stumbles upon Serafina sharing a joint with some hippy who stares at Chuck like he has a personal vendetta. On a couch behind them, Sam is tripping on demon blood, Crowley’s doing human blood, and Balthazar is trying to sell them Samandriel’s urine.

As Chuck is shooing the druggies out of his house, Balthazar follows after them saying, “I don’t need to go to rehab, Dad! I only sell the drugs!”

Sam laughingly asks if Chuck knows there’s a half-dissected frog on his front lawn.

At some point, Raphael transitions, and then Hannah does too, and Chuck cannot keep their pronouns straight. Every time he misgenders them, the entire household seems to innately know to stop what they’re doing and shout the correct terminology in unison.

And then the phone calls start.

Uriel got into a fist fight at school.

Ishim was caught peeping in the girls’ locker room.

Anael has been arrested for shoplifting.

Gadreel is stuck in a tree.

Chuck is pouring out the urine he confiscated from the basement when there’s a pounding on the door for the umpteenth time that day. John Winchester is on the other side, looking as much the hardened ex-marine as humanly possible, and he tells Chuck, “The next time I catch your kid sneaking out my son’s window, I’m calling the cops.”

Chuck starts to stammer, “I’m so sorry, I’ll talk to Luc. . . Cas. . .ifer. . .?”

It’s a particular low when John Winchester judges you on your parenting. John Winchester scowls in disgust, and then he shoves Michael, The Good Son™, through the door way. Michael, who is now sixteen, has his shirt on inside out, and an impressive six hickies visible on his neck and jaw.

From the living room, Gabriel lets out a wolf whistle.

Michael looks terrified. Before Chuck can say anything, he gets another phone call, and Raphael appears to helpfully drag Michael into the sea of unruly siblings, where Chuck will never find him.

On the phone, Castiel announces that he’s dropping out of high school and marrying Dean Winchester and there’s nothing Chuck can do to stop him.

Chuck doesn’t even say anything back. He just turns and looks into the madness of his house, wondering why he ever had so many children. Why did he do this to himself?

He’s sitting at the kitchen table when Lucifer walks through the door that Chuck didn’t even bother shutting before, a heavily pregnant Kelly Kline on his arm. Chuck cries until his head hits the table. When he looks up, it’s morning again. He’s sitting there with his four beautiful boys, Michael, Lucifer, and the twins.

And then it repeats.

158 notes · View notes

keilemlucent · 5 years ago

Text

lavender latte: iv

(T (for now!))

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

chapter 1 || chapter 2 || chapter 3 || chapter 5 ||

word count: 7.7k

sucks when things go south, huh.

warnings: description of bodily injury, blood, mild? gore (it’s just describing injury), description of overstimulation, capital h and c hurt/comfort

------

chapter 4 :’^) thank u for all of the love so far. i appreciate. every. single. one of. u. bottom of my lil rat heart.

this chapter was nearly split, but giving y’all a cliffhanger seemed mean

this the turning point and set up for the rest of the story so buckle up and enjoy ;^)

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Things between you and Hawks didn’t change too much, not externally anyways. Both of you still continued to indulge your feelings, even if you desperately tried to ignore them.

You continued to honestly spoil Hawks in lavish drinks of many sensations. Truthfully, you loved nothing more than seeing his face as he sipped at your new creations, watching the curiosity and pleasure spread over his features made your heart soar in your chest.

And Keigo continued to bask in your company. The drinks were always amazing, but the chatter and discourse between the two of you was what he loved most. Or, maybe it was his learning of you through watching your small gestures and cues. His analytical, interpersonal skills were, for once, being put to a use that didn’t involve espionage or deception.

It felt cleansing.

Despite these quietly greedy interactions, there was a great deal of repression between the two of you. Aimless flirting aside, squishing any growing feelings caused you both a great deal of strain. It worked, avoidance, for a while anyway. It wasn’t without consequences, but they wouldn’t get nasty until later.

One of the most apparent tolls was Keigo’s physical state. Having to actively ignore and quash his feelings for you caused such a deep amount of emotional turmoil. It made him ache all over. This was in addition to an asinine amount of extra hours he was spending staking out the villain syndicate that was indeed in the neighborhood of the tea shop.

(He wouldn’t admit it, but he was being overly diligent in scouting out the organization's doings. They were very close to you and your home, and the thought of you getting caught up in anything to do with his profession fucked him up on-premise alone.)

The combination of both physical and mental exertion made him messier than ever. It physically clouded him a lot of the time. Exhaustion had well and truly seized nipping at his ankles and proceeded to fully rip a chunk from his skull.

Keigo had yet another long day, dawn until at least midnight, no matter his aching body.

He’d be listening in on out some sort of meeting between the villain syndicate and one of its allies, some more reclusive group of villains from the far-off mountains. Neither organization was particularly noteworthy, but they did have some nasty criminal connection that needed to be monitored. That meant a late night for Keigo and an even greater need for caffeine.

He paid you a visit in the early morning.

The moment Hawks came through the door, you lit up, beaming from behind the counter.

The shop was empty, just having opened a few minutes before he appeared. The only sounds were the hum coffee machines, quiet music, and the tapping of your own tinkerings. Normally, there’d be more bustle, but you were alone in the din of the shop.

“Hey, angel,” He flashed you a winning smile, sliding down into his usual stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “Where’s the calvary?”

“Oh, the other openers?” You jerked your thumb to the door. “Running late. They all stayed up late working on a project for school, so I took one for the team and am manning the ship alone for this first bit.”

You sighed, looking quite tired yourself.

There was mutual recognition of your twin state, though it wasn’t verbally regarded in any way.

Hawks was far better at hiding his poor health from you, but that didn’t stop you from seeing the pinholes in his facade. You’d gotten better at it with time.

“What can I get you today, Hawks? Inspire me.” You set the glass on the counter between the two of you, gesturing to the expanse of the coffeeshop. “It’s just you and me today, so I can go all out.”

“You don’t already?” Hawks chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sigh.

“I try,” You shrugged. “I really do my best work for you, whether you’re a glorified guinea pig or not. Gotta serve up the best for my best customer.”

On any normal, Hawks would’ve bantered right back at you, keeping you on your toes with quick words and wit.

That day?

He just laughed, something weirdly neutral, almost off-putting because you knew it was manufactured.

You opened your mouth, brows furrowing. You wanted nothing more than to ask ‘hey, are you alright?’.

But, that would’ve broken some of your own, mentally-imposed boundaries. It hurt, to just laugh with him, but it was all you would let yourself do.

“So,” You broke the air with words as opposed to giggles. “What would you like?”

Hawks hummed, “Surprise me.”

“... Like, fully?”

Hawks nodded, slowly.

Keigo, in a movement of full vulnerability, (he told himself it would just be for a few minutes), laid his head on his folded arms, “Go wild, angel. I trust you. Make me anything you’re feeling. Wing it, no pun intended.”

You blinked at him, nodding. His sudden, almost submissive action surprised you. Something in you ached, seeing him so worn down.

You channeled this feeling into a desire to make him top-tier drink.

Reaching into your apron, you fished out your idea notebook. Many had been crossed off over the many weeks (months now?) that Hawks had been visiting the tea shop. You fairly consistently wrote down new ones, so there were always options, but on that day, none appealed to you.

Your gaze flickered back to Hawks, watching the soft movements of his breath through the tight fabric of the back of his shirt.

You needed to make it extra good, help shake Hawks from his stupor.

You’re gonna wing it.

You’ll make a feel-good drink.

It was your only self-imposed criteria.

You hadn’t ever made Hawks a drink without a concept and feeling beforehand, so the concept of not having one seemed novel.

You activated your quirk and began.

“How’s your day been?” Hawks called from behind you, words muffled.

Keigo still didn’t look at you; resting on his arms allowed him a little bit of a reprieve before his grueling day. He’d take it. Hearing your voice would make it that much better.

You described your day with a decent amount of detail for how much it hadn’t gotten started yet. Hamming up the detail meant more time for you to craft the drink. Your mind spun, grasping onto pre-existing, mental abstracts in your oddly calm headspace to create something tangible.

Though your quirk was activated, you weren’t really identifying a feeling specifically, rather just letting your quirk draw from whatever material you had laying around in your brainscape at 6 AM on a weekday morning.

You pulled as many espresso shots as Hawks usually liked (maximum, five, you refused to give him more than that in a single drink), pouring them into some steamed oatmilk and several other ingredients you had mixed into a cup. You tapped some cinnamon on top of the foam, polishing everything off with a dash of sweet cream.

Carefully, you set it between the two of you. Hawks hadn’t spoken since you had begun to make the drink, so oddly silent.

It almost made your skin itch, his lack of response. You reminded yourself with quick glances that Hawks was very obviously out of it and exhausted. You were sure that without the concealer he wore under his eyes (a secret he revealed to only you), he’d have purple circles punched from how overworked he was.

You hoped your drink would be enough to brighten up his day.

You bit your lip as Hawks raised his head, blonde waves more unruly than normal. A small, lopsided smile stretched across his face as he sat up, grabbing the drink and bringing it closer. He had learned long ago to allow them to cool.

“Sorry for not being as peppy as I normally am!” It was almost imperceptible, the off-kilter tone in his voice.

You caught it but said nothing.

He sheepishly rubbed at the back of his head. “Been running on empty it seems, angel.”

“Then take some fuel, bird boy.” You nodded to the foamy drink. “When are you supposed to be done today?”

“Late, like late. Early morning, probably.” Hawks sighed, taking a sip.

...

As the liquid coated his mouth, Keigo’s mind seized.

What.

What the fuck.

Any and all thoughts he had disappeared. They were incinerated from his mind by the drink’s heat.

A sun-scorching sensation like he’d never even known tore through his body.

It was so different from the other ‘warm’-toned drinks you’d made him in the past. The flavor and feeling filling him up was nothing like the hearth-like drinks you had made prior. You had treated him to plenty of beverages that felt akin to open flame, warm blankets, a cat purring over your chest, a candle on a cold night—

But, nothing even close to this.

This was such a strong feeling that if he was a less trained man, his eyes would’ve rolled back in his head. If he’d been standing, he was sure his legs would’ve been visibly shaking, probably given out.

Sure, the feeling was abstract, not as concrete as your other drinks but it was ineffably strong.

It felt like the flutter you caused in his stomach, but somehow all over and inside of him.

It was the heat in his cheeks when he saw you, but reaching from his toes to the skin of his scalp.

It was the shock in his throat when you smiled so honestly at him, now forcing his hands to twitch around the cup.

The consuming sensation was all of that goodness and more, magnified and exponentially deeper and marvelously burning.

It was hot, fiery as it ripped through him, completely unignorable. But, it was also soft, colored with the earnestness that he admired about you so much—

Oh.

It clicked as the sensation stirred in his stomach, fluttering to a point of near nausea.

It was you.

The moment he realized it, that all of that sensation was you feeling, as you had made the drink, something began to broil in the apex of his chest, rolling and all-consuming.

His mind stalled as he took it all in, taking another sip.

The feeling washed over him again, equally as wonderfully crushing.

“Soooo,” You drawled, setting a jar next to you on the counter, beaming him a smile. “What do you think? Gimme your judgment, bird boy.”

Keigo struggled to keep his face neutral as he quickly searched yours.

Even in his state, it was clear that there was no deception or riddle laced into the creaminess of the drink. The expectancy in your face was derived from admiration, not waiting for the punchline of an unfinished joke.

“It’s warm! Like, in your stomach.” Hawks looked down before taking another sip, the even smile on his face not wavering for even a moment. “What is it?”

“It’s a miel,” You tapped the jar next to you, pointing at the amber goo inside. “This is some wildflower honey from the owner’s sister’s farm, right outside the city. We have a bunch of extra stuff, so there’s no better time to make a honey-based drink.”

Hawks eyed the steam, “What goes into a ‘miel’?”

Watching Hawks’ shoulder go slack with the next chug he took, you hummed, “It’s a latte, so espresso and milk, then it has the honey in it which is what makes it a ‘miel’. Topped it with some special sweet cream, a bit of cinnamon. My extra touches in it as well, just based on my quirk.”

Hawks met your gaze, his eyes softening with what you could’ve sworn was desperation, but was quickly swallowed up but stoicism, “And what was this drink’s inspiration?”

You laughed, shoving your hands in your apron from the typical anxiety, though the feeling itself was somewhat normal and thereby dulled, “It didn’t have one! I just winged it, like you said. My quirk was activated though, so it was just sort of the concept of what I was perceiving and feeling, I suppose.”

There was a pause as you waited for Hawks to speak.

He didn’t.

Keigo stared down at the drink, then you.

Holy fuck.

This was ambient?

The sensation that made his toes curl and every part of him yearn to reach out to touch you and give all of himself to you—

It was unintentional?

The feeling was familiar, one that he had organically all the time when thinking of you, being with you at the teashop. It was the one that he shoved down over and over again around you, yet craved more than anything.

And here you were, unknowingly returning it to him.

You hadn’t intended it to be shared and you had no idea you even did.

Keigo was one of the most perceptive people on the planet— he knew that many of the feelings between the two of you were mutual. As much flirting as there was, a lot of it was real from both of you.

He just didn't think it ran this far deep.

(Mutually.)

“What... What do you think it tastes like?” You asked, that nasty rot in your gut rearing itself as Hawk’s lack of response ate at you. You turned fully to him, actually taking him in.

Keigo did what he was so skilled at doing—

Lying.

Hawks waved his hands in front of him like he was trying to put out small flames, “Nothing bad! Promise, it’s really good! It tastes like how the coffee shop feels. Warm, comfortable. It makes sense that your quirk would reflect that.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, “Oh, good. I’m glad it's good.”

“Very good. I might have to put miels on my list of favorite drinks you’ve made me,” Hawks gave you a relaxed grin, standing and passing a wad of cash to you.

You didn’t expect him to be leaving so quickly, but he did say he was busy.

“Oh, hey, Hawks?” He perked up when you said his name, blinking at you. “I’ve got a project I’m working that I’m doing for the owner, so I’ll be here late. If you’re around, you’re welcome to come by after close if you want another drink? For your long night.”

Hawks softened for you like he so often had come to do. He fluffed up the collar of his jacket, wings ruffling up behind him, “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll have some ideas for you then too, how about that?”

“Sounds lovely,” Your voice was like the honey of the drink, warm, sweet, and vibrant. “I’ll see you then, Hawks.”

“See you then, angel,” Hawks practically glowed as he walked from the door, the chime of the bell sounding with his exit. “I’ll text you when I’m close!”

|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

Over the course of the day, an odd feeling grew in the pitch of your stomach. You did your best to ignore it.

You alternated between serving customers and working on the ‘project’ the owner had saddled you with. Making centerpieces for his sister’s bridal shower was not something you should’ve been doing on company time, but they were giving you a handsome sum of cash under the table for it.

You couldn’t complain too much, other than that it was laborious. Masons jars stuffed with wired lights and frosted glasses, tied with twine and ribbons were all to be prettily arranged by your hand.

During the middle of the day, you went back home, spending your time between shifts catching up on sleep and making some decent food.

The odd gnawing only grew in your stomach.

Keigo’s long day was wearing on, though somewhat uneventfully. Most of his patrolling time was the effortless thwarting of petty crime and easy rescuing.

He even had the time to go back to his agency and snoop.

Because, for how lame his day was, the drink you made him (which he had greedily chugged all of shortly upon leaving the tea shop) caused him to think particularly hard about your quirk.

(As opposed to the asphyxiating awareness of your shared feelings.)

He didn’t get it.

You’d managed to perfectly create a drink that communicated complex feelings. You’d told him in the past that it could be used for any sort of feeling as well, but you were so vague beyond that. You were abstract in the same way you quirk was.

So, he decided to abuse his power a little.

He decided to actually take a lunch at the agency, munching on takeout while clicking through the HPSC’s databases.

Civilian quirks, especially those that had never attempted to pursue any sort of career with them, weren’t documented incredibly well. Maybe a few details that were used in public research projects, but not much beyond that. He had hoped he could dig and find something that would assuage his curiosity and confusion.

He tapped your name into the HPSC’s hero-accessible database, scrolling and pulling up your file.

There was a picture of you, one from an ID that must’ve been a few years old. There were personal details Keigo wasn’t all that interested in, though it was neat to finally know your birthday.

He clicked on the tab for your quirk.

Quirk: Synesthetic Manifestation

Description: Allows the user to materially manifest abstract, synesthetically-created feelings into reality.

This quirk does not allow the user to alter reality, only tangibly create abstracts through the means at their disposal.

Drawback: This quirk causes severe synesthetic overstimulation and appears to be activated unintentionally in instances that expose them to high amounts of stimuli.

Quirk potential:

Keigo knew the concept of ‘quirk potential’ well. Most of the time, this portion on files was only filled out if the individual had ever trained to use their quirk in a profession.

Oddly, your’s contained a few details.

The user showed high potential in initial assessments, but due to the nature of the quirk, its drawbacks, and its recorded usage, this user’s quirk is now classified as lowest potential.

Keigo frowned.

All this just made him more confused.

The file didn’t get into much more detail than you did. The only thing that was new information to him was that at some point you had tried to use your quirk in a training setting and that somehow got you demoted from high potential to lowest potential.

Keigo’s own quirk in the database was regarded as highest potential; you, at some point, were only a step down from him. Something knocked you down from pursuing quirk-based work, and based on your current employment at the tea shop, you never got up. Keigo figured it was the intricacies of your quirk that he didn’t fully understand.

He’d have to be a bit more careful getting any more information out of you, considering how much you disliked talking about it.

Keigo continued to stew, finishing off his lunch while thoughts of you and your feelings danced across his mind.

Though it was clear his adoration was obviously returned, it was much easier for him to muse over the nature of your quirk than the way he wanted to pull you over the teashop’s counter and kiss you breathless.

You went back to work, a few chalky tablets of stomachache medicine in your tummy. They were all you could do to try and quell the twisting in your gut.

By the time you arrived back to start your ‘night shift’, it was late evening, the sun already having fallen into the horizon.

Most of your time prior to closing was spent in the front, helping make drinks and clean up as you could. Part of you was actually excited to throw on some good music and grind after the tea shop was shut down for the night.

Also, seeing Hawks twice in the same day? Absolutely fantastic.

You wanted to try and make him a knockout drink, to make up for the lackluster one you’d prepared him earlier. Seeing his eyes get all gooey with happiness would more than push you through your night of work.

Your phone chimed a bit before close.

[birdboy]: hey ;^) mind if I come by in like a half an hour?

[you]: yeah!! just call me and i’ll unlock the door for you

Your closing coworkers giggled at you. They all knew that that big smile stretched across your face meant you were texting Hawks. You used to get a bit shy about it, but now you just gave them shit. He was your friend, right?

[birdboy]: what if i like, hit the glass, like fly into it like birds do into windows

[you]: okay one- no, that would definitely shatter the windows and idk if i wanna deal with that AND you tonight ;^)

[you]: and TWO- are you speaking. from experience. about hitting windows.

[birdboy]: please dont @ me like this

You snorted.

[birdboy]: i had to pay off a tabloid who got it on camera bc it would ruin my brand

[you]: do u still have those photos

[birdboy]: ... maybe

[you]: hawks

[you]: gimme

[birdboy]: idk if i can my publicist will kill me

[you]: u hear what i hear?? a coward

[you]: how does ‘your brand’ feel about that

[birdboy]: ...

[birdboy]: gimme one of those honey sticks u have at the register and the pics are yours once i get there ;^)))

[you]: DEAL!!!

You pocketed your phone in your apron, unable to stop the almost ridiculous smile that you wore.

Hawks made you uncomfortably happy. You knew that he didn’t feel the same, but he was still there. Even if you were just entertainment to him, you were happy to perform on any stage he was watching.

As closing crept up, you shooed your other coworkers off. Most of the closing tasks were done, they could leave a few minutes early.

As they began to pack up, chatting about some party that night, your insides twisted.

You squeezed the counter, rubbing your forehead while wishing your coworkers a good evening.

Weird.

It was about then that things went to shit for both you and Hawks.

Keigo’s was supposed to be in for a hellishly long shift of surveillance based on the intel he’d received about the syndicate and its impending meeting.

Apparently, that meeting was happening earlier, rather than later.

The chaos started quickly, the meetup going from a strategic talk to an all-out fight between two groups.

It spilled into the nearby streets, both sides unabashed in their destruction.

Perhaps, if Keigo had been faster (what a tall order, for the fastest man in all of Japan), things wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.

But quickly, things erupted and the streets dissolved in mayhem as he dove and sent feathers flying.

You stood by the front entrance, waiting for Hawks, idly sweeping. The cleaning tasks were almost done, the world outside was dark with the late evening.

You froze when the ground beneath your feet rumbled with revving engines, the air splitting with the sound of car horns and alarms.

Everything that happened next moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow.

Windows began to shatter all across the street, near and far.

They cracked, spraying glass as a figure cloaked in black flew down the asphalt outside. A red barrage followed after it, nearly subduing it as it raced past the tea shop.

The massive glass panels at the front of the tea shop filled with frosty lines, just feet in front of you.

It clicked for you a few moments too late.

Adrenaline shot through you, but it wasn’t enough.

...

You weren’t Hawks, you weren’t fast enough to outrun much of anything, let alone quirk-shattered glass.

You were just barely able to turn around before the spray of shards reached you.

You would later be incredibly thankful that you wore denim jeans and a wool sweater that day. Without the thick fabrics, you were sure that you would’ve been shredded. The problem was your low-top shoes and thin socks.

Just as you turned, searing pain shot from the back of your left ankle. You urged yourself to forget the specifics, flesh-tearing, mind beginning to buzz.

You just had to keep moving.

Except, you couldn’t. Your left leg gave out with your next step.

You shrieked as you fell to the floor, barely catching yourself. Your palms smacked against the ground, pieces of sharpened glass driving into the flesh.

You couldn’t help screaming, your voice mingling with the sound of alarms, cries for help, and the war cries of a nearby fight.

Oh.

You were in the middle of a fairly nasty villain attack.

...

So much for giving Hawks a better drink.

The mental joke seemed macabre, especially in your state.

You willed with all of your might, for your quirk to not activate. Overstimulation was just inches away from your current state, the sounds outside the teashop boring through your skull like diamond drill bits.

The pain that was radiating from your left leg was nearly unbearable, but you knew that getting out of the front room was imperative.

How you managed to keep your injured leg straight, you’ll never know.

You locked your jaw and pulled yourself along the floor, hoping that Hawks had this all under control. More people were bound to be hurt by the same sort of attack you got caught in, right? How many more folks had been sliced up like you? Worse than you?

Keigo wasn’t having much trouble subduing the villains. They, of course, had no idea that he had been watching the syndicate for three-odd months. He knew their quirks, their tactics, their escape routes, everything. What he didn’t know as well was the other group’s specifics.

From what he had understood before the fight, the two had somewhat friendly relations. Still, Keigo mentally kicked himself for not being more diligent in his gathering of intel.

His mistakes aside, the much more pressing issue was the two-kilometer stretch of shops that were now collateral damage in what was essentially a mobile mob war.

This damage included the tea shop.

When he’d flown past the shop, he’d only caught a glimpse of your face through the glass before it shattered.

You’d looked terrified.

Every part of him wanted to stop, dead in the air, rush in, and make sure you were okay, but he had to at least get things under control until more heroes showed up. Then, he’d be able to get to you.

By the time Keigo subdued several villains of either group, more Pros had arrived on the scene. He sped off to the teashop far too quickly when he saw others gathering. It was an ill-advised move, but he was clouded by a different set of instincts than those cultivated in his hero training.

The flight did allow him to fully take in the damage of the district, though.

It was about as bad as it could be.

Whatever the villain’s quirk was must’ve shattered glass within a certain radius from his body, Keigo observed.

Thankfully, the villain’s quirk didn’t appear to affect anything past two stories of height, sparing all above it. Those panes and pieces that did shatter had sprayed businesses, restaurants, shops, and the street with shards of glass. Not to mention that they flew at the speed of projectiles.

(At the full-minded revelation that there was no way you weren’t hurt, Keigo felt his stomach flip and eyes burn.)

Keigo shuddered to think how bad the damage would’ve been if the encounter happened during broad daylight.

Keigo curled in his wings, dropping onto the floor at the front of the teashop through the broken window.

He kept his expression somewhat neutral, though the scene before him tore at his heart in a way he wasn’t expecting.

The tea shop was destroyed.

The pretty, warm lighting fixtures had shattered, fine filaments exposed, and a few sparking. The glass jars on your wall of tea blends were broken, spilling leaves and dried herbs across the back counter. That wasn’t even to mention the layer of shards from all of the glassware stored around the coffee machines.

Seeing the destruction of one of the only places he had ever found real comfort in was awful, and it tore something hidden and vulnerable in his heart.

But far, far worse was the absolute horror that bloomed in his chest when he saw the sizeable spot of blood in the middle of the floor, smearing to the back doorway.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted, ignoring any stealthy elements and hurriedly following the trail.

“B-back here,” Oh, your voice was so weak.

Keigo couldn’t make himself move fast enough.

You’d managed to get yourself to the back, biting your lip so hard you were scared you’d break the skin. Part of you was lucid enough to know that making too much noise could be bad. Then again, the shop was supposed to be closed. Did anyone even know that you were there?

Hawks did.

You gripped at one of the edges of the stainless steel countertops, using all the strength you could muster to pull yourself upright. As careful as you were not to jostle your injured leg (that you still hadn’t looked at properly because you were terrified), the moment you bent it, you had to suppress a scream, turning it into a slow, nasty exhale. You let yourself sink to the floor again.

Something was seriously fucked up.

Then Hawks called your name.

You were sprawled out on the floor, injured leg awkwardly turned and extended to prevent the pain from being made worse.

The moment he saw you from the doorway, the remnants of his wings flapped, practically throwing him to the ground next to you.

The moment you saw him enter the back room, any and all fronts you had put on for yourself fell apart.

“H-Hawks,” You hated how small your voice sounded as you pushed yourself closer to him.

The details of him, how ruffled his remaining feathers were, how wide and scared his eyes were, how different he looked from the times you’d seen him on the news confidently saving the day, were lost on you.

Though, Keigo noticed your poor state easily. It was more obvious.

He scanned your form with the trained precision he was known for. He took in the shattered piece of glass sticking from your leg, bleeding lightly. Your palms weren’t bloody, but they were dotted with shards of glass.

He also noticed your panicked shaking and your unnaturally dilated pupils, beyond anything he’d seen while you’d made drinks for him.

“Is your quirk active?” Keigo asked, pulling off his gloves and grabbing one of your wrists. He turned your palm, using two of his smallest feathers like tweezers to pick at the shards pieces of glass.

“Y-yeah,” You replied, using the back of your other hand to wipe at your eyes. “It does this when I’m under extreme stress. I can’t turn it off.”

Keigo managed to laugh, relieved that the cuts in your hands weren’t that severe, “You just focus on me, okay, angel? That’s all you gotta do.”

You nod, trying to hold your overstimulated mind back. It’s fruitless, truly, because the moment Hawks reminds you that he is, in fact, there, and that you are safe, you quirk-addled mind spasms.

The awful mix of sensations whirled in your skull as you leaned forward, pressing your forehead into Hawks’ shoulder. In other circumstances, it would be a romantic gesture. But, the only purpose you had in the contact was hoping, praying, that the heat of his body would distract you from the swirling of sensations you couldn’t stop.

In that mental soup, within the fear, intense pain, and loss, oddly enough, was the unignorable, pleasant feeling of being so close to him. It made your heart squeeze. But, it was a single spice of sensation in a foul-tasting stew though, and it was hard to isolate the good in the muck of your mind.

You shook against him as sounds and pain blended inside your skull, thoughts becoming murkier and harder to understand.

Keigo finished tweezing your other hand, that one worse off, and wrapping it in some gauze he had stuffed in his jacket.

His mind screamed for him to wrap you in his arms, to pull you close and keep you safe. It was all he could fathom doing, just nearly moving to do so—

That was until the popping rumble of a nearby explosion interrupted his thoughts.

You jumped against him, muffling a scream in his shoulder.

His heart ached.

“(Y/N), I know this is all scary,” Hawks’s voice came through your sensational slurry. “But, I need to be back out there right now.”

“No.” Your mouth spewed with no discernable thoughts behind it. “Don’t leave. Please, don’t. Please.”

You caught Hawks’ wince, but barely.

He was already repositioning you, scooting you under one of the countertops, “Angel, I’m sorry. I need to go, but I’ll be back. I promise.”

Your eyes screwed shut, vibrating in your skull as pulling your uninjured leg to your chest.

Hawks looked equally as torn up about having to leave, brows creased with his lip worried between his teeth.

Despite how messy your brain felt, you knew that you were beyond defenseless. Even if your mind could easily conjure up an infinite number of ways to bring a person non-lethal (and lethal) pain, you were turning to mush mentally and you had glass sticking out of your leg. You had no fucking way to create it with your body.

Your back hit the wall under the counter and you managed to wrench your eyes open, taking in Hawks and his visage while you spun.

He looked so sad.

The feeling of mourning and fear spat so hotly in your mind, it was like you’d been intangibly burned by his expression.

You choked on your own stored tears, reaching out for him.

He caught one of your hands, the wrapped one, and squeezed it lightly.

Even with so few feathers left, Hawks plucked one, about the size of your forearm. He replaced his hand with the plumage.

“(Y/N), I will be back. I promise,” Hawks (so weakly) smiled, trying to reassure you. “You snap that feather if anything changes, okay? If anyone comes into the shop who isn’t another pro, or if you start to feel faint. Do you understand?”

“Yeah.” You gritted out, somehow laughing. Your vocal cords rubbing together sends a wave of agony up the back of your neck, burying behind your eyes. You press your forehead in your bent knee.

With one last, fleeting look, eyeing your wound and remembering slate-colored eyes, Keigo took flight into the fray once more.

Keigo hated leaving you. He hated it so fucking much. It burned him, felt wrong in every way. You were so vulnerable in your state. Both of you knew that without him there, you were entirely exposed and fairly defenseless.

It perked up that protective instinct he’d repeatedly had towards you for months. It was probably something related to his avian mutation, but it was just blood-boiling need to keep you safe.

Yet, he just left you, wounded and mentally spiraling, in the middle of a destroyed building.

If he wasn’t trained so well, he would have acted differently. But, it had been burned into him time and time again what his needs were in disaster situations.

Neutralize, stabilize, clear out.

Through his exhaustion, he fought and soared with all he had, fatigue forgotten and replaced by hot cortisol. He forced himself faster, zipping down alleyways and across rooftops at some of his top speeds.

While Keigo tracked down all of the villains (he managed to miss the first time), he trusted that the other Pros could deal with the heavy collateral damage. He was number two, he could catch some organized criminals.

Beyond his training, Keigo had an even bigger motivation.

He could feel you.

The feather he left with you must’ve been pressed right up to your chest, maybe under your neck with the way Keigo could so intensely feel your breath and heartbeat. He could sense it gradually speeding up to the point of what had to be panic. If Keigo focused, he could make out your terror-stricken babbling.

“It’s okay.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“This is fine.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“Hawks is okay.”

“He’ll come back.”

“He won’t leave.”

...

“Everything's gonna be okay.”

With that last one, your words gave out and it turned in gasping breaths.

Keigo worked himself harder, striking down the last of villains with absolute precision, all distractions forgotten in the most pivotal moments of combat.

The instant the villains were in custody, restrained, he was flying back towards the tea shop.

You don’t remember any of this well. Your mind was liquified, your body throbbing in pain.

It had been an incredibly long time, years since you’d been in any situation resembling a villain attack. There was no way to stop the synesthetic storm that was choking your mind. Every sensation was magnified, mixed with another, and shoved down your throat without any ability to change it.

A few minutes after Hawks left, giving you time to stew and roll, you spiraled more harshly.

When you realized how pitifully helpless you were, you fell away, pressing your wet face into the Hawks’s feather. Your vision muddled between black and red.

You felt the cold of the blood wetting your pant leg.

Your wound is bad.

You hadn’t fully looked at it in awhile.

Opening your eyes, you suppressed a wave of nausea at the small puddle of blood growing under the bottom half of your useless leg.

The way the denim of your jeans stuck to your skin mixed with the smell heady smell of blood made you gag.

You couldn’t keep it up anymore.

Letting your eyes shut, you sank down to the floor, cheek pressed into the dirty cement.

You don’t know how long you idled, drowning in your mind’s colors and vibrantly violent sensations.

You were only half-conscious when the feather pressed to your neck twitches.

“(Y/N)!” Keigo shouted as he landed in the teashop, flying straight to the backroom, bypassing the mess of broken glass.

His breath caught, seeing you slumped over.

“Fuck,” Keigo couldn’t stop the tremble in his voice as he noticed how much blood had pooled beneath your injured ankle. “Hey, hey, (Y/N)—”

He sure fucking sucked at admitting his faults, and recognizing the severity of wounds was indeed one of them. He didn’t usually stick around long enough to deal with casualties so closely.

Keigo threw off his gloves, tossing them behind him without looking.

“‘M fine,” You started to push yourself up, hissing at the pain that surged from cuts in your hands. “Brain’s mushy.”

“That all?” Thank god Hawks still managed to joke. The humor dashed across your vision like little sparks. You stifle a weak snort.

“There’s my angel.” Keigo was so relieved to see you conscious that he didn’t notice his own possessive slipup. “Are you lightheaded?”

Gingerly, he helped stabilize your body upright as you wrenched your eyes open.

“A little, it’s okay, this is what happens,” Your voice was so loud in your own skull, it hurt. Though, the pain of your words was only a prick in the wet dough of your overworked mind. Sensation was pain, rolling over you and making it harder and harder to stay lucid.

Keigo swallowed thickly at the sight of your fully-blackened irises.

He needed to get you out as fast as possible, but that required assessing the gash in your leg.

His gaze flickered to your ankle, “Can you move your toes?”

“I don’t want to.”

Keigo frowned, weakly, pushing you as upright as possible as you began to slip to the side.

“Please, you have to try, okay?” Keigo begged, not noticing his own voice wobble.

You shook your head, grabbing it in within its own motion. The dizziness made your insides knot and stick together.

“(Y/N), please.”

You shifted your gaze to him, vision tilting as you did.

The frown on your face split as you just barely moved your toes within your blood-soaked shoe.

The fresh pain, vibrant and boiling, cut through the fog like a heat-blackened knife.

Your own fist flew into your mouth to mouth to suppress the cry that bubbled from your throat. You half-recognized it was the one holding Hawks’s feather.

You couldn’t see the way Keigo flinched at the sound, immediatly trying to soothe the two of you.

“Alright, good, okay, you can still feel them,” Hawks managed to laugh, cutting into the miasma of your psyche. It was something light and airy, tasting like packet sugar on the sides of your tongue.

Chasing the goodness of Hawks’s voice, you mustered up as much clarity as you could grasp, willing yourself into full sentences, “Hawks. I swear to fucking God, if you do not get me out of here right now, I will never make you a drink ever again.”

Keigo blinked at you, nodding, watching your attempt to focus on him, though the fully inked irises seemed to refuse to stay put.

So, this is what the file meant about the cost of your quirk.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, dove.” Hawks scooped you up before you could manage to put more thoughts together. A few of his feathers flew to stabilize your injured leg.

His touch felt good, like incredibly good. Even as the crunch of his boots on the broken glass of the tea shop scratched at your inner ears and burned your sinuses, the heat and texture of his jacket caressed over your cheeks. His warmth tasted like honey and cream.

Your head lolled onto his chest, idly playing with the filaments of his feathers that you refused to let go of.

(Keigo didn’t want you to, anyway.)

He couldn’t fly well, not in his mostly-featherless state, so he took to walking instead. He sidestepped as much glass he could, mostly watching your half-lidded eyes fixate on the feather you had pressed up to your face.

It was a weird circle, Keigo feeling your heat and breath so close, both on his body and on the sensitive plumage. Technically, he was doing his job, so he let himself indulge just the smallest bit in being so close to you. When Keigo squeezed you, nearly at the medic’s area, you tucked your face into his collarbones, breaths slowing from panic. You were even slack in his grip.

A paramedic rushed up to the two of you, guiding you to a setup stretcher and a waiting line of ambulances.

“We can take it from here, Hawks, no need to stick around,” The paramedic’s voice cut through the air, dripping bitterness on your tonsils and iron nails in your lungs.

Hawks set you half-down onto the lip of the vehicle, “Nah, it’s okay, I’ll hang out with them for a sec. They’re a friend of mine.”

He’d never said it before. That you were friends.

Heat rushed up to your fingertips, sweetness washing over your wounded leg, topped off silken air settling around your ears.

You’d drown in the sensation, a million times over.

The paramedic ran off quickly, a man with a nasty head wound taking precedence over your leg (which seemed to have clotted somewhat with your somewhat more relaxed state).

Hawks still didn’t leave.

Rather, he moved closer.

So did you.

From your spot sitting on the edge of the ambulance, your injured leg was twisted and propped up while the other dangled off the edge of the vehicle.

Keigo was right up against the metal, allowing you to lean on his side.

“You good?” You asked him, bumping your leg into his lower back.

Keigo couldn’t help jumping. You’d never casually touched him.

(He really liked it.)

Though the setting and circumstances were fucked, he figured it was okay.

You were friends, right?

Hawks wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side.

You took it a step further, wanting to simply soak in the amber, milky feeling of his touch.

You squish your cheek low against his collarbone, drinking in the smell of his sweat, stale, spiced cologne, and rich, expensive smelling hair oil.

The scents washed over your skin, rolling over your burning wounds like aloe and clean water.

“Thank you.” Your voice is small and soft, kept gentle by your last sparks of lucidity.

You heard Hawks chuckle, your vision swimming in honey and yellow with the sound, “Just doing my job, you know.”

“I mean, yeah,” You laughed too, pressing your nose harder into him. “But, it’s you, and I’m just glad you’re here.”

“You better stop being so sweet,” The hand around your shoulder rubbed slowly, up and down your spine, sweet spices and sugars dancing on the roof of your mouth. “Gonna give me ideas.”

The touch, something you craved and denied yourself, pushed you over the edge as his touch dissolved across your overstimulated mind in cresting waves of rushing, blessed heat.

Finally succumbing to the flood of your quirk, drowning your mind in both agony and absolute calm, you muttered out the last clear thing you said that evening, “We always give each other ideas, silly.”

God, the many meanings behind your words spun and stuck in Keigo’s mind like the taste of the miel he drank that morning. They relentlessly clung to his psyche, wanting to know more.

He stayed close while you were assessed and strapped into the ambulance. He sent a few of his last feathers to retrieve your jacket and purse from the wrecked shop.

All the while you clutched his bare hand, irises black while the whites turned bloodshot.

As the ambulance drove off towards that public hospital, he could feel the steady beat of your heart through the crimson feather he made sure was tucked in your hand the moment he had to let it go.

He felt you squeeze it, and he wanted nothing more than to return the gesture a thousand times over.

#salem writes #lavender latte #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #hawks x you #takami keigo x y/n #takami keigo x you #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo reader insert #hawks reader insert #hawks fanfiction #reader insert #mha x reader #tw blood #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n

694 notes · View notes

starlightrows · 4 years ago

Text

Something Sweet

Chapter 3: Concerts and Cupcakes

← Previous - Next →

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Modern!Paz Vizsla x reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: NSFW, smut, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, Paz is a consent king, cumming outside (in this fandom? Shocking I know), swearing, angst at the end

Summary: You and Paz continue to spend time together and you have the misfortune of meeting “the guy” your friends warned you about... Gideon.

The following Tuesday you and Paz hang out with the group like usual, and give no indication that anything has changed or that you have plans to go together to the outdoor concert next weekend. But you can’t deny, you’re excited for it.

Finally Saturday rolls around. This time, you decide, it is a date. Or at least you’re gonna treat it like one. You pick a pretty sundress, comfortable shoes, do your hair and makeup. You also put a bag together with snacks, sealed mason jars with rum punch, a picnic blanket and a lawn chair.

Paz picks you up in his truck, and helps you load up your stuff into the back. He even opens the passenger door for you! The park is set up with a walking path, several meadows, sports fields, a playground and water feature fountain and an amphitheater surrounding a beautiful community center building.

The stage is set up for the outdoor performance. Community members and concert goer’s set up their picnic blankets and lawn chairs on the grassy slope of the amphitheater. Children run and play. Couples young and old share glasses of wine and snacks waiting for the concert to start.

After getting the blanket and the chairs set up, you pass him one of the jars of rum punch and sit back to chat and hang out until the concert starts. You take a moment to pause, and look about at all the happy people enjoying the warm summer evening and spending time with their friends, family, neighbors…

“This” you gesture with your hand “this is what I always wanted…”

Paz smiles warmly, sipping the drink you made for him. “Yeah, once you get a taste of living in a place like this… you can’t ever go back to living in crowded city where people don’t want anything to do with each other”

You chuckle “Or back to a rural town where your closest neighbor was a 10 minute drive away”

“I don’t know what sounds worse, never seeing anyone or being surrounded by people that act like you don’t exist” he shakes his head

“Well, I’m glad we both made it here” you say happily “because this is amazing”

Paz can’t hold back the smile on his face. Seeing you so happy and content, he can’t help but feel like the two of your were both meant to find this place.

The concert starts up, and the band is amazing! They play a lot of covers of popular music you hear on the radio and a lot of throwback music that used to be popular. Everyone in the crowd seems to know all the words. The band involves the crowd getting people to get out of their seats to singe and dance.

You feel alive and free, electrified by the familiar music and friendly atmosphere. You take Paz’s hand when a song you really love comes on, and drag him out of his seat to dance. He surprises you by offering almost no resistance and actually sings along with you. The two of you don’t sit down again until the concert is over, dancing and singing the night away.

When the concert ends, you’re a little bummed out it’s over. But Paz recommends that you stay a while in the park and let the crowds thin out before leaving, and you are more than happy to stay. The night air is warm, and the sun hasn’t quite set yet.

The two of you lay out on the blanket, folding down the lawn chairs to make room. Laying of your backs, you watch the sky dim. Turning orange, pink, violet and then fading to a deep midnight blue as the stars start to appear. He’s telling you an animated story story about him and Din pulling pranks and getting in trouble together as kids. You’re smiling and laughing, feeling incredibly warm and light.

Eventually he does have to drive you back to your apartment. He walks you to the door and lets you unlock it before you turn around. He’s standing close, very close.

“Thank you for inviting me out tonight” you say softly “I had so much fun”

He smiles, “Thank you for saying yes”

“Goodnight” you whisper leaning into him

“Goodnight” he closes his eyes and leans down, pressing his lips to yours. He breaks the kiss, pulling back a little.

But you pull him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, kissing him again. He responds in kind, sliding his large hands over your hips and holding you to him while he kisses you.

This time you break the kiss, pulling away and leaning your forehead on his. You push the door open behind you with one hand. You glance behind you inside, and back to him. A silent invitation. But he doesn’t respond, he doesn’t want to assume anything.

“Stay” you ask softly

That’s enough for him. He kisses you again, and walks you backwards inside. Closing the door behind him. He leans back against the door and pulls your into him, getting you to hop up and put your legs around him.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this. Your soft lips, gentle hands, quiet breaths and moans as he kisses you. He wants this. He has wanted this. And the little sundress you’re wearing has only fanned that flame today. But still…. he has to be sure. He pulls back and bit.

“Hey, hey, hey” he whispers “tell me you want this. Tell me this okay?”

Your heart flutters. Surely he knows that you want him, but he wants to hear it. He needs to hear it.

“I want this Paz” you say, kissing him again “I want you”

He squeezes your hip, and kisses you again. You drop your legs back down, and lead him back to your bedroom. Pulling him down onto the comforter with you.

His hands roam over your body catching at the hem of your dress, and sliding up along your thighs. You hum into his mouth, and slide your hands under his shirt. You pull your hands back and lift your hips and then your back, to help him get your dress worked up over your head and arms.

He reaches back with one hand, and pulls his shirt up over his head and drops it down on the floor with your dress. You shiver a little, taking in his broad bare chest and well muscled forearms. He on the other hand is lovingly gazing down at you. Soft skin, gentle curves, pretty… matching… panties and bra.

He leans back down, eager to feel your soft skin against him. His hand smoothes over the material of your bra, fingers trailing over the edge and slipping down underneath. Your breath catches in your throat. His hands are firm and worn, textured against your supple breast.

“Still okay honey?” He asks, moving his lips down to kiss your jaw and down your neck

“Y-yeah” you run your fingers through his thick dark hair as he kisses his way down to your collarbone, still tenderly stroking and squeezing your breast.

He kisses all the way down to your breastbone, and slips his hands around your back to undo the clasps of your bra. Sliding the strap over your shoulders and carefully tossing it away with the rest of your discarded clothes. He cups both in his hands, rolling his thumbs over your nipples, and brushing his nose over your soft skin. Slowly kissing his way up the slope of one of your breasts, he tilts his head over and draws your nipple into his mouth sucking gently.

“Beautiful” he mutters pulling off and switching to the other, “so beautiful”

You try your best not to squirm in anticipation, but Paz notices.

“You getting wet for me sweetheart?” He purrs, his hand leaves your breast and trains down to stroke you through your panties finding them slightly damp. “Oh love, do you like when I touch you?”

“Yes” you shutter out “Paz… please”

“Don’t worry gorgeous, I’ll give you what you need” his fingers dip below your panties, and slide between your folds.

Your eyes flutter shut. His fingers move with ease, aided by your slick. He stops for just a moment, to help you shimmy out of your panties, before he goes right back for your wet heat. He pushes in a finger and swallows your breathy gasp with his own mouth as he kisses you. His pace is slow, for now curling his finger within you. He adds a second finger stretching your opening a bit wider, relishing your soft moans and whimpers of pleasure.

You flinch, and cling to his arms in a reflexive movement as this thumb swipes over your clit and begins rubbing in circles. He picks up the pace, building you up quicker.

“There you go honey, my fingers feel good?” He huffs

“Yes… Paz… feels so good” you moan “please”

“Come on sweetheart, come on my fingers” he keeps up his pace, putting more attention into stimulating your clit.

The pressure builds up, every pass of his thumb over your clit seems to wind you up tighter until finally it snaps! Washing over you like a tidal wave, leaving your breathless and soaking.

He kisses you again, and begins stroking through your folds again, allowing you to ride out waves of your orgasm. You kiss him back, when your senses return to you a moment later.

“How is it that I am completely naked and boneless in pleasure, and you’ve still got pants on” you joke “doesn’t seem fair”

He chuckles and pulls back, going to undo his belt. You sit up with him, seeing the tent in his pants and moving to help him shed his jeans.

He steps out of his pants and boxers, and stands before you, hard and dribbling precum. He’s massive. Granted, he’s a big guy, you figured he would be proportional… but he is impressive to say the least.

“Not to give you an ego, but holy shit” you chuckle, making no attempt to hide your gaze.

How can any man hear that, and not have a bit of a head rush? He grins. “You like what you see sweetheart?”

“Get over here” you laugh, reaching out with both arms. He obliges you, and let’s you pull him down again to kiss. You can feel his cock pressed against you, insistent and aching. You roll your hips against him, teasing… inviting.

“Your turn” you whisper, reaching down and lining him up with your entrance. This time his breath hitches, he’s rather worked up and it’s been a while since he had a partner.

As he presses in, your warmth consumes him. Your walls are tight, velvety soft, and wet. He grunts a bit and he pushes forward, watching himself disappear within you. You moan too, the stretch is delicious and pleasant.

He sets a steady pace, drawing your legs up, placing one hand at your hip and the other above your head.

“You okay?” He grits out, always so attentive

You moan in response, “Yes, you can go a little faster, I’m good”

He follows your direction and picks up his pace, taking your moans and pleas fore more as guidance. He’s pounding into you, and groaning.

“Close” he grits out “where?”

“Outside” you gasp “anywhere you want”

He gets in a couple more good thrusts before he abruptly pulls out and jerks himself off, spilling his load over your stomach.

Having just came his mind is clear, and his body is calm. He realizes he finished before you could come a second time, a fact that he remedied by pushing his still hard cock back in and resuming his pace and dropping a hand down to rub your clit.

“Come on gorgeous” he praises “one more”

He’s getting a bit over stimulated, but he pushes through for you. Your orgasm is white hot, and searing. Unlike the first that crested like a wave, this one explored like fireworks behind your eyes as your cum on his cock.

You lay together for a couple minutes, breathing heavily, and savoring the postcoital bliss. You reach out, and lace your fingers with his. He strokes the back of your hand with his thumb.

“The concert next week is supposed to be smooth jazz” he chuckles “any chance you’ll let me take you on a second date?”

You laugh and lean over, and kiss his cheek. “It’s a date”

In the weeks that follow you and Paz continue hanging out with your friends on Tuesday nights. Going to the outdoor concerts on Saturday nights, and now going back and forth between each other’s apartments for dinner after work. Watching movies together, testing new recipes, learning new baking techniques and of course enjoying each other in the bedroom.

At first you both agreed not to tell anyone in the group. It’s a new relationship, and you didn’t want to get teased or asked a thousand questions. You just wanted to enjoy it, and each other. But as summer drew to a close and the chill of fall started turning the leaves and picking up the breeze, you couldn’t pretend or deny it anymore.

Of course literally everyone already knew or had their suspicions. What kind of people spend that much time together outside of work, aren’t in a relationship?

———

A few weeks into September you’re working on making new macrame plant pot holders during one of the slower parts of the day and listening to quiet music, humming along as you work. When the door opens and the bell tinkles to alert you. You look up, smiling at your customer. An older man, with a dark complexion, thin mustache, and an unsettling smile. Nevertheless you’ve had stranger clientele before, and you treat them all the same.

“Hello, can I help you find something today?” You greet him

“No, actually I was hoping that I could help you” he says approaching the counter.

“Oh? And how is that?” You have a bad feeling about this.

“My name is Gideon” he introduces himself “and I have a vested interest in the economic and cultural growth of this city”

Gideon. That name rings a bell. This is the guy your friends had told you about. You square your shoulders, stand your ground, and keep a neutral expression as he tries to dazzle you with ideas of “the city of tomorrow”.

“Of course, to make all of this come true all of the buildings in this area would need to be cleared and updated. I would love to make you an offer for your storefront, upto and exceeding ten fold what you paid for it”

“Mr. Gideon” you cut him off “it may surprise you to know that I am already fully aware of your vision for this city. What you seem to fail to realize is that no one that lives or works here shares your vision”

“That’s where I believe you are mistaken little girl, there are many who think this city has great potential” he says calmly “I know this city can be more than what it is now. I know it and I want it. Believe me, I get what I want”

“Unfortunately for you Mr. Gideon, you do not get to make those kinds of decisions. And no one will sell out to you to turn our dreams into your profit” you’re getting irritated now, and just want him to leave. You really want to call Paz.

“I could make you a rich woman. I am not the only one that would benefit from this change” he tried to persuade you

“Money can’t buy happiness Mr. Gideon. I worked my whole life to be here, and I am happy having my business here. And I will continue to be here as long as it makes me happy. Come Hell or high water I will stand” you say with confidence and surety, almost daring him to challenge you again.

Finally he backs off, but insists you take his business card… “In case you change your mind, or you find your business no longer makes you happy”

The second the door closes behind him, you grab your phone and call Paz, asking him to come over to your shop as soon as he can when he’s done closing. I Gideon gets in a sleek black car, and speeds away just as Paz comes through the front door.

“You okay?” Paz asks, coming behind the counter. You peer out the window and watch the car make the right hand turn off of the street.

You’re frustrated and upset, you gesture out the window with one hand and smack the other down on the counter.

“You guys warned me about they guy Gideon, but you didn’t mention how much he would infuriate me” you grumble

“Gideon was just here?” Paz asks

“Yeah, came in here preaching about how he’s going to transform this city and make us all fabulously rich,” you tell him “when you know good and well he would cheat us out of every penny he could”

He wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You told him to fuck off right?” He asks

You wrap your arms around him too, and lean your head on his chest “Pretty much. I worked too long and too hard to get here to give it up”

“Good” he says “A guy like him will never understand why we do things the way we do. Your flowers and my bread are more than just…. things for others to buy for us… he’ll never understand something like that”

That’s exactly right. Boba has his pub. Din has his tattoo shop… everyone worked hard to get what they have, and it means something to each of us. Men like Gideon will never understand that.

About a month later, the weather has turned cold and the days are getting shorter. You and Paz have been making plans for Halloween, and working on fall flavored treats for Paz’s bakery.

But tonight you are over at his apartment, baking cupcakes, watching YouTube videos and practicing frosting piping techniques.

You’re sitting on his countertop, giggling and licking frosting off your finger tips when your phone starts ringing. You grab a tea towel and wipe off your hands to answer the phone.

“Hello” you answer, still smiling and stifling a laugh. Paz contains his own laugher so you can hear whoever in on the other end of the line, and bends down to check on the next batch of cupcakes baking in the oven.

“Wh-what?” Your voice is horrified. Paz looks up at you still sitting on the counter. Your eyes have gone wide, and he can visibly see your body language change.

He stands up quickly and wipes off his hands too, giving you a questioning look.

“We’ll be right there” you say in grave tone “thank you”

Your hand drops down into your lap.

He stands before you, trying to get your eyes to focus. He says your name once, twice… he shakes your hand a little

“The fire department” you say “my store front…. burned down”

Something Sweet Tag List: @gallowsjoker @simping-for-clones @mxndoscyarika @hayley-the-comet @blackmarketmummy

#Paz Vizsla x reader #Modern!Paz Vizsla #Pastry Chef!Paz #Something Sweet #Pastry Chef!Paz AU #Modern AU #Paz Viszla #paz viszla x reader #Paz Vizla #paz vizla x reader

65 notes · View notes

toxicpsychox · 4 years ago

Text

Amphibia, Zelda, and the Triforce

I know I’ve already covered how Zelda games and Amphibia go hand in hand, but I seem to have overlooked a very pivotal aspect of the game.

For those of you who don’t know, the Triforce is a pivotal part of all Zelda games. Although the function of the Triforce changes from game to game, save it for the continuation of story from Ocarina of Time and Twilight Princess, the basic functionality and legend behind it can be applied to Amphibia in more ways than one.

Facts About the Triforce

The Triforce is depicted as “the golden power” in Hylian text.

It was created by the three goddesses of divine power who ALSO created the entire land of Hyrule

Din, goddess of Power. Red. Associated with earth and fire

Farore, goddess of Courage/Cunningness. Green. Associated with wind and Forest

Nayru. goddess of Wisdom/Love. Blue. Associated with water and time

The Triforce will grant godlike power to anyone who holds all three pieces

When two or more Triforce bearers come together, the Triforce symbol will glow on their wrists

When someone holds two or more pieces of the Triforce, they will transform into a being greater than themselves

If the prophesied chosen bearers of the Triforce bring their pieces together, they can choose to use the godlike power to do what they need to do

The Power section of the Triforce is mostly sought after by Ganon. This piece of the Triforce grants its bearer unlimited mystical power, and is also associated with flame

AND THE MOST IMPORTANT PIECE OF INFORMATION????

In order to claim the complete Triforce, the bearer must have a balance of the three values represented by each of the three pieces of the Triforce: power, wisdom, and courage

Which is why, when Ganon tried to obtain and use the completed Triforce to destroy and rule over Hyrule, the Triforce literally split itself, leaving him with only the piece he values most: the piece of Power. The remaining pieces are sealed in those chosen by destiny (we’ll come back to this later).

Ganon is then finally defeated by Link (who holds the Triforce of Courage) in Twilight Princess, after getting stabbed by the Master Sword (more on this in this post) in one of his previous wounds. After his death, Ganon’s Triforce symbols on his wrist vanish, leaving the Triforce of Power up for grabs.

Basic Comparisons:

Well for starters, it’s obvious who got assigned what gem/Triforce piece

Anne got the Wisdom/Love (heart) gem

Marcy got the Courage/Cunningness (wit) gem

Sasha got the Power (strength) gem

The glow of their eyes can be likened to the glow of the Triforce on the specific bearer’s wrist (perhaps in future episodes, we will see each of the Amph Girls’ eyes glow when they finally come together)

The temples don’t just recharge the gems, they also test the intersection of it all

Marcy needed strength to admit defeat, and heart to realize the priority her friends hold to get through the wit temple

Anne will most likely need strength to face her feelings, and wit to understand them in the heart temple

Sasha will need heart to admit her feelings, and wit to understand them in the strength temple

Marcy’s temple was deep within the forest

Anne’s temple is up in the sky, surrounded by rain clouds

Sasha’s temple is literally just a giant volcano, surrounded by fire

Deeper Comparisons:

We all know Andrias is out for the gems and their power, and while we don’t know his entire plan, I think it’s safe to say that the giant salamander at least wants control over Amphibia. We also know that Andrias has some pretty intense knowledge surrounding the Prophecy and the gems/music box (the guy literally has a giant-ass frog robot in his basement that he called “my lord” for shit sakes-), which leads to some questions.

What’s to say that Andrias hasn’t possessed more than one charged gem at a certain period of time? He’s certainly been around long enough to have known about the gems and their power for a while.

So let’s just say, hypothetically, that Andrias, at one point in time, did hold more than one charged gem. If the Triforce and the gems really act in the same way, what’s to say Andrias wouldn’t have changed into a different being? Perhaps into a giant salamander who “mysTerIouSLy” just happens to be “ the first of his name”?

And finally, remember the thing I said earlier about how Ganon wasn’t actually able to use all three Triforce pieces because when it boiled down to it, the Triforce split itself and went back to the original bearers? Yeah, here’s what I’m thinking.

Andrias is going to use the three gems. He’s going to be ‘successful’ for a solid minute, the girls’ power at that point will be drained (cause y’know...their powers just so happen to conveniently drain when they recharge the gems), and the world will seem like it’s ending.

But then...it’ll stop.

Because the gems function like the Triforce, and in order to use all three parts of the Triforce at once, you have to have all three values within yourself. Something that Anne, Marcy, and Sasha all (…some values more deeply buried than others...*cough* Sasha *cough*) have that Andrias doesn’t. Once the gems all split and get returned to their original prophesied owners, it’ll be game over for Andrias.

Which leads me to my final (slightly far-fetched) theory. What if the main reason Andrias is draining the souls of Amphibians and putting them into robots (see this post) isn’t just for functionality. But to try and suck the values out of them.

Think about it. What if Andrias is trying to suck the values out of Amphibians to try to make himself finally able to harness the power of all three gems? Cause after all, you can’t hold a completed Triforce unless you have all three values within yourself.

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #marcy wu #sasha waybright #amphibia theory #amphibia predictions #legend of zelda #toxicpsychox analysis #toxicpsychox

54 notes · View notes

rostovs-lover · 4 years ago

Text

settle

din djarin x reader | a bounty, smooching, way too much flowery language| gender neutral | fluff | wc.1594

this is all flowery writing and i still haven’t watched the second season, so. also, researching for this somehow led me to a 2017 1D gangbang fic on ao3 so that-

hey hey, if you want some requests, i’d love some first kiss fluff with Mando??? however you want to handle the mask thing go for it, i just need some tlc from Din 🥺 if you wanna of course

despite how connected you are to each other, you and Din have only limited yourselves to mere hand touches. but he’s in love and it needs to come out.

The Razor Crest shifted in the air, shaking the bundle of flower against the windshield. They had been picked in a small village, temporary lodging for you and the Child while Din tracked a smuggler from several planets over. It was calm and lush and green and you had been thrilled to present your companion with the little purple bouquet. It wasn’t much, small, half wilted, and tied off with a thin piece of sewing string from your pack but he’d taken it gently in his hands and vowed to put it somewhere he’d always see it. To always have a reminder of you.

When all was said and done, the bounty caught, and you’d found your way back into the ship something had seemed different, more domestic. Floating around in an endless expanse of darkness, just talking. It was so simple, so innocent. Din wasn’t accustomed to the gentleness of domesticity, with his legs stretched out onto the dash and your soft presence floating around the cabin. He sat, still and quietly, listening to your voice, absolutely entranced. He had lived years, decades, on his lonesome, lone bandit doing as he pleased with a lack of regard to anything else. He could go and do terribly risky things. He could almost get himself killed and then thrive off of the adrenaline of living and no one would say a thing. But then there was a child, something small and fragile. He had a life in his grasp, something that would only flourish if he fed and watered it and gave it the right amount of love and sunlight. One lapse of judgement and suddenly the entirety of the universe rested right against his cold leather gloves. Gloves that did unimaginable things, cruel and incredible things. They smelled of blaster residue and guilt, payment for taken lives. He was ruthless until he wasn’t. Until he found a baby, alone, and saw a mirror, saw himself. It had softened him, reduced him to positively nothing.

The child was all he vowed to have, the only thing he would allow himself to love. And Din refused to believe he could open himself to anyone else, refused to let himself have anything else that could hinder him. But Maker, if the body really was made of stardust then a constellation had to give up two pieces of itself for the both of you to be here, together, perfectly aligned. He had surrendered himself entirely at your first words to him, fallen to his knees instead of replying and from that moment forwards Din Djarin, the feared bounty hunter in all his hard, hand-forged armour, had belonged to you. His soul melded into you.

The term “soulmate” was to be used lightly, and as much as he’d thrown the possibility around it wasn’t plausible. Impossible even, that you could be soulmates. Twin flames were more akin to what he felt you were. After one night in a murky inn, it seemed the feeling was mutual. As you’d pressed your hand to his, bare, ungloved, the only part of him you’d allowed yourself to touch. But it had been everything to him. Din had yearned for contact, and when the warmth from your palm bled into his something burned all through him and it still hadn’t left. You hadn’t left, you had burrowed yourself into his heart.

Din sat back in the pilot seat of the Razor Crest, feet propped against the dash. You were talking about a book you’d picked up in the village. It was on botany and certain botanical environments in different parts of the galaxy. You’d known most everything in the book already but it was still interesting and it contained a new tincture. It had also aided in putting the Child to sleep on several restless night. A habit he’d picked up since you’d been the one to put him to bed, only going down with a story, regardless of what it was you were reading. It was something so sweetly domestic, pure and untouched by anything happening through the galaxy.

Din’s life, from an impressionable age, had controlled by a creed. He had grown up loved and cared for but not with parents, he hadn’t ever had a textbook definition family. And in his line of work he couldn’t afford to be familial, let alone paternal. The child was accidental, at best. A cruel twist of fate had put them in the same path, The Child who owed his life for merely existing and Din, who was so feared that sometimes, the terror seeped into his own conscious. But you. You made him want to give up all the violence. He was willing to set his blaster down and never pick it back up. He would shed his brutality, pull himself from a rouge nomadic life if only for a moment more of this life. To be in love, to have a child, to nurture a family for himself. He wanted, so desperately, to have and to hold. He had also never divulged any of this to you.

“Its late-” You paused to look into the dark space outside of the ship, “In theory. We’ve been awake for a while is more accurate,”

“You can go to bed, I’ll manage with the kid.”

“We have Din, you’ve kidnapped someone since you slept last,”

Din scoffed, “Kidnapped is a little bit heavy, also incredibly incorrect. I do not kidnap, I get paid for what I do.”

“Kidnappers get paid, I think that's the point?” You pushed yourself out of the chair, “Are you coming?”

Din looked back to the console, “Fine, let me just put in the coordinates then I’ll be down, okay?”

You nodded, “Make sure not to get us lost.” You gathered your book and the blanket thrown over the headrest of The Child’s seat before opening the doors to the hallway.

You were settled into bed, pajamas on, afghan wrapped around your shoulders, and book in your clutch, when Din came down the ladder. He shuffled through the room, setting things in their rightful place, blaster under the bed, gloves on the nigh table.

“I’m turning the lights off, is that okay?”

You nodded, “Yes, yeah I’m done with this chapter.” You dogeared the page as the room was cast into darkness. The thick quilt on the bed was pushed back and the mattress sunk under his weight. There was a quiet shuffle as he removed his gloves, his helmet, and the rest of his heavy armor.

He was warm, it seemed to radiate from him. Even as he lay a lifetime away from you, only touching hands. It was pitch black and his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Did you see much of the village when we stopped?” You asked quietly, playing with his fingers.

“Enough.”

“What does that mean? Enough,”

“I saw enough of it, it was nice, lots of farmland. Did you like it?”

You nodded, moving to run your fingers over the palm of his hand. Despite how rough his line of work was Din’s hands were soft, all the years spent under thick leather gloves, “It was stunning, the baby liked it too. He really likes playing with other kids, he’s good at making friends.”

“Do you think he gets lonely?” You felt the tips of Din’s fingers shyly prod at the delicate skin on your wrist. The excitement that bubbled into your lungs seemed almost pathetic, like a schoolgirl holding hands with her crush for the very first time. But you’d never had his bare hands anywhere but your own and now he was moving up your arm.

“No, he seems content here, with us.”

His fingers were at the crook of your elbow now, pressing into the soft flesh and he almost seemed to tug at you, tug you closer, and you gave. His voice had quieted to accommodate the closed distance, “Friends couldn’t… hurt? Other kids to be around for more than just a couple of days.”

You let one of your fingertips start to dance up his bicep, “What exactly are you insinuating Mando?”

“It would be nice to settle in,” He gingerly settled his hand against the curve of your neck.

Your heart raced and you crooned into him, a soft shudder rolling through your shoulder, “Settle in?”

He carefully pushed a piece of hair from your eyes, “To be somewhere, permanently maybe,”

“Like to have a home, you mean?” You reached to hold the back of his hand against your cheek.

“Yes… maybe. Not necessarily, I mean not if you didn’t want to. Not… you but just in general.” He paused, thumbing at your cheek, “Yes you, if you wanted.”

“Din,” You murmured, reaching into the dark for him.

He caught your wrist, “I’m here. Right here.” And it was very quiet, practically silent besides the soft whirring of the engine. The air changed as he leaned closer, hair brushing against your jaw, “Is this okay?”

“Its perfect,” You whispered back up to him.

Slowly, very slowly, he pressed his mouth to yours. The stubble dusted against his jaw scratched your cheek as he tilted his head. His breath, softly flitting against your skin was warm and the hands your face made you feel safe, grounded. He smelled like leather and sweat and the freshly laundered shirt he wore. Din was home. He was soothing and familiar and home. Absolutely perfect. Absolutely wonderful.

Pulling back slowly you looked up to where you assumed he was, “Din, where exactly would we be settling in?”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #the child #baby yoda #grogu #Mando #lennie writes

117 notes · View notes

yoditorian · 4 years ago

Text

lacuna- part 5

din/reader

i want to say a massive thank you for everybody who’s supported the content creator strike, it’s really important to draw attention to the issues we face and hopefully it’ll mean that engagement goes up and people will start respecting creators more 💛 as always, a massive thank you to @brothersdrxke for drifting with me on this

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.4k

warnings: probably some swears, poetic allusions to smut, din experiences emotion, 18+ no babies thanks

You don’t see Din for years, but he never fully leaves your mind.

Green Squadron gets pulled every which way across the galaxy, and you follow your orders. From the outer atmosphere above Scarif, to the Battle of Yavin, to some Outer Rim planet you barely spent a day on where the white ground turns red with every footstep. You see more stars than you ever thought possible. Mercifully, the endless missions and drills leave you little time to wonder what the Mandalorian might be up to in your absence.

You’re not thinking about him under hails of blaster fire and explosives, nor while you duck and weave through smoke and flame to cover your teammates in the air. But he comes to you in the small hours, hours you spend trying to sleep, hours you spend wishing you were tucked up close against his side. You still claw through your memory for his smell, long since disappeared from the blanket you keep with you. Metallic and warm and home.

You’ve not used that word to describe anything for a long time, but it feels right.

Still, you live. Life in the Rebellion keeps you busy. Between meetings and missions and drills, you barely have enough time to eat, or sleep, or think some days. You’re grateful for that. The people around you are just as engrossed by war, but they don’t seem to let it get in the way. There’s love and light and laughter and you let it engulf you when you can. Nights spent in the rec rooms on your assigned cruiser, playing games of sabacc or keeping friends steady on barstools at the tiny cantina. People don’t stop living, so neither do you. Shara and Kes had married as soon as he was between missions, not long after she’d held your hand in a death grip at the prospect of her possible pregnancy. And you’re the first to hold their little boy when he comes, a week earlier than expected and furious, screaming into the galaxy. Life is good. But it’s missing something.

You try to live, at least. You freely give out smiles and stories and time, but you can never bring yourself to take it further. They always lean in close and you keep the distance. Break eye contact. You can’t do it. It’s not right. To do that to him. Even through the radio silence, even through the way you feel him just out of reach. You’re always kind about it, and nobody ever takes it badly, eyes soft as you apologise and tell them you’re spoken for. He hasn’t, but you are. That’s how it’ll always be.

He creeps into your dreams until he’s always there, his arms the only thing you can think of in the moments before you sleep.

Somewhere outside, you’re always outside with him. And there’s no armour or uniforms or obligations, just you and him and the sky as it turns a soft shade of pink. He’s not wearing his helmet, something you know as solidly as you know how to fly, but you can never quite stretch up to see his face. You don’t mind. You don’t mind because in this reality, he loves you. He tells you he loves you, over and over, and that’s enough. It doesn’t last long. The clouds roll in, dark and heavy, and Din’s warmth disappears from beneath you. Instead, you’re swallowed into the black as Captain Antilles tells you to suit up and move out. You don’t know where you’re going, but the weight sitting in the pit of your stomach makes you certain you’re not coming back.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, and try to bring your heart rate down. Other pilots in the barracks are fast asleep around you, breathing in unison. Except one.

“You have a lot of those,” Shara whispers, the rest of the squadron still snoring, “Bad dreams, I mean.”

“Did you get a holo today?” You don’t want to talk about your dream. The fear still courses through you, it seemed so real. Missions are getting more and more dicey as each side gets more and more desperate, it’s not clear who’s winning anymore. If anybody. You can count on one hand the number of pilots who’ve come back completely unscathed in the last few months.

“He’s talking properly now, I swear every time I see him he’s bigger.” She’s trying not to cry, and you have the good grace not to mention it. Being away from her son for this long leeches at Shara’s spirit. Little Poe is safe and happy and being doted on by a relative of Kes’s, far away from the Empire’s reach. But sleep escapes her most nights, replaced by the pain of watching him grow from a distance, and the very real threat that she won’t get to see him grow up at all. You stretch your arm out across the narrow gap between your bunks and find her hand in the darkness. It’s all either of you have.

“We’re flying out to the Endor system in 36 hours. The second Death Star is mid-production, not operational, we’ll hit it before it’s done.” There’s none of the sarcastic warmth you’ve come to expect from your team commander over the years, this is it. The final stand. The noise of the cruiser’s hangar fades away as your brain switches to fight mode and you process your orders. The end of the Empire, or the Rebellion. Three possible outcomes: you win and live, you win and die, or you lose and die. The Empire will not leave survivors. Like any good pilot, you pretend that the odds don’t scare you.

You’re going to lose people. Friends, colleagues, strangers will fall, but that’s the risk you run in the Rebellion. Every single person would lay down their life at a moment’s notice if it meant the chance of success. You’re the best you’ve ever been, a veritable armoury of skills that would make your sixteen year old self faint. If it was down to just you, you’d make it out of any dogfight no doubt about it. You have no fear when you’re in the air. But it’s not just you, is it? It’s Shara, and Green Squadron, and the Rebellion at large. If any of them go down, there’s no question that you’ll follow.

You’re fumbling through your pack the moment you realise you’ve made it back to the barracks, alone, the solitude is far too rare and you’re not about to waste it worrying. You’ve pressed the talk button and brought the comm up to your mouth before you’ve even figured out what you want to say. Hopes that he’ll answer, or hear you at all, aren’t exactly high. But you’re desperate enough to give it a go.

“I’m going to the inn at Mos Espa. The one from before? I’ll click when I’m there, if you’re around.” You don’t tell him that it’s because you’re pretty sure you’re going to die. And you love him, even if he doesn’t know. And you’re selfish, ultimately. You just hope he can’t tell you’re trying not to cry.

“-if you’re around.”

Your voice echoes around the cockpit of the Razor Crest, and Din tries to ignore the way it ties his stomach in knots. He misses you, so much more than he thought he would. It’s like there’s a space inside him where only you fit, like his lungs threaten to collapse without you.

He should pretend that he didn’t get the message, like the way he pretends that he doesn’t keep the long-range comm pinned to the control board of the Crest, like the way he pretends he doesn’t think about getting in touch with you every second of every day. It’s the first time he’s heard from you in a while and there’s a new bounty puck burning a hole in his pocket and he really shouldn’t be thinking about going. Except there’s something in your voice that he can’t quite work out. He doesn’t want to go so far as to call it fear, but he can’t sit there wondering. He can’t sit there as if he hasn’t missed you.

So, Din powers up the Razor Crest, and locks in the coordinates for Mos Espa.

You hadn’t even needed to ask Shara to cover for you, she offered the second the word Mando slipped out. You’ve held her through nights where all she can do is miss Kes, she understands the pain you feel every time you spot the comm in your pack. You’d asked her once if she thought you were being silly, pining over a man whose face you’ve never seen. She’d only told you to shut up, that he’s clearly not just some guy you sleep with when the opportunity arises.

“You don’t lose sleep over dick, Lieutenant.”

And she’s right, even if you’re afraid to put any other word to it.

The room hasn’t changed, although you’re not sure why some part of you had expected it to. The desk and chair are still in the same place, the bedding still a faded red, even the light in the ceiling has the same tattered lampshade. You stand by the small window, watching people’s shadows grow long as the day comes to an end. Still no word, no sign, nothing from Din.

The suns set, and he’s not here. He’s not coming. You hate how much you want to see him, just once, before you have to leave. You’re about to curl up on top of the bedcovers and sleep, until two knocks on the door echo loud and clear.

You look rough. Din doesn’t want that to be the first thing he thinks about you when he opens the door, but he can’t deny it. Your shoulders sag with exhaustion, stress, and there’s that fear he didn’t want to admit to hearing before. It’s not him you’re afraid of, but somehow he knows you won’t even acknowledge it.

“Been a while.” Years. It’s been years and that’s the first thing he can think of to say?

He’s here and now you can barely move. You spent so long preparing yourself for him not to show that you have no idea how to react now that he has. It feels like you’re walking through cobwebs.

“Yeah, it- it has been.” This is really not how you envisioned this would go. But he’s right, it has been a while. Maybe the more hopeful part of your heart wanted you to just pick up where you left off, but you’re not even exactly sure where that would be.

Din makes the decision for you. He strips his armour slowly, setting it on the desk in the same way he did the last time you stayed here, and never once takes his eyes off of you. You can feel it, like he thinks you’ll disappear if he looks away. Maybe you will.

Your jacket is already draped over the back of the chair, the night not yet cold enough to warrant more than your tattered t-shirt. It’s the one you wear under your flight suit. You’d left your old blanket on your bed back on the cruiser, you need his scent on this instead. You need to keep him with you when you take to the skies, just in case.

He steps closer to you, helmet still in place, until he’s all you can see. The cold metal presses down firm against your forehead, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels right. In any other context, it might scare you.

“I need you.” You can’t keep the tremble out of your voice, only hoping it makes you sound desperately horny rather than terrified. Your hands knot themselves in the thick fabric of the flight suit over his chest and he just holds you there for a moment. Bare hands skim your back, reaching up underneath your shirt to find your skin. They freeze when he finds a symmetrical set of scars. The marks feel old, settled, but still carry a heat that feels more recent than the ones he’s used to feeling.

“Prod, I think the medic said it was. Don’t recommend that.” Your half-hearted laugh travels up his fingertips.

Din’s mind flashes back to years ago, to the crime syndicate he slaughtered, the ones who’d treated torture like it was dinner and a show. The rebel pilots he’d freed-

“We had the bantha-prod on the other one yesterday. Oh, the screaming.”

He decides it probably wasn’t you, the galaxy is a big place and there’s more wannabe crime lords than womp rats. The chances of you being the second pilot are slim, and if one group was using bantha-prods on prisoners there’s no doubt there would be more. They’re convenient, easy to get your hands on, and pack a decent punch. He lets his fingers rest on each of the pronged scars for a moment, and leaves it at that.

You keep your forehead pressed to the helmet and let Din strip the layers between you, breaking only when he leans back to lift the old t-shirt over your head and your eyes slip shut against the dim moonlight. You can’t see much with them open but you need to feel him, all of him, and you know he trusts you not to look. Your mind is reeling so much that you don’t even hear him slip the helmet off, you don't register that he’s bared himself to you as much as you’re bared to him until he’s pressing you down against the threadbare blankets.

It’s there that you let him consume you, take over every square inch of your skin until you belong to him completely. Just for this isolated moment, as if the war doesn’t exist. And you revel in it, you lose yourself and let him guide you through it all. Committing his every touch, every kiss, every breath to your memory. This is what you’ll think of when you go down tomorrow. You’ll think of him and the tight feeling in your heart when he kisses you and you’ll remember that he took care of you. Even when you can’t get your hands to stop shaking.

You’re in your head, he can tell. But Din knows you, far better than either of you are willing to admit, and he knows you won’t tell him. So he throws everything he is into it. Into this time with you, no idea when he’ll get to be with you again. If ever. And for once, the fear for his creed is silent. He pulls you into him until it’s impossible to tell that you’re not one single being. You need this, clearly, and his heart is so firmly in your hands that he’ll give it to you. He’ll put everything on hold for you, every time.

You’re the first one to rise from the bed, barely having caught your breath before you’re rummaging for your clothes on the floor with your eyes still clenched shut, and that’s when Din knows something’s definitely wrong. He can hear your hands shake as you pull your t-shirt back over your head.

“Hey,” He leans forward to catch your elbow, but you shrug his fingers away, “What’s wrong?”

“I have to get back to base.” Is the only explanation you offer. Din huffs and the sound makes you flinch, too sharp in the dark, as he pulls you back to the scratchy sheets. Your hands find his broad chest and you take a second to focus on his breathing, on the way his ribs expand, until you can find the right words.

“Cyar’ika.”

“I think I’m dying tomorrow.”

He says nothing. You don’t expect him to. What are you supposed to say when somebody tells you they’re going to die?

“Din, I-”

He surges up to kiss you, breathing you in and surrounding you until he is all you know. All you ever want to know.

“Tell me when you live.” He whispers, pulling his lips away just enough to speak, and hopes you’re tired enough to forget the way you promise as you tuck yourself back into his chest. He can’t let you say the words, he knows he’ll never leave if you do.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get you to stay. A few hours, he says. He’ll wake you up when you need to go, he says. You know he will, he’s never given you a reason not to trust his word. And you let yourself relax into him, curling into his side and wondering what would happen if he didn’t wake you up. What if you just stayed here, the two of you in this room, for the rest of forever? It’s a nice enough thought to clear your mind and let sleep take over.

You wake before he does, hours before the suns are meant to rise and you know it’s time to go. It hurts, to think about leaving Din here in this bed to wake up alone. Like the last time. You hope he’s not too upset with you as you fumble blindly for the rest of your abandoned clothes.

While he has seen far too much cruelty, and been far too kind to you to deserve this, you leave him sleeping. Better for him to wake at dawn and be angry with you than to wake now and convince you not to go. You know he would. You’ve never much believed in the Force, or love for that matter, but every path you’ve ever taken has led you straight back to him. That’s got to count for something.

But love isn’t something you get to have. You’re not foolish enough to convince yourself that it is. Although, if anything in the galaxy could come close, it would be Din. You leave your heart behind with him, tucked up close beside his in the tangled sheets. He’ll keep it safe, you can trust him, of that you’re certain.

“You ready?” Shara’s trying her best to sound upbeat, and you have to hand it to her. It’s difficult not to feel like this is the end, hers is the first smile you’ve seen all day.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” You reply as you tug her into a hug. You squeeze each other almost uncomfortably tightly, but part of you feels like it might be the last chance you get to hold your best friend. She’ll feel every ounce of love you have for her, even if you crack each other’s ribs. Your matching dark green flight suits feel far too new, too starched and solid, for the firefight you know is coming.

“You smell like boy.” She mumbles into your shoulder and you huff out a laugh.

“I’ll see you after.” You say when she pulls back. Neither of you are sure you’re right.

But you are. The comms fill with cheers as you watch the second Death Star crumble, the remnants of the fleet around you falling. And you can breathe. Your work, the Rebellion’s work, is far from over but this? This is everything you’ve been working towards for years. It’s hard not to feel relieved for just a moment. You catch Shara as she zips by, following her down to Endor’s surface.

You’ve barely unclipped the safety belts before she’s wrestling you out of the cockpit and down to the forest floor. You land in a heap of laughter, maybe a few tears, and wait for the adrenaline to settle.

“We did it!” Shara’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it as you clasp her cheeks in your hands and hold her there. You’re both swept up into somebody’s arms only a moment later, Kes Dameron’s booming laugh filling your ears, and you let the joy wash over you. You’ve gotten through the worst of it with this, your little found family of rebels, intact. If only it wasn’t so glaringly obvious that someone is missing.

Later into the night, you pull yourself away from the party, slipping down a ladder from the treehouses and making your way to the ships. It takes a moment to remember exactly where your A-Wing is, and another to dig around in your pack to find it, but you breathe a sigh of relief as your fingers close around the comm. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever will come.

“I made it.”

There’s a second, a click from the comm, and then another.

Din finally lets the tears fall, and he can breathe again.

As though the man on the other end thought better of what he was going to say. The party still rages above your head, and you try not to let it get to you.

TAGLIST (lmk if you want on or off):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars @wille-zarr @rebloogggs @thevoiceinyourheadx @plants-are-better-than-humans @schreibsuchtis

#the STRESS trying to format this to post i swear i'm this close to throwing my laptop out a window #i had to copy paste every individual paragraph can someone come and kill me pls #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #lacuna #liz does words #smut

76 notes · View notes