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eclipsedpascal · 4 years ago

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Lavender Bruises

Older!Duncan x Female reader

A meeting with you and your father’s company’s buyers, leads to the shocking realisation that you had unknowingly slept with it’s new owner, Duncan Shepherd, just the night before. You needed to hide this sinful secret from your father, which left you stuck between wanting to make him proud and the unsatisfied craving you couldn’t ignore for Duncan to claim you as his personal toy. But you could manage both. Right?

Warnings: mentions of work (ew), alcohol, one night stands, large age gap, daddy kink, size kink, unprotected sex, public sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), intercourse, spit kink, slapping, spanking, hickeys, bruising, degrading/teasing, mouth fucking with fingers? is that a thing?, hair pulling and a ring kink ig:)

Notes: I've been writing this for fkn MONTHS now bcs I kept loosing inspiration, so this is actually the first thing I ever properly wrote! it's kinda complicated ig? idk like the parts in bold are a time skip to the night before and the fic goes in-between the meeting the reader is at and the previous night, meaning there’s two separate smut scenes so!!! but yeah i'm a whore lmao. Also ik hickeys don’t show up the same on certain skin tones and i’m sorry for that. i tried my best to be as inclusive as possible nd didn’t mention anything to do with the skin tone. Also!! if you're interested, I was listening to Cherry lips by garbage most the time I was writing this nd I feel like it fits it pretty well😌

Word count: 8.4k

●●●●●●●●

Going over the logistics of a content deal with the conglomerate that had recently bought your fathers newspaper wasn't the most preferable way for you to spend your lunch, but unfortunately it was necessary.

You know how these “lunches” go; business meetings disguised as casual discussions. They’re exactly the same if taken place in a conference room. Disagreeing and having to come to compromises you’d rather not, with the only differences being there's more chatter and cluttered noise of dinnerware coming from the restaurant around you.

You much preferred being in the office for these kind of things, but it was at the request of the new owners that you meet here, meaning you didn’t really have choice.

As you arrived at the restaurant you saw your father inside, waiting for your arrival just past the main entrances oversized, glass doors. You were almost 10 minutes late now and you knew he would be pissed. Honestly, you couldn't blame him.

Having to rush through a traffic riddled DC to get home at 10 in the morning because you had spent the previous night in a strangers hotel bed wasn't your proudest moment. Was it worth it? Yes, but it didn’t exactly leave you with much time to prepare for the lunch only two hours later.

You payed the driver and stepped out of the cab onto the drowning, wet sidewalk, desperately trying to shield yourself from the relentless rain that had been pouring down on the city all morning.

Looking up at the grand building on front of you, you could tell the place was going to be expensive. The entrances steps were 12ft wide and made of a pearly white marble that was now soaked with cascading rain water, making them even harder for you to run up in your heels as you tried escape the cold.

“Y/N, where have you been? You're 10 minutes late and these people don't like to be kept waiting." The people your father was referring to? the owners of Gardner Analytics. they had bought what seemed like hundreds of press company's over the past few years, especially those in the DC area. Their most recent purchase being the Washington herald, of which your father was the Editor-in-chief. You had been working there for a few months as your fathers assistant and helping out at these meetings had become routine.

“I'm so so sorry, my alarm didn't wake me and I-“

"It's fine" He interrupted "It's fine, just please tell me you have the documents I asked you to bring?" You could tell he was stressed out from the way his voice was wavering and how often he was stumbling over his words, so instead of trying to explain yourself any further you stayed quiet and did your best to take in as much of the information he was relaying onto you as you possibly could.

As he led you through the dinning room he explained to you who else was there, telling you that the others from the herald who were attending the lunch had already began talks with Gardener Analytics at the table ten minutes prior.

The closer you got to the table the more your fathers voice faltered, trying to round off the conversation so he could properly introduce himself when the time came. "Now Bill Shepherd had to cancel last minute, said it was something to do with his health unfortunately. But not to worry! I've spoken with him over the phone and he's informed me his nephew is filling in for him, okay?”

Before you even had a chance to reply he turned from you, reaching over the table to shake hands with a man you recognised as Seth Grayson; their director of communications, and an older woman who you assumed was Annette Shepherd. She and her brother Bill were the owner's of Gardner Analytics and your father had said it was important he got on their good side.

As your father greeted the others, you began retrieving the documents out of your bag, knowing they would be needed by Seth right away.

"..So sorry for the delay Mr Shepherd, you know how DC traffic can be" Your father chuckled slightly as he shook the man’s hand, making some light small talk. Mr Shepherd? that must be bill’s nephew, you thought.

You felt even more unprepared now; you didn’t even know the man’s name.

"This is my daughter and assistant, Y/N" Upon hearing your father introduce you to the mystery Shepherd, you slotted the documents under one arm and reached out to shake his hand with your other.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Shepherd" But as you shifted your gaze up to his own, you realised that there was no need for introductions.

He smiled gently, a kind of smug delight obvious in his eyes as he looked you up and down, taking you all in. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Y/L/N"

He released your hand from his grasp, moving to clasp his own behind his back. “But please, call me Duncan.”

Duncan fucking Shepherd. how could you be so oblivious? The two of you had spent hours together last night. How hadn't you figured out who he was? As panic ripped through you like a wildfire, you wondered if Duncan was feeling the same way; but from the look on his face, he was enjoying this.

●●●●●●●●

11:34pm previous night

It was getting pretty late now, and meeting someone who could fuck the stress out of you was becoming less and less likely by the minute. so deciding to finish your drink and leave, you took in the room one last time; making sure you hadn’t missed anyone interesting.

The fluorescent red and blue lighting of the expensive hotel bar was just bright enough for you to spot an older man you hadn’t noticed before. He must have been at least 40. He was sat in a booth with five or six others, all drinking, laughing and joking, yet he was staring at you.

Taking the seat next to you, he called out to the bartender. “Bourbon. Neat.”

You'd been waiting for him to come over ever since you saw him. It had been 20 minutes or so of quick glances and smiles to each other before the group of men he had been with dissipated. You had heard one of the men he was with refer to him as ‘Duncan’ when he had said his goodbyes, but other than that all you could assume about the man was that he was rich; judging by the all black LV suit he was wearing.

"Can I buy you a drink?” Turning to face at him when you heard him speak, you were practically stupefied by how attractive he was. His hair was full of shiny grey streaks that aged him. His stubble complimented his cheekbones perfectly and the speckles of grey throughout it helped bring out the brightness of his piercing blue eyes. His lips were full, and you couldn't help but notice how soft they looked.

“Vodka and coke” You smiled, trying your best to be confidant, but they way he was looking at you was giving you butterfly's you couldn’t swat away.

“I.D?” The bartender asked. You grabbed it out of your purse, proving your age to the bartender before watching him walk away to make your drink.

There was a brief silence before the man spoke again. “I hope my staring didn’t bother you, I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.” His flattery almost made you blush, but he wasn’t going to get you with a line that bad.

“Didn’t bother me at all, though i’m sure your friends there must have been envious” You chose to ignore his cheesy line, knowing that as much as you wanted him to take you there and then, you would much prefer making him work for it.

He chuckled slightly, knowing the game you had chosen to play. he looked away from you and down into his glass before taking a swig of the golden-brown liquor that occupied it. “Well I’m known to be quite a busy man, so I’m sure they understood.” He turned to face you slightly, waiting for some kind of reaction from you.

“Busy enough of a man to be drinking on a Tuesday night?” You questioned him teasingly, Ignoring that you yourself had the most important meeting of your young career in just over twelve hours.

“Is that really such a surprise? Most times being so busy is the main reason for drinking” He joked with you as he flirted, making it hard for you to keep eye contact without going red at the thought of such a beautiful man seeking your attention.

Duncan could see how nervous you were under the confident demeanour you had put on, I mean you were practically screaming it out to him at this point. The way you were fidgeting with the chain of your silver earring as you leaned against the bar and the fact you couldn’t even look at him for longer than 3 seconds without blushing was evidence enough for him.

“Well, that’s true.” You giggled a little as you spoke in your anxious state.

Taking a hold of your drink, you wrapped your lips around the paper straw and moved your gaze over to the bartender who was now serving someone a few seats down, attempting to distract and ground yourself from the situation at hand.

You were gripped back into reality quickly when you heard him speak again.

“There’s no need to be so nervous, I’m not going to eat you.” You found his use of the phrase quite ironic, being that’s exactly how it seemed. His eyes were piercing into you in an almost questioning manner, but when he gazed over your body, taking in your satin, black slip dress covered curves, the swipe of his tongue against his plump bottom lip gave you a very different impression; an impression he wanted to devour you. It was as if he thought you were that sweet snack he had been craving all week.

“No? That's a shame” You faked a frown, pouting as you moved to rest your chin on your hand.

“Well I think we should at least be aware of each others names before making such wild propositions, don’t you…?” His smirk never seemed to leave his face as he spoke.

He was good at this game, better than you at least. Of course It was obvious he was going to have had more experience with his age and all, but the way he was charming you so easily with just plain old conversation and confidence was getting harder and harder to match.

“Y/N, my name’s Y/N.” You batted your eyelashes at him a little, for some reason feeling smaller upon revealing your name to him. You felt as if you had lost the upper hand in the conversation suddenly.

“Hm, Y/N. That’s beautiful.” You rolled your eyes. Of course it is. Thats what they all say. You thought.

“Aren't you going to ask mine?” His ego now showing, you decided to make a bolder move.

“You rather fancy yourself, don’t you, Duncan?”

He finished his drink and moved closer to you. “Oh, so you already know my name?”

He was close enough to you now that you could make out the many beauty marks which decorated his cheekbones and hear the rasp of his voice even better than before. It was thick as honey and just as sweet too.

“I heard your friend call you it.” You quickly replied.

He scoffed a little, finding amusement in what he was about to say. He brought his face down closer to yours and began to run his fingers through your hair. “Hm, well he’s an old friend sweetheart. Most people would call me Mr Shepherd.”

You felt yourself grow hot, Duncans words casting a haze of complete lust over your mind.

You did your best to stay confidant, doing everything you could to ensure you didn't loose this game the two of you were playing. “Really? Is that what you like? Mr Shepherd.”

Your faces were so close to each others now that you could smell the bourbon on his breath when he let out a loud chuckle. His pearly whites showing as he did so. You even felt him graze his stubble against your cheek.

“Mhmm.” He ran his finger over your lips as he spoke slowly. "So tell me, what is it that does it for you Y/N? Hm? I mean a girl your age doesn’t decide to stare at a man like me all night just for the hell of it. So what is it? The power? The money? Or is it the age gap so big I could be your father?”

You squeeze your legs together as his sentence finishes, letting out a hushed whimper. Of course you were attracted to older men, that was obvious, but hearing him say it out loud in public whilst being so close to you turned you on even more than you thought previously possible.

He chuckled a little, “So it’s the age then, is it sweetheart? The idea of having a man more.. experienced pleasure you, instead of a man who would leave you to fend for yourself after finishing in less than five minutes. You want someone who can make you cum so hard you’d be begging him to make it stop, don’t you?” Every move Duncan made, every word he spoke was calculated, and it was all in pursuit of teasing you just because he knew he could.

You made a mental note of his nickname for you as you looked up at him. You felt his fingers run across your cheek and then push some stray hairs back behind your ear as you desperately tried to think of something smart to say, anything to say; but he had won. He knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. You didn’t even care anymore. You were more than ready to give what little of a resolve you still had up to him.

He whispered to you as he moved his spare hand up the small of your back. “Now little one, I have the presidential suite of this hotel under my name tonight. So what do you say we go on up? Since now we're just so well aquatinted."

●●●●●●●●

Having to take part in a meeting with your father and the man double your age that you had fucked for hours the night before was NOT what you had planned for today.

“Mr Shepherd, I apologise that I didn’t make it here on time. I had a pretty hectic morning.” You did your best to keep your chill in your now shocked state, but with everyone watching the two of you it wasn’t easy.

“No don’t worry, I know how DC traffic can be, especially in this weather. As long as you're here now.” A wide smile was planted on his face as he spoke. The same as last night. He never broke eye contact with you, and you found yourself wondering how he could do it so easily.

“Please, sit.” He gestured you over to take a seat as he pulled out the chair next to his own. You thanked him politely and sat down, your mind racing and spiralling out of control at the thought of your father discovering the sinful deeds you and his new boss had taken part in just hours prior.

You felt him tuck you into the table before sitting down next to you. You could hear the voices of the restaurant that surrounded you and the others at the table coming at you. Every noise was muffled, as if your head was suddenly underwater.

“Y/N?” You were quickly brought back to reality when you heard Seth question you.

“From my understating you have the merger documents in your belonging, yes?” He looked at your father for reassurance this was definitely case as he spoke. So with everyone at the table’s eyes on you, you slid the documents over to him.

“Yes! And uhm the specifications for the more politically based content changes are detailed on page 25. I was told that was of high interest today?” You got yourself back on track, trying to stay as professional as possible whilst ignoring Duncan and the predicament you had found yourself in.

“We were briefly discussing the more major changes before you arrived Mr Y/L/N, but I believe you’ve already been made aware of most them?” Duncan addressed your father, kicking the meeting off. But you couldn’t concentrate. You were listening to the conversation, you really were! It was just that you were so wrapped up in Duncan’s voice you couldn’t actually understand what the fuck they were all talking about.

Seeing him so invested in the crucial conversation he was having with your father and the many other associates at the table was just doing something to you.

Observing the way his hands were moving when he spoke, you noticed how he would often clasp them together when he was explaining things, and how he would tilt his head slightly as he listened. His bronzed curls were combed to perfection, resting delicately on the right side of his face and when he licked his bottom lip, it sent a shiver down through your spine all the way to your cunt. You were entirely captivated by him.

Hearing your Father ask for your opinion on the subject being discussed, you shook off the spell Duncan’s attractiveness had casted onto you and responded, giving your perspective on the subject.

Duncan relaxed into his seat a little more as he watched you talking. He knew you had been staring at him, but it was cute, he thought. Almost endearing seeing you get so flustered at just the sight of him. He had seen you squirming around in your seat whilst you watched him and decided the accidental teasing wasn’t enough; he wanted to toy with you more. As much as he possibly could.

“You know, if you’re trying hide what’s happened between us then you might consider making your staring a little less obvious, sweetheart.” He was speaking quietly enough for nobody else to hear and not looking in your direction, pretending to still partake in the tables back-and-forth. Still the fear of your father, who was sat just across the table, overhearing Duncans remarks was petrifying.

You knew you couldn’t let your craving for him and the confusion from not knowing who he was last night effect the meeting, but there he was with that nickname again, stirring your desire even further.

“How are you even here?” You let your frustrations out onto him as you talked back, his cocky attitude getting to you too easily with the stress you were under. “I’m trying so hard not to ruin today and this situation isn’t helping! They’ll fire me if I mess this up and I’ll be fucked! Which surprisingly, I’d prefer not to be!” Your whispering was pretty aggressive, but could you really blame yourself?! This kind of coincidence was rare, so you had every right to be mad at the universe for letting it occur on today of all days.

His ego not faltering for even a second, he chuckled. “Oh you don’t wanna get fucked? Funny, because I remember you saying the exact opposite last night.”

He grazed his hand across your inner thigh, massaging it gently before diving underneath the little black pencil skirt you were wearing to grip onto your flushed skin.

You scoffed at his words and looked up at him, shocked at how bold he was being and expecting some kind of response from him, but he didn’t even look your way. You assumed this was so no attention was brought to the two of you and so you followed his lead, turning away from him just as fast as you had looked.

With the heat of your cunt having grown far too intense to bear, any friction that wasn’t your own thighs pressing up against each other was to be welcomed. So you decided not to stop him. In fact you did the exact opposite, spreading your thighs wider for him, not having the self control or restraint to keep yourself from him any longer.

His hand moved closer to where you needed him most, diving under the crotch of your underwear to swipe his fingers over your slick folds and immediately begin rubbing circles onto your neglected clit.

You stifled a moan, leaning onto the table on front of you to keep yourself steady as he touched you. Finally, he moved his gaze to rest on you, watching you as you struggled to stay silent. He whispered once more, “Always so wet for me, aren't you princess?”

●●●●●●●●

As soon as you entered the suite, Duncan gripped onto your waist, pushing you up against the door and cradling your cheek with his spare hand before smashing his lips into yours.

His tongue slipped past your lips, dancing with yours whilst he moved his hands all over your body, clutching onto your breasts and then moving them down to explore the rest of you.

He lifted your dress up just enough so he could grip your ass. Pulling you closer to him and making you feel his bulge against your hips, you were too short in comparison to him to feel him where you wanted to most.

He spoke to you in kisses, telling you of how ravenous he was for you and that he was going to savour every moment. He moved his lips down, trailing open mouthed kisses from your neck to your collarbones and to the top of your breasts.

“This fucking dress” He took ahold of the bottom of your dress, pulling it up above your head with urgency as you lifted your arms to better help him strip you. Throwing the dress down onto the floor and hearing it land somewhere behind him, he admired your body and it’s curves.

“The perfect wrapping for such an enticing present.” He finished his sentence. Immediately grabbing at your breasts, sucking and kissing them.

You couldn’t speak, too enthralled with the technique of his tongue swirling around your nipple to do anything but moan in response to him.

You threw your head back against the door, staring up that the beautifully patterned ceiling in pure ecstasy. You felt him drag a callused hand down to the waistband of your Lacy white panties, tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach as he traced his fingers over it. His finger tips running across the little white bow that centred the waistband.

He collapsed down to his knees, yanking the delicate lingerie as he fell, leaving it to puddle around your ankles.

He teased your heat, moving from kissing the skin of your thighs to your folds, but not yet reaching the lengths you wanted him to, only adding fuel to the fire in between your legs.

“Please Duncan-” you begged him, desperately needing some kind of release from the binds of lust he had managed to wrap you in over the past 45 minutes.

“Ah ah, don't you remember? You don’t get to call me that.” He spoke.

“I’m sorry, Mr Shepherd.” You corrected yourself, recalling the conversation you had with him prior to coming upstairs.

“Mhmm, now as magnificent as that name sounds coming from you, I know that there’s something else you’d rather call me.” He hummed in disapproval, calmly redirecting your choice of name for him and reassuringly pressing his lips onto your clit.

You let out a stuttered gasp, you did want to call him that, but now you felt nervous due to the build up he had created.

“Com’n, sweetheart. Do you think I don't know why you’re here in the first place? Why else would you be sat all alone in the bar of a hotel you weren’t even staying at? You’re just another slut with daddy issues, sneaking down to an expensive hotel to scavenge for any man good enough to fuck you into submission. Isn’t that right?”

Mildly insulted at his all too accurate observation of you, but enjoying the effect his degrading words have on you none the less, you gave him what he wanted. “Mm yes daddy!” You whimpered out, admitting your ploy to him.

A low rumble emitted from his chest, your words setting off some kind of animal inside him. He dove his face down into your pussy, starting by sucking on your clit gently, flicking his tongue over it and applying more and more pressure as you writhed above him.

His mouth was closed around you now, his grey, speckled stubble scratching your already inflamed skin. You were taken aback by his skills, intwining your fingers through the curls in his hair and tugging on them with every wave of pleasure that hit you.

He snaked his large hand around your thigh, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder while he ate you out. Enjoying the new angle he was utilising, he hummed, sending vibrations through your nerves up to the pit of your stomach, bringing you closer to your climax.

“Mmh.. fuck daddy, i’m gonna cum!” He didn’t let off, his tongue perhaps fucking into you even faster since you told him how close you were. You locked stares as your orgasm took over your body, your lips forming an o as you screwed your eyebrows together in rapture.

He came back up, letting you taste yourself and he placed his lips on yours again. You eased into the kiss, a relaxed haze having taken over your body in your post-orgasm state. Feeling a slight breeze flow up the side of your form, you realised that Duncan still had all his clothes on whilst you had none. Deciding you needed to change this as soon as possible, you began unbuttoning his suit’s matching black blazer and shirt, rushing to feel his skin on yours.

He helped you, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders as you began to unthread his leather belt from the loops of his trousers. “You’re so impatient, little one.” He spoke.

“I think I’ve waited long enough, daddy.” You smirked, dropping the belt at his feet.

As soon as his shirt hit the floor you reached up, gliding your hands across the expanse of his bear chest, taking notice of how small your hands appeared in comparison to him. He watched you, relishing in the glimmer of entrancement that shone through your eyes as you ingested him.

He lifted you, his strong arms carrying you bridal style towards the king sized bed and throwing you down onto its crisp, satin sheets. Grabbing your ankles, he dragged you down the bed towards him and finished taking his pants off. His cock sprung free from the confines of his boxers, smacking against his stomach.

He clambered onto the bed, resting on his knees as he jerked himself in his hand, reluctantly groaning out at the first contact his neglected cock had received all night. His pressing cock had made it unfathomably hard not to just fuck you up against the door when he saw that sweet little way in which your face scrunched up as you came.

You were practically drooling, watching him fuck himself into his fist as his eyes scanned across your naked body. Not being able to wait any longer and wanting to finally feel his cock on your skin, you sat up slightly and reached out to touch him. But before you got the chance, he shoved you back down. leaning over you, he held your wrists down against the pillows with one hand and wrapped his other around your delicate throat.

“So greedy, baby” he stoked his thumb over the skin of your neck as he made his observation, watching you struggle underneath him.

“I just know what I want.” You toyed, your voiced coming out slightly muffled with the pressure of his large hand covering your voice box.

“Such an attitude, too.” His cock brushes over your cunt as he sways his head from side to side in disappointment and disproval. “Now sweetheart, you’re gonna stay exactly where you are and daddy’s gonna fuck you just like this, okay? So he can see that pretty little face of yours.”

You gulp at his words, anticipating the feeling of having him inside you. “Please just fuck me. Please.” You knew you sounded absolutely pathetic, but you didn’t care. Just needing him plummeting in and out of you as soon as possible.

He chuckled at your neediness. Taking his hands back from your wrists and grasping his cock, lining it up with your entrance and slowly pushing in, he let you adjust to his size.

Moaning out, you dug your nails into the bed sheets, watching his head drop down to yours as he closed his eyes in pleasure.

“Fuck, you take me so well.”

●●●●●●●●

He slipped his ringed finger into you, pushing against your spongy walls whilst you made a desperate attempt to suppress your moans. You bite down onto your nails, your elbow resting on the table as you put all your weight onto it for some kind of crutch.

He began with a slow pace, making sure you would feel every little movement he made. You heard him join into the conversation once again, mentioning something about an article he had seen from the Herald last month which had impressed him. You weren't even sure. You couldn't think for the pulsing beat of your own heart that filled your ears.

“You all right there, Y/N?” Your heavy breathing must have been a dead give away for something being up, being your father was now questioning you.

You felt Duncan stop his movements momentarily, joining the rest of the table in their standstill, staring at you as they awaited a reply, but his little act of sincerity didn't last too long.

“Yeah, uhm-“ you felt him slide a 2nd figure in, making you fake a cough as to stop the cry desperately trying to escape your throat from doing so.

“Yeah, I’m uh, just thirsty.” Hoping this would ward off the worried looks you were receiving, you were shocked when you heard Duncan chime in. “Oh don’t worry, we can get you something.”

He called the waiter over, asking him for a pitcher of lemonade and thanking him as he walked away, back towards the kitchen. You would have preferred some water, you thought, but you were far too focused on what was going on underneath the table to say anything.

“Now, where were we?” Seth began talking once more, bringing the attention back to where it should be. But Duncan? No. His attention stayed on you. Even more focused on fucking his fingers into than before, he sped up and began going even deeper now, curling them upwards until you were twitching.

You looked up at him pleadingly. You were getting too close to cumming for your own liking, so you grabbed onto his thigh and dug your nails into his expensive black dress pants, warning him. He shot you a devious grin, scissoring his fingers inside you and pressing his thumb down to rub sweet circles on your hooded clit, letting you know he didn’t intend on stopping.

He looked behind you suddenly. Following his gaze, you snapped your head to the side, trying to get a good look at what had grabbed his attention so abruptly.

It was the waiter. He had arrived with the pitcher of lemonade in hand and yet Duncan was still plummeting his hand into your pussy with such a speed you began to wonder if someone had actually noticed what was truly going on. I mean the waiter must know.

At this point you had let far too many questionable gasps leave your mouth, your breathing had become even more erratic as you grew closer to your orgasm. He knew you were about to break before he swiftly pulled his fingers out of you, wiping the juices that coated them back and front onto your skirt so he could pick up the glass on front of you, leaving you unsatisfied.

You scrambled to collect your thoughts and breath as he picked up the pitcher, pouring the ice cooled lemonade into your glass.

“Here.” He spoke. You lifted a shaky hand up to take the glass from him when the grasp he had on it ‘slipped’, spilling the contents of it the onto your lap.

“Oh!’ You jumped up, making the sweet, sticky liquid run off your skirt to your thighs, dripping down your legs and eventually onto the floor. The now empty glass falling with it.

“I am so sorry, Miss Y/L/N.” He picked up the glass, sitting it on the table before joining you in standing. Now he was stood, you could clearly see the dark tint of his cock straining against the constrictive fabric that was his dress pants. It sent a pulse of lust through your cunt.

“Duncan!” Hearing Annette voice her annoyance at her son for being so clumsy almost made you laugh. It was quite amusing seeing his mother reprimand him, being he was a grown man in his 40s.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I-I’ll just go clean myself up in the bathroom. I don’t want to distract the meeting anymore than I already have.” You made eye contact with your father as he rubbed his temples.

He was annoyed at the scene you and Duncan had caused. You gave him an apologetic look, feeling bad for stressing him out even more than you already had with being late, but knowing it was technically Duncan’s fault and not yours.

“Please, let me help you clean up.” Duncan pushed his chair in, quickly grabbing some napkins off the table and resting his hand on your back to guide you towards the nearest bathroom, walking as fast as your weak legs would let him.

His hand stayed delicately placed on the small of your back, until you were out of the tables sight, at which point he took hold of your arm, clutching it like a vice as he dragged you through the bathroom door.

He locked the door behind him in preparation for what was to come. He needed to make sure nobody would be walking in on what he was about to do to you.

Looking back towards you, satisfied as ever now he had you alone, he waltzed on over, pinning you up against the counter with force. You could smell him on you again, same cologne from the night before. Dior, you guessed.

“You’re not very good at staying quiet, are you, Sweetheart?” He mused, hoisting you up onto the counter and forcefully cradling your face with both hands as he moved to kiss you deeply. His tongue ravenously re-familiarising itself with your mouth.

“You almost got us caught back there.” He spoke in between kisses. “Your poor, naive father, watching you. He was probably wondering why you kept squirming.” He voiced a dark giggle, moving down to suckle on your neck and push your skirt up your thighs.

“I almost got us caught? No. Y-you almost got us caught when you decided putting a second f-FUCK, finger into me whilst I was talking to him was a good idea!” You choked out, doing your best to fight through the pleasure of his lips finally grazing your skin as you watched him pull your panties down and slot them into his pants pocket.

“Awh poor baby. Did you not want your daddy knowing that you’re a greedy little slut for his new boss? Hm?” He admired the blossoming lavender and cherry bruises now forming on your neck as he teased, marvelling at the idea they could be noticed by your father once you finished.

He quickly opened his fly, pulling his dress pants and boxers down just enough that he could pump his cock in his hand. Gripping onto your hips for purchase, his fingers dug into you so viciously you could feel the marks he had left the night before. You knew after this, there would surely be more.

He thrust himself into you, earning a loud wail to fall from your lips. You arched your spine at the feeling of him pounding into you, making your head fall back against the mirror behind you. His hand shot up to the it as he gathered more speed, his pace growing far faster than you had anticipated.

“Was it too much for you? Taking my fingers in your cunt whilst you were trying oh so hard to concentrate? I almost made you cum on front of everyone.” You moaned out at his grotesque words, pulling your head up to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“Answer me.” He pulled your chin up back to look at him, still pounding into you. The sound of your skin slapping against one another’s felt even louder in the small, tiled bathroom.

“Yes daddy! It was too much for me - AHH!!” You let yourself go limp against the mirror, giving yourself up to him entirely and wanting nothing more than for him to use you like his personal rag doll.

●●●●●●●●

Your throat was growing hoarser with every squeal you made. Duncan had been fucking you ruthlessly for what felt like hours now, constantly changing his pace from calm to aggressive and back again. His lips were mouthing over your peaked nipples, tongue slathering trails of saliva across your skin and teeth scrapping over dozens of tiny goosebumps.

“Such a filthy, fucking whore for me.” Squeezing down on your neck with one hand he uses his other to slap you. His ringed hand coming down across your fleshy cheek with a loud crack.

You gasped out, shocked at this move and feeling reinvigorated by the suddenness of it. His abuse only made you more attracted to him, causing your cunt to puddle its juices around his cock.

Slowing his thrusts down to an almost complete halt, he grabbed your jaw, yanking your mouth open just enough that when he dripped his spit down you could catch it. You moaned at the filth of his actions, tasting the bourbon he had drank earlier at the bar.

Following the thick thread of salvia that connected the two of you to each other, he brought his face back down to yours, bringing your sloppy lips together. Never giving you the chance to close your mouth before he slid his tongue into it.

Your lips part, foreheads leaning on each other with eyes locked as you scream and moan at his brutal fucking. “Such a good girl.” He praised you.

“Thank you daddy!!” You cry out, feeling tears brimming in your eyes at the deepness of his cock. You knew he was going to be good when he first pushed you up again that door, but this was insane. You had never felt his turned on before. Loving being completely at his mercy, but receiving none.

He pulled out suddenly, wrapping his hands around your stomach and flipping you over to your front. You got the just of what he wanted and clambered onto your hands and knees for him. He pushed his cock back into your folds, hips ricocheting off your ass immediately.

He pulled at your hair, lifting you up to his chest as he gruffed and groaned. He was much larger than you, making it easy for him to pull your head back enough that he could see the expression on your lust enthralled face.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He demands, spanking your ass cheek and twisting your hair around in his hand. His other hand moved to your gaping mouth, pushing two fingers inside so you taste the metallic bite of his silver band.

You gag as he fucks your mouth, mumbling around his fingers in a desperate attempt at begging him to allow you to cum. You were getting so close now. You guys had been going for so long and your impending release wasn’t going to wait much longer.

“Fuckk, don’t worry sweetheart. Daddy’s close too.” He took his fingers out of your mouth, bringing them down to your clit and swiping at it furiously. You could feel your own spit on his fingers as the coil in your stomach tightened.

“Ohh Daddy’s gonna come so deep inside you, little one.. would you like that?” His breathes were uneven. Thrusts uncontrolled and sloppy.

“Yes!! Fuck, fuck, FUCK Daddy I’m cumming!!” Your cunt pulsated around his shaft, squeezing his own orgasm out of him even sooner than he expected as you screamed. You could taste the saltiness of your own tears, them having run down your cheekbones and into your agape mouth.

His cum flooded your walls, filling you up with his hips pressed against yours as he enveloped you in an embrace from behind. He uttered out a shudder against your temple, his breathe feeling hot and damp on your skin.

He set you back down on the bed and pulled his softening shaft out of you, moving his large hands back to your hips as your own gave out and fell underneath you, pressing your face into the sheets. You eventually rolled over to lay on your back, wanting to let your aftershocks roll through your quivering limbs more comfortably.

He fell down onto the duvet next to you, propping himself up on his side slightly and pulling you closer to him so he could plant a kiss on your swollen lips. “You alright? I didn't hurt too bad now, did I?” He stroked your face, words alluring as ever now your resting bare bodies were tangled up together in a complete stand still.

“Nothing that I didn't enjoy, no.” You joked, lightly drawing intricate shapes on his arm with your fingertips, still harnessing the blemishing sting his ring had left under your cheekbone. “I’d say we're pretty well aquatinted now; wouldn’t you, Daddy?”

●●●●●●●

You could feel cool drips of perspiration slipping down your heated skin from your forehead to your collar bones and all you could do was hope they hadn't taken any of the concealer you had applied earlier this morning with them. You had needed to cover the bruise Duncan’s ring had so easily left on your cheek the night before, since you really didn't want your father or anyone else from work seeing it.

Duncan’s cock was curving in all the right places as he hammered into you. His pace and brutality showing you stars. He seemed even more confident than he did yesterday. Having had experience with you, he knew that you could take his most heinous savagery with delight and didn’t hold off one bit.

His huffs and groans were tantalising, growing louder and more uncontrolled as he fucked you into oblivion. His hand squeaked as it fell down the steamed mirror he leant on, leaving the glass behind you and finding its way to your jaw. He brought your face to his own and kissed you, loudly moaning into your open mouth.

You giggled through your mewls. “Mmm.. I thought I was the loud one, daddy.” You were amused that he had been teasing you so adamantly about the volume of your pleasure, when he was now the one making all the noise.

He paused, quirking an eyebrow at you before slamming his hips into you with a thrust so strong it made you practically scream out. “Oh, my apologises, sweetheart.” He smirked as he picked up his pace once more.

You wrapped your hands in his perfectly styled hair. You no longer cared who knew what was really happening in here, the thought didn’t even cross your mind. All you cared for was chasing your high. You rutted your hips on his and took his length entirely, feeling dangerously close to cumming.

“Fuckkk baby, daddy’s gonna cum okay?. Cum with me princess. Fall apart on my cock.” His unfocused thrusts had you coming undone in seconds. You held onto him tight, digging your nails into his shoulders and pulling at his curls as you cried out in ecstasy.

He shot his seed into you, feeling all his pent up frustrations from earlier at the table leave him as he pushed himself deep into your abused cunt. He didn’t even attempt to stifle his moans, too invested in finally receiving his release to realise just how loud he was being.

He rested his forehead on yours, your sweaty skin pressed against each other as you both attempted to catch your breathes after such a quick, ruthless fuck. You started laughing, finding it utterly ridiculous that you had spent the majority of a meeting you had been terrified for, getting fucked by your new boss (and the man you had fucked the night before) in a restaurant bathroom.

He joined in laughing, clearly finding humour within this strange situation too. Interrupting your laugh, he pushed his lips into yours, kissing you as if your lips were some kind of prize. You felt his cock slip from your cunt, his seed immediately spilling from it as you were left with a sudden, empty sensation.

He made quick work of zipping his pants back up and fastening his belt. You tugged your skirt back down to your thighs, being reminded of how Duncan had snatched your panties and stashed them in his pants pocket. You guessed you wouldn’t be getting them back anytime soon, which you were okay with, you just hoped nobody saw his remnants leaving you left the bathroom.

You flattened out your skirt and felt the wet sticky lemonade that still coated it. You had completely forgotten to clean it. “Fuck, my skirt's still sticky! Why would you order lemonade?” You whined; still mad he hadn’t just ordered some water.

Awaiting a reply, you turned to check your make up in the mirror. Luckily it was pretty light today, so it still looked good other than the bruise on your cheek now being slightly more obvious than before. What really concerned you was your neck. It was covered in every shade of purple and red you were aware existed. If your father and coworkers didn’t know what was going on from how weird you were being at the table before, or how long it had taken the two of you to finish in the bathroom, or the noises that were emitting from it, they would definitely know after seeing all the claims he had left on your skin.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think that spilt water would have been a good enough excuse to get you all alone in here.” He chuckled to himself, leaning over to rest his chin on your head and wrapping his arms around your waist as he joked over his mischievousness.

“But we should probably head back out there. I’m sure your father’s going to apprentice the beautiful mosaic I’ve painted across your neck” he kissed the bruises he spoke of as he watched you through the mirror.

You scoffed at him, gifting yourself one last look before completely giving up on finding a way you could make your face and neck appear more presentable for heading back to the table.

Duncan opened the bathroom door, nodding his head towards the hallway and waiting for you to hurry up and join him.

The two of you started walking back, your legs struggling to take your weight with how weak they had become. Your heels clicked along the floor, making you far more aware of how soon you would be sitting back down with everyone from work. Like a clock counting down to all the judgmental stares you would surly be receiving.

You kept your eyes trained on the floor as you took your seat at the table. Seths voice trailed off upon seeing the two of you sit down, leaving you both in the middle of an uncomfortable silence that felt near suffocating.

“What took so long!” You could hear the anger and perhaps embarrassment in Annettes voice as she whispered to Duncan. She looked towards you, glaring and scowling before retiring her vision back to him. She was probably hoping that what she assumed to have occurred hadn’t, but from the marks clearly decorating your neck, she would have known it to be true.

“Oh, we just couldn’t get the lemonade out of her skirt.” He tut as he spoke to his mother, smiling and playing off any obvious suspicions. “I’m sorry, really.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, dripping with a sincerity you knew to be false.

“So what was it we were discussing?” he speaks louder now, addressing the rest of the table.

“Uhh actually, I think we have a deal.” Seth replied, looking over at him and then the rest of the table. You heard your father mutter something in agreement, but it was meek. Quiet. He must have felt the awkward tension too. It was ripe in the air, like a shiver you couldn’t shake off. You didn't even want to look at him, knowing If anyone there felt most uncomfortable, it was him.

Saying their goodbyes and finishing up with any last details, everyone stood to shake hands and bid their farewells. You felt your fathers scowl as he came and stood beside you, but you didn't dare look at him. You were too ashamed to face him whilst still with your coworkers.

Duncan walked over to your father, looking more satisfied than ever with his eyes still focused on you as he thanked him for meeting and shook his hand firmly.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr Y/L/N.” He let go of your fathers hand only to take a hold of yours. He grasped it delicately, a touch more gentle than he had ever shown you previously. Assuming he was trying you shake it, you were more than surprised when he raised it to his lips, kissing your rosey knuckles; still red from the tight grip you had, had on his hair earlier.

“I look forward to working with you in the future, Y/N.” He graced you with once last signature smirk as he walked away, leaving you with your father who was waiting for an explanation and apology for your disgusting and foolish behaviour.

Maybe it hadn’t been the worst way to spend lunch.

Tags: @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @ntxoza @angelicmichael @jimmason @michaellangdonstanaccount @blakescoven @7-wonders @ghostangels @fernfiction @brattylovee @melodylangdon @brooklinn13 @instincts-baby

#duncan shepherd #duncan shepherd x female reader #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shepherd smut #house of cards fic #older!duncan #older!duncan shepherd #older!duncan x reader #boss!duncan #boss!duncan shepherd #boss!duncan shepherd x reader #daddy duncan #cody fern #cody fern fic #my writing

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furiosophie · 4 years ago

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DINLUKE F1 AU

ok so I had this in my notes for fucking ages so fuck it here we go

inspired by @ehi7backup incredible art [look at it here]

TW: Luke lost his hand in a crash, Luke has ptsd Luke is the new hotshot star driver for Ferrari, Anakin was the best F1 pilot the world has ever seen, but after a horrid crash, he had to stop. Now his kids step up, Luke as driver and Leia as team principal (tho ppl say she could have surpassed Luke as a driver). Wedge is his co-pilot or Mara idk.

Luke's first season was incredible but he got into a horrible crash and lost his hand and now everyone is very skeptical if he can make his comeback this season. The team is under pressure anyways bc ppl say there is a curse on them since Anakin also had a horrid crash, you know Skywalker fuckery.

Din drives for Red Bull, tho they are referred to by some as the death watch, drawing suspicions with their weird training regiments. The Armorer is the team principal and Boba is Din's copilot. Din never takes his helmet off, mostly bc he rly just got into racing bc it's the only thing he was ever good at and he just wants to care for his kid and be left alone.

Bo-Katan is on Toro Rosso, and fucking hates Din's guts bc she used to drive for Red Bull but got knocked down to Toro Rosso last season so Din could have her spot (Din is oblivious to that rivalry). Koska is her copilot. Satine is the team principal and she and Bo never see eye to eye. Also, Satine has a weird history with that old dude that hangs around Ferrari all the time it's Obi-Wan.

Han and Chewie are in one of those weird teams that keep changing their sponsor and team name all the time so they are just known by the name Han lovingly gave his car, the Millennium Falcon. Lando is somehow their team principal even though no one knows where the heck he came from.

Then there is Mercedes with Gideon as team principal and Maul and ikd Ventress or someone as their drivers (nothing against Mercedes it just has to be one of the top teams u know for the drama).

Palpatine is the slimy old dude that has some shady money and hangs around like a menacing presence. He keeps trying to recruit Luke for one thing or the other and Anakin fucking hates his guts.

Cobb and Fennec are Ferraris and Red Bulls head mechanics respectively and always share the hot gossip. Obi-Wan, who blames himself for Anakin's accident, floats around like a weird ghost and occasionally offers strange advice. There is also Ashoka who was one of the most promising drivers and used to drive with Anakin but then shit happened and she noped out.

ANYWAYS Luke has always been curious about the gruff Red Bull driver who never takes his helmet off and they have a lot of run-ins, where ppl tell Luke to stay away but he's just so intrigued. And then one night he exists his trailer and wants to get away from the attention for one night bc he's already fighting a panic attack and runs into Din with Grogu on his arm who is fleeing as well. And Luke, bless him, does not connect the fact that Din and the mysterious driver are the same person, he just sees a hot dad and is head over heels.

And Din is nice and he is gentle and funny and knows how to talk Luke out of a panic attack and it becomes somewhat of a habit for them to meet up after races and they low-key start to date all while Luke has no clue who Din is bc he only ever introduced himself as Din, but on the track they are all called by their last name so---

Well you guessed it, Luke's season is actually going fucking great, so he and Din end up being pegged as rivals and it's blown up real big and Luke doesn't mind bc it's all in good fun, but what he does mind is that Djarin is suddenly always a bit too close to him when they are standing in line to be weight? Or their hands will brush when they pass each other in the hallway?? And he'll always somehow magically be around when Luke is about to have a panic attack and he does this thing where he leans their helmets together when Luke is freaking out and look it's all rly nice and lovely and he appreciates it so much, but also he has this rly nice thing going with Din and ppl are starting to talk and he doesn't want Din to think he is dating someone else but also he's getting kinda attached to Djarin and his rly soothing voice and oh gosh

But yea anyways there are so many possibilities like

it was actually Din who pulled Luke out of the wreck when he had his accident, Luke doesn't remember bc he was out cold

news articles and tweets and stuff that talk about Skywalker's and Djarin's rivalry that eventually morph into talking about them having a secret affair

Leia telling Luke over coms to come in for a tire change and Luke absolutely refusing bc Djarin is hot on his heels and he can't lose to him while Din is watching the race

Din telling Luke he can always call him and he'll always be there, except during races and Luke is high-key sad about that bc he would love to talk to Din before the race bc he's anxious but he respects Din's boundaries etc. BUT THE REASON DIN IS UNAVAILABLE IS BC HE'S IN THE DAMN RACE

eventual shit going down when they discover that Palp is cheating or some shit

Leia absolutely losing it when she finds out Luke thinks Din and Djarin are two different people

Han

#I haven't watched last season idk if any of this makes sense anymore #but yea fuck it this is just for vibes #this is mostly based on the fact that drive to survive has sport anime vibes #dinluke #dinluke modern au #I wanted this to be pure crack but you know gotta have the angst #dinluke F1 Au

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bluewritesao3 · 3 years ago

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hi hello we've never spoken but your tags about book of boba! i totally agree with you that din might be who they're referring to as the hunter. there has been rumors that bobf was meant to be season 3 of the mandalorian (idk if it's been confirmed), but because of mando's success, they made it into it's own show. i wouldn't be surprised if din is present for some of the bobf episodes. i know lateef (one of pedro's body doubles for mando) was on set for bobf, although idk if he was there for din, boba, or someone else. sorry for the random ramblings i just saw your tags and i'm buzzing lmaoo

oh dont be sorry for rambling.

I only say din could be the 'hunter' cause he'd the only sw character that i've seen referred to as that like on screen. Ya know like i think like din cameos would be better than like being the episodes actively revolving around Din tbh like what they did with Rex in tbb.

Or maybe they're gonna introduce another new mando character or a new character in general and thats what they need Lateef for i honestly don't know but December honestly couldn't come quick enough tbh

#im jumping for point to point\#im vibrating with theories #ask #blue answers

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drev-the-procrastinator · 4 years ago

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the mando fic for the wip title thing

As promised, I made this into its own post. @purplecarseat and @lastwordbeforetheend, here thanks for the asks, and hope you like this!

Right, so the Mando fic!

This is the first Mando fic I came up with, not too long after the season 2 finale, and I've been kinda calling this like... the opposite of a fix-it fic? Like by coming up and possibly writing this I'm doing the opposite of manifesting, I'm manifesting for this to never happen in canon ever, you know :') This one's gonna be long too, I might put it under a read more. We'll see!

EDIT: This is definitely going under a read more, it's like 4k words or something. It's like, half notes, half almost-prose, so um. H. Hope you like it? Buckle up boys, this is a long one ajhdalsfhklaskfja

Right, so! Hm. Where to start.

Let's try this. It's about 100 years after the season 2 finale. We follow Grogu, entering a bar or an inn or some other establishment. He's now maybe a teenager - I'm not sure how age works on his species - but he travels the galaxy alone, doing what? I'm not sure! He trained in the ways of the Jedi from when Luke picked him up to the destruction of the Jedi academy in the hands of Kylo Ren. He'd perhaps finished the necessary training by then, or was away by complete chance, but he survived, and spent the next few years running and hiding from the First Order. That threat is gone now, but he's still touring the galaxy.

Maybe he's still looking for his dad, even though he knows, logically, that humans only live for a hundred years if they're lucky, and he was already older than his dad when they met, but... Or maybe he's looking for other Force-sensitive children? The Jedi way doesn't seem to be working since they've now failed spectacularly twice in a rather short tim, so maybe he's kind of doing his own thing. Maybe he's going to the children and teaching them to control their abilities and to live with them. He's trying to make sure no one else has to be separated from their parents and family, like he was.

Anyway! He's been going around for quite some time now, and now when he walks into this establishment, he spots all kinds of patrons, including... Mandalorians. It's not that unusual - I don't know what happened to Mandalore, but there are more Mandalorians around now, he's witnessed their growth in his time travelling the galaxy, and he comes across them from time to time now. He tries to talk with them whenever he can, which is usually when they're not hostile towards him, which isn't that rare! They are, however, rather guarded towards outsiders, which he knows he is, he did knowingly choose the path of the Jedi all those years ago after all.

Even so, he has learnt things about Mandalorian culture from those chats, and some Mando'a, too, but not much. Sometimes he's just had to sit near a group of Mandalorians to try to learn Mando'a by listening to them, when he's been desperate. He has learnt a lot though, different beliefs, dialects, clan names, clan signets - he's seen dozens of those, heard many stories behind them. These Mandalorians all have some part of their armor painted red - honoring a parent, he knows. Maybe Grogu doesn't see the signet well at first? He's too far away. The shape is a kind he doesn't remember seeing before, but it's somehow familiar. Maybe he creeps closer, gets a table near them, sits down to eat his food and to listen, brush up on his Mando'a, if they'll speak any, it's not always the case.

Then. Suddenly. He hears it. A name he only vaguely remembers, but remembers anyway, despite hearing it only once or twice ages ago. A hundred years. Idk if it's just the Mandos in red beskar, or if they have someone else there too, but someone calls one of the Mandalorians by their surname. The sound of it cuts through the chatter of the establishment. Djarin. One of the Mandalorians was called Djarin.

"Tell them it's from Din Djarin-”

"-Carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it-"

It's like he's been hit by lightning, energy crawling all over his skin, like he's supercharged. Hope surges in him, but dies as quickly. It's been too long, and surely, if it were him, he would've recognized him? And it's been too long. Even so, he turns in his seat to look at the group. He's close enough now that he spots it. The sigil, on the right pauldron. The vaguely familiar shape.

It's a mudhorn.

-Him, in his small pod, straining, lifting a giant horned creature, using the Force for the first time in years, after the Dark, Dad looking at him in wonder, the two shiny pieces of his armor covered in mud-

Grogu doesn't sense the familiar, safe presence he remembers, but it must be the same signet. It must. One of the Mandalorians turns their helmet just a bit but he can tell they're looking at him now, so he turns to his food and tries to merely look fascinated by the beskar, even if it is kind of rude, and not like. Like he's seen a ghost, which is probably pretty close to how he feels.

He probably finishes his food - it would feel rude to eat when others can't - and makes his way to the table where the Mandalorians are. He speaks Mando'a to them to get their attention, ljust a greeting, and they're surprised he knows any, and the discussion starts from there. He tells them he's quite fascinated by the culture and has taken any chance he gets to talk with Mandalorians. Even if his Mando'a isn't very good. He says he hasn't seen their signet before, and they tell him it's a mudhorn. Clan Mudhorn.

They introduce themselves, just a little, they're still cautious, but give their first names at least? One of them, a younger boy, a teenager maybe, is called Din, though he's not the one referred to as Djarin. Grogu remarks it's not a very traditional Mandalorian name, to which they tell him it's probably not, as the boy is named after the founder of their clan, and he was a foundling himself. "Oh", is all Grogu can say, because he's sure now, these people are from his clan. Their clan. Their little clan of two.

He asks about the story behind the signet, and they tell him quite eagerly! It's grown and been both simplified and exaggerated, polished, but Grogu can recognize the battle he remembers. He's in it too. Saving their ancestor - saving Dad - and to his surprise, the story doesn't end there, but instead includes also the betrayal and the redemption, when he was exchanged for beskar and when he was rescued. He didn't guess Dad would've felt so guilty about giving him away; he'd rescued him, Grogu had already forgiven him then.

They're still a little cautious, but maybe they've heard form other mandos that the little green guy with the big ole ears that speaks Mando'a is a cool dude, so it doesn't take that much for Grogu to get some more stories out of them. Like how their clan started to grow, a.k.a. how Din found his second foundling, and the third, and how he was the Mand'alor for a sec, and how he did not like it at all, and of other things he did, and then, eventually, Grogu gathers the courage to ask what happened to him.

But about the foundlings. How the clan began to grow. If you thought Din "Mandadlorian" Djarin could turn off his dad instinct once it was activated, you'd be sorely mistaken. Granted, it took some time, but once the wound of losing literally everything scabbed over a little and the pain of having to have given up his child eased somewhat, he did find more kids for himself to parent.

I think the first foundling would've been, hm, not quite as young a child? I think maybe she were a teenager, or even a young adult. She wasn't a foundling, per say, but Din probably took her under his wing anyway? Maybe she was a young Mandalorian from a similar covert as the one he'd been in, but she'd survived some attack on it, as the only one, and crossed paths with Din, who then first was just gonna teach her to, idk, do bounty hunting, help her join the Guild, but then she stuck around. She would've already had her own name, so she's of the line the younger Din Grogu met is a part of.

The second would've been a small child again, this would've been around the time of the First Order's existence? They would've come across a village destroyed by an attack by the order, and from the ruins Din would've discovered a young child. Not much older than Grogu was, really. He would've taken them in, and raised them. Eventually he did adopt them both, and this younger child would've been given the name Djarin, because they wouldn't have found their original name, other than the first name. And the first child would've gotten married and the spouse would've joined the clan, and they'd found more foundlings, as would Din, too, eventually, I'm sure, and not all of them were kids? But he probably adopted them anyway. With the Mandalorian adoption vow.

There would've had to be a realization from him, though, I think at first he took his time saying the vows because he hadn't said it to Grogu when he'd had the chance and he would've felt like it'd been a betrayal to say it to these kids but not his son, the one who taught him to love like a parent. But he would get, quite quickly, that him loving these kids doesn't take away of the love he has for Grogu, and that it's not right by them that he would reserve a place in his heart only for one child. He can and should love all of them, and he does realize this, and does adopt them, and loves them all like the bestest single space dad he is. Grogu is happy to hear that; he was such a good parent to him that he's glad that other kids have had the chance to have someone love and protect them the same way he was loved and kept safe. He does feel a pang of sadness as he does everytime he hears of the adoption vow, and feels a little as if he's been forgotten since they don't know his name in the stories, but he does know they only had a relatively short time together, so it's no wonder then, if compared to the many years the others have spent with Dad, he had been a little forgotten.

The way the founder died, though. Family is important to all Mandalorians, but seems to be even more so to Clan Mudhorn, Grogu observes. When he hears about the story of the clan signet, they tell him that's not the only story everyone in the clan knows by heart. There's also the story of how the founder died, and the first time he's not brave enough to ask and no one offers to tell him, but later he gathers his courage and does ask. And they tell him.

Grogu hears of the restless times of the rise of the First Order. The chaos. Bloodshed. Tyranny. The clan had been more or less in hiding on a planet, trying to lay low and stay out of trouble, but they'd been found and attacked. For the beskar, for some other reason? Were they on Mandalore? Was that attacked again, by the order? Maybe? Whatever the reason, it had been calm, too calm, like the calm before the storm, and then the attackers had come. The founder had died protecting his family, the Mandalorians tell Grogu, he'd bought them time to escape.

He'd saved the oldest of the foundlings, his first daughter, really, who'd been the mother of the eldest of the Mandalorians Grogu met in the inn, an older woman going by the voice and what the Force was telling him. Her mother had been pregnant with her at the time of the attack, and her life was directly saved by the founder of their clan, Din Djarin. Grogu's Dad.

It's like a thread, connecting Grogu and his dad and this woman, through the decades. Something concrete, tangible proof that he, Din, Dad, had lived and been alive and existed in this world. Sometimes Grogu thinks it might all have been a dream he dreamed up in between hiding from the Empire and hiding from the Order, because a year feels like such a short time for him, sometimes, and it has been so long. But no. This person is proof. His father had saved her. She is alive because he existed. Just as Grogu is.

The final thing the founder had done before going into battle, they tell Grogu, had been to hand an object to his eldest daughter, something that'd been the Child's, and to make sure he would get it. And she had promised. That's the reason this story has been passed on with the story of the signet, to keep the promise and deliver the object to the Child, should their paths someday cross.

What happened to the Child, Grogu asks - he doesn't know if they haven't passed on his name or if they just don't want to share it with an outsider - and the Mandalorians tell him the clan founder tried to keep the child safe, but he wasn't strong enough and failed, and even when he rescued the child, he knew he couldn't provide for him in the ways the child needed, so he was given to the Jedi to raise. This is what happened, Grogu knows, but his heart aches to hear Dad thought he wasn't good enough. Grogu would've gone back, he tried, after the temple was destroyed, he's been trying, but...

And he tells them that it's not so simple. That even if the founder failed, he still came back for the child and saved him, and let him choose his own path, and loved him so much and so purely that he was able to let him go, to let him follow the path he'd chosen. And that he was the greatest buir the child could have asked for, and that anytime the child was terrified, anytime they were scared, anytime they felt they were not brave enough to take another step, there was the beloved, familiar voice telling them to not be afraid, and always the child found the courage. And the child tried to come back, he really did, but the galaxy was so big and the child so small and he could not find his way back until it was too late.

And it seems like the older Mandalorians had guessed, by now, but Grogu takes out the mythosaur pendant he's had all these years, and tells them it's from Din Djarin.

And they welcome him home.

Later, when they take Grogu to the rest of the clan he is introduced to everyone. There are so many. Their clan of two has grown so big. There are more than one species, too. Many foundlings. Not all choose to follow the Way, and the ones who do not are let go, to find their own paths, and loved all the same.

He asks what they did to his Dad's armor. Most of it went to the foundlings - of this clan and of others who might've needed it - but for two parts. The right pauldron, which is now passed on from clan leader to the next, with the original clan signet, and the helmet. They'd thought the helmet was destroyed, it was stolen by the people who'd attacked their clan way back then, but they'd recently heard rumours of a helmet of pure beskar found in some stashes of the First Order that had been unearthed somewhere. No one knows where it is, though, but they're planning on getting it back, someday, somehow. Grogu promises his help in that endeavour.

The clan also finally fulfills the eldest daughter's promise. The object is delivered to the Child. Grogu sees it and kind of wants to cry.

It's the ball. The knob. From the Razor Crest. He takes it and probably does cry a little. It has so many memories written into every tiny scratch and groove. He thanks them, but when they offer him a place to sleep he declines and goes to the inn or his ship. He is not Mandalorian, he chose the path of the Jedi, and that's it, he thinks, sadly. He doesn't think he can really be a part of this clan, this family, because he chose not to be, you know? He's pretty sure you have to be born or brought into the Mandalorian Creed, to be raised in it, or at least adopted. He hasn't been, or someone would've mentioned it if he had, and as if he'd ever call anyone else his buir. No way. So, this is it, he thinks, he knows what happened to Dad, he can move on now, he guesses.

That night, before bed, he examines the ball again. It looks a little strange to him, not as he remembers. Didn't it have a hole in it where it got screwed onto the gear stick on the Crest? It did, it must have. Grogu remembers turning it with the Force, around and around until Dad noticed and gave it to him. It doesn't have it now. That's strange. It's like... it's been filled in with something.... He fiddles with it and he must press or nudge something, or maybe it was the Force he used, but something pops out. It's an old fashioned holo-stick? Like an usb stick, but like, space-y.

It takes him some time until he finds a player (or maybe we'll just have the ball play it, idk) and he plugs it in one night, alone on his ship (or that same night if we skip this ahdkshd). A hologram flickers to life. It works! There's a small moment of triumph before his breath freezes. That's Dad. In the hologram. The armor and the helmet and the voice. All of it. Just like in his memories, just blue and flickering and transparent as holos are. But it's Dad.

Grogu doesn't know when it was recorded, and he doesn't particularly care. He just listens to Dad's familiar, soothing voice.

What he tells him, though. If Grogu is seeing this, that means he couldn't keep his promise.

"I'll see you again. I promise."

Ni ceta, ner ad'ika, he says, he hopes he can destroy the stick when they meet again in person and he can tell this to the kid face to face, but it has been. Restless. Recently. So he thought he'd make this, just in case.

He wants the kid to know he has said these words to himself a hundred times, in his mind, out loud, and they have been true in his heart since at least the moment he looked upon the face of the child he had risked it all for, faced stormtroopers and all of the guild, that one night on Nevarro, when he'd shielded him and gently stroked his tiny little head, content with that being the last thing he would ever get to see but full of guilt for not being able to give this child a better life. Since then, at the very least. But, even if he can't say them to the kid face to face, he swears he has said them and meant them every time. They will hold true until the end of time, even after he's gone and joined the manda, even after this recording is gone and no evidence remains.

Here, he pauses and takes off the helmet, and Grogu looks upon the face of his father for the second time in his life. He has gotten older, of course, grey streaks in his dark hair and wrinkles on his face, but he is still the same man, the same safe presence, with the same gentle sadness, the same overwhelming love in his eyes as that day that ended up being their final together in this world. Grogu has to blink away the tears blurring his vision to drink in the image of the one who saved him, one who protected him, one who cared for him as the first person after the Dark, the first one who loved him. His father. His buir. Dad.

Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad, Grogu.

The hologram of his father smiles a little, almost like he can see Grogu's hand touch his face on the hologram, desperate to let him know he heard the words and has wished, known, to hear them for so long, and that he loves Dad, so, so much. Dad once again says he hopes he'll get to tell him in person, but that even if he won't, they'll be true all the same. He hopes Grogu has found his path and place in the world, and that whatever it may be, Jedi or Mandalorian or both or neither, he is, and will forever be, so proud of him.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. That's the last thing he says, before clearing his throat and a little awkwardly putting his helmet back on. It's so like Dad that Grogu almost smiles. When Dad leans forward to stop the recording, he stops for just a second with his head bowed. Grogu doesn't know if it was on purpose or just by coincidence, but it is the perfect spot for him to lean his head forward towards the hologram, and for a second, just a moment, he can almost feel the coolness of the beskar gently press against his own bare forehead, through the years and parsecs. Then the hologram flickers out, and he is left in the darkness.

However, there's a warmth in his chest he hasn't felt in a long, long time. It will stay there, forever, long after the members of their clan have passed and joined his father in the manda, centuries, even after the recording will be unusable and he will have long forgotten his father's face and the sound of his voice, the knowledge that he was there and he existed and he loved him, loved Grogu, so thoroughly and deeply and so much, that will stay.

Tonight, though, they're both bright and clear in Grogu's mind, and the warmth in his chest blazes like a thousand suns, and even as he sleeps, and his tears dry on his cheeks, he smiles.

And that's the fic.

Hope you liked it! I've also got like, hm, a companion piece? It's like a shorter one shot, about what exactly happened to Din, like how he died? I've got that written in actual prose, not this half-ramble-half-fic format, but I didn't add it here becuse this is long enough already. If you'd like to see that, too, hit me an ask or a reply! I'd be glad to share that too! Hurted me to reread.

Oh, and since I mentioned a song that inspired the space fic, this one's go two, too; Shelter by Porter Robinson & Madeon, and The Truth Is A Cave by The Oh Hellos, especially the bit that goes "I was blind to every sign you left for me to find", via the logic that like... after the stuff that went down at Jedi School, Din and Grogu kept looking for each other in the galaxy but kept just barely missing each other all that time, until his mortality caught up to Din, after which Grogu still kept looking. But, as he said, the galaxy is so big, and he is so small. There was also a third song for the part with the hologram, but I've forgotten what it was because I didn't write it down anywhere. :( It might have been Arctic by Sleeping At Last... I really don’t remember, and this annoys me a whole lot rn. Hm. >:/

In any case! If someone wants to see the part with Din, let me know, and I hope you enjoyed my ramble. Thanks for asking about it!

#the mandalorian #star wars #drev's fics #noromo mando #??? in theory at least sorry if i've misused your tag #anyway. this is. long.#sorry about that too lmao #I was not going to make this so long but it just happened #ohhh and you would not believe how much not remembering that one song pisses me off #I am so upset #why oh why didn't i write it down anywhere :(#anyway!!!! than u again for asking about it #and really if you wanna read the companion part do tell me and i'll happily post it in a reblog or smthn #I just didn't wanna put it here because it would've made this already-long post even longer #so. yep. that's it

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irene-sadler · 4 years ago

Text

Sir Reynard and the Red Knight

(aka 'The Tournament')

special notes:

the vibe i chose for this imaginary fair/holiday is a mashup of pieces from medieval christmas and new year's eve celebrations. ofc as I mentioned before most of those were Christianity-based, but some of them had a distintly pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon pagan flavor. now my source material here is from 1827, but the author makes sure to let us know which traditions (he thinks) are older than Christianity. the book (books actually, there's 3 of them total) itself is also kind of a fun read, it's sort of a combo of an almanac/calendar/reference guide/gossip column.

a n y w a y, so, specifically i want to mention (b/c i stole them for this story and i don't want to do that without letting ppl know these are or were real traditions that real people observed) serving a boars' head on christmas day (Essex, England, observed "from time immemorial"), the wassail bowl/toast (a new year custom very definitely from before Christianity and apparently present in various parts of Europe altho I don't have the specific expertise to explain why), and an interesting/weird/gruesome Christmas parade (Kent) which the book describes: "A party of young people procure the head of a dead horse, which is affixed to a pole about four feet in length, a string is tied to the lower jaw, a horse cloth is then attached to the whole, under which one of the party gets, and by frequently pulling the string keeps up a loud snapping noise." This is called a Hodening and whether or not ppl still do it I don't know but, uh, i hope so b/c awesome.

also theres only 1 chapter left if u stuck with it this whole time or, idk, it's 2024 and u read the whole thing at once thanks for bothering love u

----

“Yes, hello,” Gascon said, pretending not to notice Meve’s displeasure. “Good afternoon, ladies,” he added, as the Baroness and Giselle turned to look curiously down at where he stood in the shadows. The Baroness frowned and pursed her lips judiciously; Giselle considered him and glanced uncertainly at the older women.

“Anyway,” he continued, an edge of urgency buried in his easy tone, “Do you have a minute to spare?”

“No,” the Queen said stiffly, turning back toward the empty lists. “I’m busy; whatever it is will have to wait until later.”

“Oh,” he replied, growing very faintly annoyed, “Because it’s about that thing you wanted last night; just thought you’d be interested t’ know I’ve done it.”

She hesitated, ignoring the Baroness’s raised eyebrow and Giselle’s uncomfortable confusion, struggled momentarily between curiosity and base pettiness, and finally said, “Yes, fine; I have a few minutes, I suppose.”

“Fifteen minutes,” the Baroness said, pointedly.

“No time to waste, then,” said Gascon; he winked at Giselle, who took her cue from the Baroness and frowned disapprovingly back at him, and they hurried off.

“So, what is it, then?” Meve asked bluntly, as they turned into the town’s streets at a rapid stroll. “I assume you’ve caught the saboteur, else you wouldn’t have bothered me.”

“Well, I caught Gaheris; he may be the saboteur, or may not,” Gascon said, disregarding her tone. “Gaspar thinks he is, though, and he’s th’ only one who saw th’ intruder close up last night, so odds are good he’s your man.”

“Really?” She abandoned her moodiness in favor of mild surprise, and then asked, “When did this happen?”

“Oh, only about an hour ago. Less, even. Seemed like there was no real need for a public scene, so I just had him snatched off the street and, you know - stashed somewhere convenient,” Gascon explained, leading the way down an alley and into a butcher. The owner nodded and smiled to him as he passed through the door and headed toward the back, spotted the Queen, and instantly looked away at nothing in particular. Pug and Gaspar waited in the yard behind the shop, standing guard over a man with a bag on his head and a bandage around his left ankle. Gascon nodded at Pug and she yanked the bag away; Gaheris squinted in the light and surveyed his surroundings - two large, brightly interested pigs in a pen, his sinister pair of captors, and, finally, Meve and Gascon. He sighed.

“Got ‘im in one piece, as you wanted,” Pug announced in her gruff voice; a dubious claim, as Gaheris had a black eye and a split lip, but Gascon nodded approvingly and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward the shop.

“Wait inside for a bit,” he said; Pug and Gaspar departed, leaving their captive to his deserved fate.

“Now, sir,” Meve said briskly to Gaheris; if she had any doubts about his culpability, she kept them firmly to herself. “Let’s not waste time with falsehoods or denials.”

“No,” he said, resignedly, “Doesn’t seem to be much point in trying.”

“Quite. So, explain what it is you’ve been up to, then.”

“Start with last night,” Gascon added, as the squire took a few too many seconds to think it over. “Hurry up.”

“Ah, well. I was trying to get hold of a piece of equipment I knew was among Sir Odo’s things in the barn,” he said. “The girth from a saddle.”

“Continue,” the Queen said, as he paused, clearly thinking the question answered.

“Well, obviously I didn’t get it, since that - that thug sliced my ankle t’ the bone when I tried. Seems the girth held up, though, regardless, through today; probably because Sir Odo don’t take many hits, luckily for him.”

“No, it’s because I found it last night and changed it out for a new one,” Gascon said, angrily. “You’re the one who cut it, are you?”

Gaheris nodded.

“I knew it,” the Duke muttered; Meve waved his self-congratulatory comment away, scowling.

“When did you do it?”

“Oh, a month ago, or more,” he said. “Just before the duel against Sir Holt.”

“Why?”

He blinked at the question and said, as if it was obvious, “Because Sir Holt told me to, in hopes he’d win.”

“You did a bad job, then,” Gascon snapped; Gaheris looked mildly offended.

“No,” he said. “No, I didn’t. The girth held, did it not? Sir Odo won - or, well he could have, if he’d wanted to.”

He looked at his interrogators’ baffled stares, and then explained, patiently, “Look - I cut through the leather, left just enough to hold a strain for a good while, glued it so it’d look like nothing, and told Holt I’d done what he wanted. Simple. I just didn’t have the chance to get it back, after the fight; too many people hanging around who might’ve seen me. If I had done, nobody would have been the wiser.”

Meve stared at him, torn between confusion and anger, opened her mouth, and closed it again as an echo of distant horns bounced off the buildings.

“Damn,” she said. “I have to go. Gascon, find Sir Holt.”

“What should I do with him?” he asked, as she turned to leave; she hesitated, considered her options, and came to a hasty decision.

“Just keep tabs on him, don’t let him leave town, and - and we’ll sort this mess out, later.”

“You’ll find him in the tavern, no doubt,” Gaheris said wearily to Gascon, as she quickly departed.

She nearly ran back through the streets, but she was still late; she returned to the lists to find the Baroness had started the final round without her. However, she she was in time to see Nolda avoid an immediate defeat by the same method she had used on Sir Eres, but Reynard survived her trick, when his fellow knight hadn’t. She nodded in satisfaction at the display.

“Your man is a quick study, as he’s always been,” said the Baroness, as if Meve had never been away. The next pass involved no deceptions from either side, nor any displays of brilliance; Nolda blocked an ordinary sort of attack on her shield, and never touched Sir Odo.

“He’s testing the waters,” Meve said, slightly bored with her favorite’s typically cautious tactics. “How long have they been at it?”

“You only missed one pass; the foreigner’s better at this than I expected.”

“She’s tricky,” Giselle noted, appreciatively. “What’s the Count doing, there?”

There was a short pause; Meve glanced downfield and answered, “Oh, he wants a different lance, I imagine.”

The delay took a full half minute, due to some confusion on Ethan’s part; the Baroness mumbled a displeased remark about the squire’s ineptitude, and then the combat began again.

“He wants to make up for Nolda’s left-handedness,” the Baroness explained, louder, “That’s what the long spear is for. Most people don’t learn to fight the way she does -”

She broke off; Reynard’s change of weapon had answered, and he had dealt a strike that had nearly unseated his opponent; she managed to stay in the saddle by luck or skill and they lined up again.

“He has her figured out; this’ll be th’ end of it,” said Meve. The Baroness nodded agreement. Giselle looked unconvinced, but, in the end, Reynard landed a direct attack to his opponent’s helm and Nolda crashed to earth at long last.

“A devilishly difficult play,” the Baroness said, in the silence that followed. “Dangerous, too.”

Reynard had turned to look behind himself, before his horse had even reached the end of the barricade; Nolda lay still on the ground for a few moments, and then, as her husband vaulted the fence and came running toward her, stirred and sat up. She waved an irritated hand at Bohault and Reynard, who had trotted back and dropped from his horse as soon as he was rid of his lance, but neither paid attention to her gestures or her repeated insistence that she was perfectly fine. The crowd’s general din returned, drowning out their conversation; Meve breathed a relieved sigh and reluctantly turned her thoughts back to Gaheris and Sir Holt, and then - she frowned slightly - Gascon’s mysterious absence during the day.

“Pity you can’t make her a knight,” Giselle said, of Nolda, interrupting her consideration; Meve’s frown grew thoughtful.

“A knight,” she repeated to herself, under her breath, watching the muddle on the field break up - Reynard back to his horse, Bohault and Nolda to hers - a vague connection, or suspicion, growing in the back of her mind. She turned abruptly to the Baroness, interrupted an ongoing reminisce on the handful of times she’d seen another knight employ a tactic similar to Reynard’s winning strike, and said, “Listen, Hilde - the black knight; do you know who he is?”

The Baroness hesitated, slightly confused, and replied, choosing her words carefully, “I believe so, but - wasn’t that what you and the Duke spoke about?”

“No,” the Queen said, disgruntled. “No, it wasn’t.”

“Ah,” she said, looking away toward the approaching victors, “Well, perhaps you should. Count Odo, congratulations on another victory; well fought, Nolda. My lord, you’ve won quite a fine horse, I believe, and you, madam, a sword. They’ll be bringing them along shortly.”

Any personal urgency she felt to finally sort out her ongoing affairs was wasted; the prizes took very little time to hand out, but a number of unrelated problems were brought to her individual attention as soon as the victors rode away. She sent Giselle back to her tavern with genuine gratitude for her service, dealt out various solutions, and then at last she and the Baroness set off toward the castle. The streets of the city were packed, twilight was setting in, and there was no way to hurry their progress no matter how their guard tried. A wagon that had lost a wheel blocked the way, first, and then a succession of other disruptions: a traveling comedic play about a sorcerer and some maidens, some cows wandering loose in the street, a troupe of drunken minstrels playing festive tunes, a strange procession led by a solemn youth holding a freshly cut horse’s head mounted on a pole as a banner, a group of offended clerics in its wake, handcarts selling buns and ale, and, finally, on the bridge over the castle moat, an armored knight still on his charger, who would not be shifted by man or beast until Meve stepped out of the torchlit crowd and threatened to remove him herself.

Then there was yet another feast, this time held in the hall and attended by more of the usual crowd - but, of course, with the horde of knights and sundry that had participated in the jousts, somewhat more of them than normal. There were the typical, expected customs - a boar’s head served, bowls of spiced ale passed around, a number of favors and pardons bestowed, gifts received (and given; Count Odo, for one, courteously gave the warhorse he’d won earlier in the day to Nolda, who accepted it in a fiercely embarrassed but otherwise gracious fashion) - and various other ancient rituals observed.

“I would’ve asked if you thought giving her the horse was a good idea,” Reynard said privately to the Queen, during the Mayor’s inevitable remarks, “But I didn’t catch you in time. If I’m honest it’s less a gift and more a bribe, of a sort; Ethan’s left-handed, same as her, and I thought it might make it easier to convince her to teach him.”

“There were some delays getting back,” she replied, also in an undertone, her eyes resolutely fixed on the speaker as he recited a hopeful list of future developments for the upcoming year. “This whole afternoon’s been nothing but delays, in fact.”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” she added, quickly, as the speech ended, aimed a quick but pointed glance at the distant Gascon, who immediately slipped out a side door, and then dismissed the court in the exact words she’d recited for ten years, and, before her, her late husband, and his father, and their distant grandfathers, for all of remembered history.

Finally getting rid of her guests took much longer than the traditional close to the winter solstice did. As a result, it was past midnight before she made the solitary climb up the stairs to her office, looking forward to finally having a quiet minute to think. However, Reynard and Gascon - and Gaheris - were within, despite the late hour; the squire stopped in the middle of a sentence and all three men automatically turned her way when she stepped through the door. She waved an impatient hand at him to continue and leaned against her own desk, hiding her weariness behind a cold stare. Gaheris returned to repeating his confession; Reynard listened in silence, his expression drifting subtly between offense and genuine confusion. At the end, he frowned and asked, “You - pretended to sabotage my equipment? Why? Why not do it properly, I mean?”

The squire shrugged.

“It’s - listen; before I go on, you should know Holt’s an ass, and a stubborn one at that. Yes, I see you’ve all noticed. Well, I couldn’t dissuade him when th’ idea came into his fool head, but I’d no wish t’ see him win a fight by such a trick, against such an obviously superior opponent. It’s not right, and, also, would be easily seen through. What I did seemed the simplest solution.”

“You could have refused,” Reynard pointed out; Gaheris smiled pityingly at him and shook his head. His response drew an exasperated comment from Meve.

“You could have done nothing at all, and told him otherwise.”

He frowned, again mildly offended.

“I’m no liar,” he said. “If I can find any other solution, I mean. They say a half-truth’s better than a lie, don’t they?”

Reynard blinked, considered, and then shook his head. Gascon shrugged his shoulders, grudgingly.

“You’re clearly a capable man,” Meve said. “Why do you serve someone you know isn’t?”

Gaheris shook his head again, helplessly.

“Holt’s always been like this,” he explained, “Ever since he was a boy. He’s a decent fighter, but he’s too competitive for his own good, and he’s still not learned t’ pick his battles. However, he is my little brother - well, half-brother; my mother married Sir Ulrich after my father died. He was a stonemason,” he explained, seeing the Queen raise a questioning eyebrow, a gleam of challenge in his dark eyes. “His name was Gors.”

When she failed to react to his admission, he continued:

“Anyway, she wanted me t’ look after Holt, best I can. He isn’t a bad person, really, he just -”

He shrugged.

“He can’t help how he is, when he’s in a mood, and when he isn’t he’s not the worst of men, or the worst of nobles, for that matter. He’s never struck a knight who’s yielded, for one, and he’s not one to steal or run villainous among th’ yeomen. And, he’s all the family I got left,” he finally finished. Meve nodded and said nothing for a long moment; she noticed that he couldn’t have been any older than herself, but he briefly appeared gray and worn down. She was, to her mild irritation, somewhat sympathetic to his troubles. Gascon glanced from her icy frown to Gaheris’s tired stare, curiously. Reynard watched her carefully.

“Keep him under guard,” she said to Gascon. “I’m not sure what to do with him or his brother, just yet. Wait - leave him on the landing; the guards there will look after him for the moment. I’ve another matter to discuss, before you go.”

“He’s the black knight,” she said to Reynard, as Gascon stepped back in without his captive. “Did you know?”

“No, of course not,” the Count said, frowning slightly. “Although, in truth, th’ idea has crossed my mind, but I found it - unlikely.”

Gascon hesitated, then shrugged, grinned broadly, and said, “You caught me at last, m’lady; how’d you figure it?”

“The Baroness it was that discovered you, not me,” Meve said, crossing her arms stubbornly; she attempted to appear angry, but in the end managed only mild, slightly amused, annoyance. “Also, she appears to have found me out, as well, incidentally. In fact, there seems to be very little she doesn’t know.”

“She’s uncommonly sharp, no doubt about it,” Gascon agreed, readily.

“So,” she continued, “Is there anything at all to be gained by asking you what you were doing, today?”

“Won’t tell you unless you first promise not t’ bite my head off,” he said promptly.

“Yes, very well, as it’s the solstice, but don’t expect any more favors from me before the summer, at earliest. I mean it, Gascon.”

Reynard sat down, shaking his head at them; Gascon nodded and said, “Fair’s fair. Well, then, it’s a short tale: I won that fight against Sir Holt, then I saw Gaheris come limping ‘round to scrape him up off the turf, and it all came together clear as mud, so I decided it was time t’ stop playing at knights for the day and do some real work.”

“You could have appeared in the joust as yourself,” Reynard remarked, almost idly, “And not as -”

“As me,” Meve interrupted, a hint of her previous ire returning.

“Yes, well - the black knight’s more interesting than I am,” he explained, with a broad shrug. “People have heard of his prowess, or what have you; the dangerous reputation’s an advantage, of sorts.”

“Yes, we’ve heard, in fact,” Meve said, coldly. “Slew a werewolf, did you?”

“Sure did,” Gascon replied. “Or, I helped, anyhow. There was a witcher involved. Like Gaheris said: half a truth’s better than a lie, so I let the former take precedence.”

“That’s not the saying, as you know perfectly well. It’s worse,” Reynard said, rolling his eyes. “Half a truth is worse than a lie.”

Gascon shrugged at him, grinning slightly. Meve interrupted their tangent, impatiently.

“And you killed a dragon, they say?”

“Not I,” the Duke said, quickly, eyeing the Queen’s scowl. “Th’ only dragonslayer here is yourself - although, I did kill a pretty big snake in a roadside inn. The landlady was most impressed. So was some minstrel who happened t’ be around, it appears; he has, uh, embellished th’ incident, somewhat.”

“Yes, that much is obvious,” Reynard noted, “But how’d he know it was the black knight who did the deed and not merely one Gascon Brossard?”

At last, Gascon turned uncomfortably self-conscious and clammed up; Meve watched him squirm for a long moment and decided, after a glance at the amused gleam in Reynard’s eye, to not to press the issue further.

“And you gave poor Sir Orlac a dunking,” she remarked, finally; Gascon looked relieved and seized on the change in subject.

“Yes, that story’s true,” he admitted. “He’s not a bad fighter, at all, thought he don’t seem to enjoy it much. It took some convincing t’ even get him to go against me, actually, but it was worth the time, in th’ end, to get th’ extra practice.”

“You have improved, somewhat,” Reynard observed, casually. He shot a quick look at Meve; she spotted it and broke off her intended response, frowning. Gascon either missed or ignored their exchange and said, brightly, “Why thank you, sir.”

“Although,” the knight continued, “It remains to be seen if you can beat me just yet; Meve, of course, has already unhorsed you once, so no there’s burning question to be answered on that account.”

“By a trick,” Gascon said, and then, as Reynard shrugged unconcernedly, added, “Look, I only really wanted t’ fight Sir Holt and beat him, again, to prove I could, like. I had no notion of much else.”

“Yes, very likely,” Meve muttered, rolling her eyes; Reynard continued, despite her:

“Not afraid to lose, are you?”

“Of course not; it happens all the time,” Gascon said, mildly indignant.

“Well, then, tomorrow, if you’ve no other plans, let’s see how good you’ve really become, shall we? Without your intimidating disguise, I mean.”

“Well, all right,” the Duke said, doubtfully, clearly wary about what exactly he was agreeing to. “I suppose I’m not busy, but - “

“Good. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, then,” Reynard said, a suggestion of finality in his voice; Gascon still looked uncertain, but nodded and then made a tactical retreat to “see to those other matters.”

“What the devil are you at, Reynard?” Meve asked, the instant he was gone. He stood up, strode across the room with a self-satisfied smile, and wrapped his arms around her.

“You’ve had a long day,” he said, “Let me worry about it.”

“Ugh. Fine, then; do what you want,” she said, ingraciously, leaned her forehead against his chest, and continued with a muffled sigh, “What do you think I should do with Holt? I can’t very well banish him for trying to cheat in a duel, much as I’d like to - he is the sole legal heir to Sir Ulrich, who has been a relatively loyal supporter of the crown - nor can I demote him, since he isn’t one of my own knights.”

“Just ban him from your tournaments, and the rest of the realm will follow,” he said, as if it was obvious, “It’s the worst thing that could happen to a young knight.”

“You’d know better than I,” she remarked, unfolded her arms, slid them around his waist, and added, “What about Gaheris?”

“I don’t know,” Reynard said, “He’s not so easy to deal with.”

“The trouble is,” Meve said, darkly, “- the trouble is that, in his circumstances, he’s done nothing worse than you or I have in the past, which makes me feel something of a hypocrite if I consider having him arrested for treason - as I certainly could, given your indispensable position and high rank.”

“Yes, a - a similar thought crossed my own mind, to be honest.”

“Well, it’s true,” she said, raising her head and frowning up at him. “Isn’t it? Reginald -”

“He wasn’t quite so bad as Holt.”

“Because he was older, and the King, and no other reason. Well, and he had you around to clean up after his worst decisions. And, his sons - my sons - are the same, or worse, than Sir Holt. Or were, I mean. Anseis certainly is, in any case.”

“Perhaps,” Reynard said, thoughtfully, “There’s no need to do anything to Gaheris, at all.”

“As you’re th’ one he wronged, in th’ end I think what happens to him should really be your decision,” Meve said, shrugging.

“Well, then, speaking from experience, the man’s trials in keeping control of his brother are worse than anything you might think up.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. I’ve no wish to see him hang or rot in prison, but banishment would be no curse to him, and we’d have to contend with Holt still, regardless, but without a convenient manager. What a waste; were he noble-born, I’d have some use for a man of his talents, and I could more easily secure his future loyalty. A shame, to have Holt be th’ one who inherits old Ulrich’s lands and titles, and Gaheris remain a squire still.”

“I agree,” Reynard said. “However, that problem only you can solve.”

She looked into his eyes, thoughtfully, and nodded.

#witcher #thronebreaker #fanfic #action #sports #romance

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mandadoration · 5 years ago

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skip tracer

Summary: anon asked: “ummmm can we get back to mando!reader and bounty!din because idk maybe the ship breaks down and you’re stuck together until someone comes and gets you and the two of you grow close and he tries to you almost let him take your helmet off”

word count: 4, 642

pairing: bounty!din djarin x mandalorian!reader

Warnings: swearing, sexual tension, making up mechanical jargon

a/n: Changed the wording a little, but essentially the same idea. “Mando”, in this fic, is referring to the reader. There’s a bunch of small time skips (moments later to several hours) because I’m sure you would appreciate it all at once instead of multiple chapters, but also for my sanity.

Another important note the Din is younger than he is in the series, just because there are a lot of really important things that happen in the canon that I don’t want to just… skip over? (Baby Yoda, Moff Gideon, etc.) I haven’t decided on a particular age, but it’s not too drastic.

Read this on AO3

The first words you say to Din Djarin are, “Shit.”

If it weren’t for the fact that you were trying to get the ship’s repulsors back online, you would’ve seen how his eyebrows shoot up, disappearing under the mess of greasy curls at your expletive. He leans forward in his seat a little, cuffs clanking as he tries to peer over your beskar-clad shoulder at the console beeping angrily at you. There’s a fuel leak or wiring problem or something because you’re watching the power drain rapidly right in front of your eyes. You try to stop whatever the massive drain is or turn off non-essentials and reroute the power to your engine, but nothing works and all that does happen is a massive shuddering throughout the entire ship. Your ancient, pre-Imperial gunship, the Skip Tracer, sputters and soon, the entire ship goes dark.

The second words you say to Din Djarin are, “Fuck.”

Luckily, the backup generators kick in, bathing the entire ship in low, orange light and making sure you don’t suffocate to death in the cold recesses of space. You sit there for a moment, staring blankly out the windows of your ship at the stars in the distance, and realize that you’re essentially stuck here unless a stray ship flies by and takes pity on you.

Yeah, like would happen.

Your bounty’s dry voice interrupts your internal monologue. “This happen often?” he asks. His voice is much too close for your tastes, so you stand up abruptly and push him back into your seat, scowling under your helmet at his smug face. He doesn’t look fazed at your harsh treatment, and his gaze follows you as head over to the mainframe to run a diagnostics check. “All I’m saying is, why do you fly this piece of junk when you’re the fabled ‘Mandalorian’?” Din continues, making air quotes to the best of his ability with his hands bound. His tone is disdainful. “Maker knows those Imps pay you enough…” Your hand hovers over the screen.

“I don’t work for them,” you say stiffly.

“But you do business with them,” Din points out. You press a few buttons with more force than necessary and turn back to face him while your system runs a full ship scan. He’s sitting languidly in his seat, as if he owns the place, and stares straight at you. If he’s surprised you’re finally entertaining his small talk, he doesn’t show it. “You’re bringing me in, aren’t you?” You tilt your head as you consider the implication of his question.

“It doesn’t matter who called you in. I’m just--”

“--doing your job,” Din finishes. A bored look flits across his face and smothers the hard set lines of his face as he motions around the Skip Tracer. “You can hardly do that if your ship doesn’t work now, hm?” You roll your eyes and resist the urge to gag him. The mainframe beeps behind you to indicate that the scan was done. You give him the best warning glare you can with a helmet over your head, and turn back to read the report.

The hyperdrive had drained a massive amount of power from your ship during your last jump, resulting in it overheating and affecting the surrounding parts as your coolants worked overtime to try and get it under control, but you don’t remember the last time you had taken a look at that particular mechanism, meaning that there was only more overheating and possible melting and fraying of the internal wiring. As your ship tried its best to repair what it could, it had only drained the remainder of the power. You didn’t have any spare jumper cells either.

In summary: not good.

You heave out an annoyed sigh before plopping back in your seat and trying to get your comms working. It takes some time, and you end up having to pull the heating down a little to even turn them on. The best you can do is send a weak, short-range emergency call.

“What now?” Din asks. Despite him trying to appear standoffish and generally seem like a prick, you can pick out the uncertainty in his voice. No one in the galaxy wants to be stuck in the cold recesses space, especially with an unsavory companion. You settle in your seat and swivel your chair to face him.

“Now we wait.”

At some point you had fallen asleep in your chair while you were patiently watching your bounty, but you peel open your eyes when you hear a quiet shuffling of clothes and the quiet thump of heavy boots. A quick glance at the time shows that nearly an hour has passed since the ship lost power.

“What are you doing?”

Din nearly jumps out of his skin, halfway to the door with wide eyes and a hand raised towards the controls. You haven’t noticed until now, but without his weapons, Din really looks like any other human you might see in the galaxy. His cinnegar weave armor has been dyed a dark brown and covered with a jacket to be more discreet, and the tan collar of his shirt peeks out of his scarf. He hardly looks like he’s worth the price on his head.

You don’t do anything, merely watching how his throat bobs when he tries to think of something to say. He smoothly slides on a mask of indifference that almost impresses you as he straightens up. “Looking around,” he answers. In the dim lighting, you can barely pick up how his ears turn red at the tips.

“Mhm,” you hum, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees. You fix him with a hard stare. “I’ll ask you again, and don’t even think about lying: What are you doing?” An almost pained expression crosses Din’s face before disappearing again. A moment. He mumbles something. “What?” Din looks annoyed. Then a little louder, he mumbles--

“I need to use the refresher.” Immediately, his stomach grumbles. “And I’m hungry,” he sighs. You’re glad he can’t see the amused expression under your helm because you’re sure he would’ve said something snarky about it.

“What were you going to do about that?” Sure, you might be riling up Din, but with the undetermined amount of time you were going to stay with him, you might as well get some entertainment.

“I was going to leave.”

“Doors are locked.”

“I would’ve found a way.”

“You don’t know where the food is stashed. Or if I even have any.”

“Would’ve looked. I would assume you eat as well.”

“Did you expect me to stay asleep?”

“Didn’t hurt to try.”

“How do I know you wouldn’t have tried to find a weapon to kill me?”

“You don’t.”

He says his last answer so smoothly and without hesitation that it catches you so off-guard you can’t help the short laugh that escapes you. You shake your head as you stand up, and although Din leans away, you press a button on your vambrace and the door wooshes open. You motion for him to go. “Bounties first.” Din rolls his eyes and turns to head down the ladder. It’s awkward with his hands bound, but he makes it in due time and watches you warily as you climb down as well. “I’ll make something for us to eat. Use the ‘fresher in the meantime.” He raises a brow, but an easy smile graces his lips.

“I’m surprised you’re even offering me food,” he snorts. You shrug.

“Don’t know how long we’ll be out here. You’re worth more money alive,” you reason. “Can’t have you starving.” At the mention of what he’s actually here for, Din’s face falls. He clears his throat.

“Right,” he says. And turns into the cramped refresher and closes the door without saying anything else. While he does that, you dig through your compartments for rations. Without adequate power, you can’t reheat your food, and you don’t want to risk trying to reroute power in case the air recycler cuts off. Hopefully, Din likes shredded bantha meat and Meilroonian pepper sauce. You shake your head. Not that it should matter. He should be grateful you’re feeding him at all. Whether or not he’s picky bears to significance to you.

As you contemplate how he still will undoubtedly complain about the lack of choices, a loud racket sounds from the refresher followed by a loud swear. You toss the ration packets onto a nearby table and huff as you rip open the door to the refresher. Din lets out a loud sound of protest at that, trying to scramble to pull his pants back up over his hips, but steps on a stray bottle in his panic and starts tipping backwards. You grab the collar of his shirt to prevent him from cracking his head on the rim of the vactube. He stares at you with wide eyes before clearing his throat.

“You ever hear of knocking?” he asks. You haul him up to his feet, but don’t step back as you look at the mess he made in your refresher. A couple of things that were on your sink and shelves, admitted haphazardly, were knocked over and the sonic shower door was open. From how close you are, you can tell Din is struggling to find your eyes, gaze roaming over your face to try and pinpoint them.

“You ever hear of not making a mess?” you shoot back.

“Hard to do that when your hands are bound,” Din says, shaking his cuffs for emphasis.

“Could’ve asked.”

“Would you have?”

“No.”

“Then why’d you-- Nevermind.” Din breaks his gaze from you to stare at his shoes. You tilt your helmet, but press a button on your vambraces and the cuffs fall off. His head shoots up with a questioning look.

“I imagine you were going to complain about eating with your hands bound, too,” you say dryly. You step away from him and pick up the cuffs. “Clean up your mess,” you order him. Din doesn’t look happy, but eventually nods. “And pull up your pants.”

He definitely doesn’t look happy at that.

---

You had retreated into the cockpit to eat your meal with a warning to Din that you will not hesitate to kill him if he tried anything while he was unsupervised; you had left before he can hit you with another sarcastic comment. You made quick work of eating, keeping an ear out for any suspicious sounds, but found none and soon went back down to the hull only to see Din Djarin sitting on the floor and picking at his food with a displeased face. “This is disgusting,” he announces.

“How did I know you were going to say that?” you sigh. You wish you could run a hand over your face, but resort to leaning against the wall with your arms crossed. It was pretty gross, you won’t lie. The sauce was a cold, congealed mess, and the bantha meat was horribly tough. “It’s that or nothing.” He looks like he desperately wants to say something, but eventually spoons another bite into his mouth.

“Any updates?” he asks. You shake your head.

“No. Was going to check if I can somehow figure out what was draining the power. See if that fixes the problem,” you say. He makes a small hum of acknowledgement. Then, a pensive expression crosses his face. Din chews thoughtfully for a moment.

“Mando?”

“Hm?”

“Is it true that Mandalorians can’t take off their helmets?” he asks.

“We can. Just not in front of other people,” you answer almost automatically. It’s a question you often get.

“How much are you getting paid to bring me in?” You look at him. Not the smoothest segway in the galaxy.

“I don’t bargain with bounties, if that’s you’re wondering,” you say instead. Din curls his lips and pushes the food around with his fork.

“Wasn’t going to bargain,” he mumbles, “just wondering.” He stabs his food aggressively. The frown sours his face. “Wouldn’t expect an Imperial sympathizer to bargain anyways,” he says bitterly. You clench your fists, the leather of your gloves creaking, as you stand up straight. Din doesn’t look up from his food, but you can tell he knows that your temper is rising from how he grips his ration packet a little tighter.

“Told you before,” you grit out, and you’re glad the modulator hides how your voice trembles the slightest, “I’m just doing my job.” Din jumps up and throws his food down, splattering cold Meilroonian pepper sauce over the floor of the Skip Tracer as his eyes flash in anger.

“And by doing so, you're just as bad as them!” he protests. He pushes his curls back with a gloved hand frustratedly. “I was doing something, trying to take them down, and you’re practically delivering me to them on a silver platter!” Din stomps up to you until you’re nearly chest to chest. From here, you can see the scars adorning his face, including one that splits his right eyebrow neatly in half. “I thought Mandalorians were supposed to be good,” he hisses. “But instead I see that the little creed you follow has changed.”

“And what do you know about Mandalorians?” you snarl at him. You move forward and force him to take a step back. “Hm? Din Djarin?” You practically spit his name. How dare he question the Way of the Mandalore. “What does a mercenary know about Mandalorians?” His angry expression falters, but he stays silent. “Tell me.” Nothing. His mouth is set in a hard, straight line. “All you are is a glorified rebel, thinking that you can take down a hundred people when all you are is a nuisance, a pain in their ass.” Din’s back hits the opposite wall where you’ve practically cornered him, defiance burning bright in his eyes next to a hint of fear. In the back of your mind, you know that’s not true, that Din Djarin was a hated name within the small circles of Imperials, but he seems to curl within himself when you demean him. Your shoulders fall as you force in a deep breath, and you push the heavy metal cuffs into his hands. You’ve hit a sore spot. “Clean up your mess,” you order in a low voice, the second time today, “and cuff yourself. I’m done entertaining you for the night.”

Then you head up the ladder to the cockpit. Halfway up, you look at him over your shoulder. “There’s a cot over there. Try anything and I’ll find a way to put you in carbonite.” Your threat holds well because Din Djarin doesn’t say another thing, instead scowling at you as he stays rooted in place.

---

Sleep is fitful for you that night, and it doesn’t help that you keep your helmet on just in case Din does try something. Even after all these years it’s awkward to lay down with it on. Waking up isn’t much better, seeing as you only got in a few hours, but you flush with hot anger when last night’s conversation pops up again. You instead decide to busy yourself with fiddling with the console.

You try to extend the range of the emergency signal, but nothing happens and the console beeps sadly at you. You really hope someone drifts by. Honestly, you’re not sure how many rations or how much water you have left, but you do know you certainly don’t have enough to sustain two adults for long. If it comes down to it, you’ll have to try and directly look into the mechanics of your ship. You really don’t want to do that seeing as one wrong move and you’ll be sent into the cold vacuum of space before you can think twice. Despite having the Skip Tracer for a while, you don’t know much about it. The first thing you would do after collecting Din’s bounty is dropping your ship off at a mechanic and sticking around to figure out more about it. You falter.

You don’t know why, but the reminder that all Din is is a bounty fills you with some upset despite his scathing remarks. His witty and spitfire attitude was certainly a nice change of pace from the blubbering, begging bounties or the overly-aggressive ones that literally spit at you. But you desperately need the few ingots of beskar promised to you, and with how the ship was malfunctioning, those credits are sorely needed as well. You just need to remind yourself that Din Djarin was just another paycheck.

Speaking of, you can hear him climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, and you try to busy yourself. The door opens, but you don’t say anything, pressing a few nonsense buttons. Seems like he couldn’t sleep either. Din hovers somewhere behind you, and in the faint reflection of him in the window, you can see he looks unsure of himself. He wants to say something. You let him flounder. Eventually he gathers the courage to say whatever is on his mind.

“The Death Watch.”

You suppress the urge to spin around, instead tilting your head for him to elaborate.

“I… I knew the Death Watch.” You rest your hands on the console board, minding any switches that may drain more power.

“The Death Watch disbanded years ago. You would’ve been a child if you knew them,” you finally say, keeping your voice as toneless as possible. You were a child when you knew them. But they were no more, split apart and forced underground to continue your way of living.

“I was a child,” he says. “They helped my village a long time ago.” You wonder for a brief moment if there was a possibility you knew him, even through a few degrees of separation, but you stamp that thought out. There was no time to form attachments or even entertain that thought. “So what do I know about them? That much.” His voice is thought, but can hear an edge of challenge. “You guys were… I looked up to the Mandalorians.” You clench your jaw.

“What changed?”

“You.” You laugh bitterly as you finally turn your seat around to face Din where he stands in the doorway, cuffs obediently on his wrists.

“Sorry for ruining that for you,” you say, so very ingenuously and not at all sorry. You tap your fingers impatiently against your knee. “Did you need something or are you just here to try and make me feel guilty?” Your head hurts just watching how hard Din rolls his eyes.

“I’m here because I’m hungry,” he says bluntly. You can tell from his tone that this isn’t really the case, but you’re glad for the change in subject. You aren’t exactly the best conversationalist, and neither of you want to argue again it seems like. “And I believe that you’ll carry out your threat if I start snooping around so,” he shrugs his shoulders, “here I am.” You look at him for a little bit, just enough to make him shift where he stands and look uncomfortable. “What?”

“You would be very bad at sabacc,” you note mildly, ignoring his offended expression as you get up and brush past him to get to the hull to scavenge for something that could be palatable cold.

“You’ve never seen me play,” Din protests as he scrambles after you down the ladder. You nearly laugh at the indignation in his voice. “So how can you--” His foot slips off the rung, and with his limited movement, he fails to try and catch himself, grip slipping in surprise as he gasps. Luckily, you’re there at the bottom to catch him, hooking your arms under his knees and beneath his shoulders with a soft grunt.

“Don’t need to,” you say. You lean in a little closer, tilting your head down to make it obvious you were looking straight at him. “You are very easy to read.” He scowls up at you, but you see how his ears turn red. Din is a comfortable weight in your arms, and you think for a second he looks surprised you don’t even look like you’re straining to hold him up.

“Put me down.”

“Okay.”

And you drop him. He blinks up at you with a grimace from where he is on the floor. But Din Djarin cannot stop surprising you because he breaks out in a bright, charming laugh, smile lines forming and crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes, pulling at the scars on his face, and the warm sound of it fills the ship. It’s a striking difference from the mood just minutes prior, and definitely a difference from a couple hours ago. You can’t help it, but you laugh as well. You gently poke him with the tip of your boot before turning around to pull out rations.

“Please tell me it isn’t whatever we had yesterday,” Din says from the floor. You toss the packet over to him, landing square on his chest.

“It’s not. But I doubt it’s much better,” you admit. “Now get up so I can go eat.”

You’re already in the cockpit and locking the doors behind you when Din calls up to complain that you haven’t unlocked his cuffs. It’s a conscious choice to ignore him.

---

It’s been 0900 standard hours since your ship broke down in space somewhere in the Mid Rim, and Din Djarin is starting to go a little stir crazy.

“Will you stop pacing?” you ask him, annoyed. After your meal, you had stayed up in the cockpit thinking about whether or not you should charge Greef Karga extra to cover the cost of repairs and emotional labor of being trapped with your bounty. Din had quickly grown bored waiting in the hull and made his way into the upper level, knocking incessantly and asking you to open the doors. After a few minutes, you had grown tired of it and opened the doors without warning, resulting in him literally falling in. He seemed to do that a lot, and you wonder how he went this long without somehow falling into a hole or off a cliff and killing himself in the process.

But Din doesn’t stop pacing, instead he speeds up. Because of the small space, it’s comical how often he has to turn around on his heel to walk in the other direction. The length of his stride means that he only gets a few steps in every rotation. “Has no one picked up our signal?” he asks. You sigh.

“No. And sit down.” You’re surprised Din hasn’t made himself dizzy.

“Have you tried--”

“Anything you’re about to say, yes,” you interrupt. You’ve tried every possible thing to try and extend the signal or just get transmissions going besides actually opening up the ship from the inside. You aren’t that desperate yet. “Din. Sit down.” He, unsurprisingly, doesn’t stop.

“How long do you think we can stay out here?” You roll your eyes. “Supplies only last so long, and I don’t even know how long the backup power supply will last.” Maker, he’s really working himself up, isn’t he?

“If we have to worry about supplies, I’ll just put you in carbonite to save us the trouble,” you say bluntly.

“If you even have the power for it!”

“I told you, I’ll find a way. Now. Sit. Down.”

He opens his mouth to say something probably infuriating again, but before he can, you reach forward and grab him by the front of his belt and haul him into your lap. His teeth clack together as he audibly closes his mouth, a flush overtaking his face. Din tries to lean back as far away as he can, but you keep your hands firm on his waist, meaning he has to hold onto the front of your beskar chestplate to keep from falling backwards. It’s a tight fit seeing as you take up most of the seat and Din is by no means a small man, but you look up at him. “People travel all the time through the Mid Rim,” you say slowly, trying to put as much calm as you can knowing that a lot of it will be lost in the modulator. Hopefully it doesn’t come across as condescending. “Someone will eventually notice that the ship is just drifting here or pick up the signal any time now.” He’s still tense, shoulders nearly at his ears as he stares at you with wide eyes. You reach around his waist to press a button on your vambraces to unlock the cuffs, and you slide it off his wrists and drop it on the floor. His hands immediately go to your shoulders, but he does seem to settle down a little. “So relax.” Din’s grip on your shoulder tighten a fraction.

“Hard to do that when I-I’m in your lap,” he chokes out. If only he can see your grin. Instead, you bring him closer to you, taking delight in the small squeak he gives.

“You complaining?” If anything, Din blushes impossibly brighter.

“I--”

“Shh, you hear that?” He obediently shuts his mouth and listens for a moment.

“No?” You lean back in your chair.

“Exactly. Blessed silence.” Din scrunches up his face.

“You’re… insufferable,” he announces. You shrug.

“I know.”

And now the conversation has lulled, but Din Djarin makes no move to get off your lap. The beskar thigh plates are digging into you, and it surely can’t be a comfortable seat. Still, the two of you stay where you are. Din licks his lips. “You said that you can’t take off your helmet, right?”

“Not in front of another living being,” you say.

“When’s the last time anyone saw your face?” he asks. “Has- has anyone seen your face?” There’s an undercurrent of uncharacteristic shyness, almost anxiety as he asks you. You pause. You really shouldn’t entertain your bounty, but--

“Not since I was a child.” He frowns. “I wasn’t born with a helmet on, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you add.

“Sounds… lonely,” he says slowly. You shrug.

“This is the Way.” Why was he even asking about this? If he knew the Death Watch, then surely he must’ve been somewhat familiar with the Ways of the Mandalore. He even had the nerve to chastise you about it. You don’t have to ask him because now his warm hands are trailing from your shoulders closer to your neck, eventually coming to a pause right on the underside of your helmet. It’s a slow, deliberate movement, and Din’s face is the softest you’ve ever seen it. He starts to push it up.

But your hands leave his hips and snatch his wrists to stop him just as the console beeps.

“Skip Tracer, this is the Andaloriaan Sea. We read your distress call,” comes the horrifically crackly and barely understandable voice. “Locking you in and taking you to the closest star port. Standby.” You gently pull his hands down, and Din slides off your lap as an unreadable mask slides on his face to hide whatever he’s feeling. He stands in the doorway for a moment, but ultimately turns back around and heads down to the hull without a word. You start to formulate your next plan of action. You would cuff him and keep a close watch on him while the mechanics work on your ship, then fly back to Nevarro to turn Din Djarin in, tell Greef Karga you expect extra for travel fees and repairs, collect your payment, then move on to the next bounty, the next paycheck. You would forget the nearly 1000 standard hours you spent trapped in space with him.

But things never really go exactly according to plan.

---

a/n: More stupidly strong readers >:) bc reader is definitely the top in this relationship.

Fun fact! The Andaloriaan Sea is what I was going to initially name Reader’s ship before I changed it to Skip Tracer.

Forever Tag: @mabelleen @mando-vibes @isaissafail

#mandalorian reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin reader #din djarin x reader #my writing #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian imagine #bounty au #fic: skip tracer

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