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no-droids · 4 years ago

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Beginner’s Luck

Part Twelve of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.6K

Warnings: 👀👀👀 SMUT. Oral sex (male receiving), cockwarming, sexual acts in public, the use of blasters and other canon-typical weaponry

A/N: Twas the night before Mando season 2, and all through the house—NO IM JUST KIDDING SDKSFKSVS anyways I am so sorry for not being here for basically all of last month but I could not miss this incredibly momentous occasion for anything. Merry season 2 my lovely baby yoditos

***

“Well,” a modulated voice gruffs expectantly from behind you, clearly tired of waiting. “Turn around, let me see.”

“No. I look ridiculous,” you sulk from the corner of the hull, refusing to do as he says. You thought this was stupid from the very beginning and openly told him so, but you’re also a complete pushover for him with just enough backbone to be frustrated when you inevitably give in. “And don’t you ‘sweet girl’ me, it’s not gonna work this time.”

“Sweet girl,” Din’s deep voice lulls through the helmet, raspy and soft.

Fucking fine, if he’s gonna twist your arm about it. You spin around with a deep frown and a chrome visor stares back at you as you waddle forwards, and you don’t even need to look at the kid cradled in his forearm to know he’s smiling toothily as you clunk and rattle. Once you’re standing directly in front of them both, you blow the stray hair out of your eyes and plant your hands on your hips, just waiting for the inevitable response.

Only, you don’t get practically any response at all from him. He stays perfectly still and says absolutely nothing, and though the baby’s mouth falls open with happiness and he reaches for you, he doesn’t make a sound either.

“I told you,” you grumble after a few moments of pained silence. “I look ridiculous.”

Still, nothing. You purse your lips, shifting from side to side uncomfortably, and eventually your suspicion grows and festers until it finally bursts forth. Oh for the love of Maker—

“I know you’re laughing under there,” you accuse with a growl. He doesn’t move a single muscle but you don’t buy it, not for a single fucking second.

Then suddenly the helmet glances away from you and stares purposefully at the wall of the hull as the kid starts giggling, and you knew it. You fucking knew he was laughing.

“You look great,” comes tightly through the modulator after a moment, and you pull your lip up into a snarl, vindicated in your findings but not happy about it.

“Is that how this is supposed to protect me?” You wave your arms, hearing them squeak and clank like you’re a droid that hasn’t been maintenanced in centuries. The rough metal jerks up and smacks your chin with the shoulder movement and you grimace. “Make the bad guys laugh themselves to death?”

“It's bad,” Din finally turns back to you and admits with zero shame, and your cheeks burn at how stupid you must look right now. “Way too big.”

“Too big?” You blink at him. “That’s your criticism?”

When he presented it to you, your first impression was some sort of brown paint—but no. It’s fucking… rust. It’s damaged and scraped up and it looks like it’s been through the ringer and back, and not in a way that gives it character. There’s almost a literal hole in the fucking chestpiece and it’s dented so much that it actually creates more than enough space for your breasts, what the fuck happened—?

“You’re telling me you went from this—” You ask pointedly, knocking your knuckles against the ill-fitting piece of metal and feeling it wobble against your chest, “—to that—” you tap the pristine, gleaming armor strapped to his body that easily costs more than probably quadruple your entire life, “—without any go-betweens? It’s missing one of the shoulders, Din.”

He ignores you, flipping the chestpiece over your head with his free hand and letting the metallic clatter of it meeting the floor behind you ring out through the hull. “I’d hoped at least something would fit,” comes his filtered sigh. “This planet isn’t nice.”

That sobers you up a bit, and you feel your heart thump painfully. “Are we on Corellia?” You ask without thinking.

“No,” he tells you immediately, quelling your panic while pulling off your one singular pauldron. “Tatooine.”

You’ve never heard of it, but from the grave undertone of his voice, you know the drill. Different setting, same kind of people. Smugglers, rogues, criminals—the type he’s used to being around and knows exactly what to expect out of them. You always feel safe when he’s with you, but when he leaves?

“Oh,” you say, because you don’t really have anything else. It’s quiet for a little bit, but then he continues on before you can come up with something to fill the sudden uncertainty on your end.

“I know someone here,” Din murmurs, bending his knees and sinking down to start undoing and pulling the shoddy thigh braces off your legs. “Someone… nice. It’ll be safe as long as nobody sees me leaving or coming back, and the kid would be happy to see her.”

Your eyebrows pull inwards, something… unfamiliar settling inside you. Din doesn’t have friends, he’s made it clear that he doesn’t really like anyone that he knows well enough to introduce you to. Even when he’s lowered himself in front of you and is technically undressing you, you feel a spark of… no, not jealousy, that’s crazy. But for real, who is he talking about?

“Why can’t me and the baby just lay low somewhere remote like normal?” You ask instead, but he shakes his head.

“No such thing,” he grunts, pulling off the other thigh brace. “Tuskans or Jawas will find you even in the middle of the Dune Sea.”

“I like Jawas,” you blurt, having had many positive experiences trading with the little creatures on Arvala-7, but his helmet immediately tilts up to pin you in place and you shut up, feeling the tangible unamusement radiating from the thin blade of the visor even when the kid starts giggling again. “I mean I… don’t like Jawas?”

Din sighs and rises back up to his full height, finally handing the baby over to you now that you’re not weighed down by that ridiculous getup anymore. “You can either stay with her while I get the quarry or run the risk of pirates finding you drifting above the atmosphere,” he reasons bluntly, not mincing words. “But it’s not a good idea to be stuck on the surface without protection, someone will find you.”

You bite your lip, hugging the kid closer to your chest for a second. “Okay, that’s fine,” you murmur quietly after a moment. “We can stay with your… friend.”

You clear your throat and move to let him pass by to get to the cockpit, except Din doesn’t take a single step. You blink up at him and after what feels like an eternity of no response, the helmet slowly tilts sideways at you and… oops.

Was that not subtle? You didn’t know what to call her, genuinely, that’s why you hesitated. You didn’t want to use the word acquaintance, it felt too detached for the fact that he said the kid would be happy to see her again. That’s what’s called a friend, right?

Maker, why are you being so weird about this?

Thankfully, you end up getting away with it. After a few painful seconds of looking at every single thing in the hull besides him and humming a song you make up on the spot, Din slowly walks past and disappears up into the cockpit. You take a deep breath and gently rub the baby’s ears between your fingers as the Crest powers up with a ferocious rumble beneath your feet.

***

It’s bright. Fuck, it’s so bright here. You hold the kid to your chest with one hand and shield your eyes with the other as the ramp slowly descends, dust immediately kicking up around it. Din’s palm is resting against your lower back and his thumb gently brushes back and forth, but your heart decides to drop the very moment his hand does, and as soon as the ramp clanks against the landing platform, he’s striding down into the blazing hot desert sun without you.

Something in your chest squeezes and whispers to you that he probably doesn’t want to touch you when he’s about to see an old friend again, so you wait a few seconds of space before descending down the ramp behind him, not really knowing how you feel right now. But you’ve barely taken a single step to follow when a woman’s voice screeches out from across a vast distance. “Oh no, no no no—don’t you even think about it!”

Din slows to a halt at the end of the ramp and gives whoever it is a small nod, nothing beyond it, and if you weren’t purposefully looking at him for cues right now, you’d probably miss the greeting entirely. You stand on your tippy-toes from behind his cape as a fiery little middle-aged lady in a mechanic’s jumpsuit marches up to him with an attitude that more than makes up for the height difference.

“You’re not allowed here anymore,” she pokes his chestplate brazenly with one hand and props the other on her hip, clearly not excited to see him. “Not after the ruckus you caused last time, no sir, not on my watch.”

“That won’t happen again,” he gruffs shortly, not providing a single thing beyond it, and you blink. What… what happened last time?

“It sure won’t!” The strange woman agrees shrilly, crossing her arms and widening her eyes until she looks a bit like she’s been out in the suns too long. “I’m still recovering, Mando!”

“I compensated you,” he reminds her, a quiet edge of frustration beginning to creep into his voice.

She suddenly narrows her expression at him, going from manic desert lady to sharp and discerning skeptic within a split second. “How much do you think my life is worth?”

Din takes forever to respond, seeming to either be choosing his words very carefully or grinding his teeth under the beskar in frustration. Probably both. “I brought my ki—”

“You bring trouble!” She bursts out, stomping her foot on the dusty landing platform and holding her ground. “I don’t care how cute your little one is, go park your ship on some other poor soul’s hangar bay!”

He doesn’t say anything back, staying completely silent while you stand there awkwardly and wait for his response, and it’s almost like you… forgot. How quiet Din can be, how unnervingly little he can choose to offer to conversations until he deems the information absolutely necessary to provide. He allows you to forget that reserved nature of his. He talks to you. He never used to at the beginning, but somewhere along the way it just became increasingly common to hear his voice, both with a high-pass filter and blissfully without. Now though, there’s just too long of a weirdly tense pause in the reunion for you to handle without doing something about it.

So you step out from behind him with the child in your arms, giving her an apologetic smile with as much friendliness as you can possibly put into an expression.

“Hello,” you greet her gently, musically, lifting the baby’s hand to give her a companionable three-fingered wave from the both of you while he coos. “I promise I’m not trouble, but he did bring me along this time.”

Din and the woman simultaneously turn to look at you; her like you’re just as strange and jarring of a sight to see on this planet as the tiny unnamed boy in your arms and him like your voice by itself is enough to loosen his shoulders. Though neither one of them ultimately respond to you, you can tell by the way his fists unclench that you’ve at least helped him relax, even if the frizzy-haired lazy otherwise ignores your introduction entirely.

“Now just what in Maker’s name are you doing with a poor little stowaway like that?” She faces him and pokes his armor again. “You runnin’ a charity out of that battered piece of junk you call a ship?”

“Three hundred credits to let them stay with you for a week,” he turns back to tell her, cutting directly to the chase. Alright, so you don’t really understand their relationship at all at this point. He said she was nice? And yet he’s already bribing her that handsomely?

“Five hundred,” she immediately shoots back, and your heart sinks. Fuck, there’s no way. There’s no way he would spend that much, you’re going to have to find somewhere else to stay.

But… he doesn’t respond. Which you now remember with a jolt of surprise, means confirmation. Not wasting words agreeing, he’d say something back to her if he had an issue. Maker, five hundred credits. You’re starting to wonder if he’s really able to make any money at all doing this, or if the job is just… fitting for him, so he continues to do it. He’s spending more and more credits on you every single time you turn around, and while you don’t feel great about it, you know Din well enough to know he’s stable and independent enough to make the decisions he wants to make.

So you just stand there and hold the baby to your chest, unsure of your place, while Din eventually turns around to face you.

Sometimes, if you’re being honest, you almost find yourself wanting to… do soft things with him that you know you shouldn’t while other people are around. Granted, he’s never told you not to, but the last thing you want to do is undermine his reputation by unintentionally revealing his gentler side. You want to give him a hug and maybe hand him the baby to say goodbye, but you don’t know if that’s how he wants to present himself to company right now. Unfortunately, that ends up translating into you just looking at him and awkwardly waiting to see what he does. Your feelings won’t be hurt if he just takes off without another word now that you know that that’s his intent—you promise, they weren’t hurt the first fifty or so times he’s done it. You understand him, it’s alright, he doesn’t need to—

But then he leans in and lowers his voice until only you can hear it.

“I’ll be back soon,” he tells you, and you feel warmth creep into your chest.

You understand him. Which is why you feel like you could almost burst with how much he didn’t have to say that but chose to do so anyway. You already have a solid time frame—a week—which is more information than you usually get, and it’s such a small thing. It’s insane; if you made a list, you’d have 1) talking to you, 2) knowing his first name, and 3) seeing a glimpse of his forehead as your top reasons why he might care just as much about you as you care for him. That’s insane.

He takes a second to reach a glove out and rub the baby’s ear as he makes his adorable little baby noises up at him, before the helmet tilts back up just slightly to look at you.

“Be safe,” he waits for you to whisper back.

And you think now is finally the time to go, right? Except he waits just a few precious seconds more, just holding there, silently. Maker, you don’t want to miss him, why is he doing this to you? You’re trying to play it cool, see-you-later’s have been commonplace between you for nearing a full year now, so why does it feel like now is the first time he truly doesn’t want to go?

You hold the kid with one hand and start to reach for him the split second he turns to walk away, and you quickly drop it as the dry wind snaps through his cape. He leaves and doesn’t look back.

Still, you watch him disappear, until eventually you’re reminded of your host’s presence with the tap of a wrench against your shoulder.

“Hope you know your way around a hyperdrive,” the woman says with a smirk. Maker, Din didn’t even give you her name, you’re going to have to ask. “Gotta repair at least two of ‘em by sundown.”

You catch the hefty tool with your free hand and turn to her. “Pre-Imperial or post? Never done a restoration, but I’m a quick learner.”

She blinks at you like that was probably the last thing she expected you to say, but you give her the same friendly smile from before and look towards the entrance of the hangar for the ships needing maintenance.

***

So Peli is… a character.

She’s quick and entertaining and whip-smart, but you worry that if she had a whip, she might actually use it. She’s nice—she is, but she damn near works you to the bone once you prove yourself capable. You don’t think she expected the extent of your practical knowledge of mechanics, she went into it assuming you were going to be useless and did a hard U-turn that very first night. You both worked together to fix two malfunctioning hyperdrives by sundown, just like she told you she needed, but then she looked vaguely surprised and nobody showed to pick up until two days later.

The second day is more hectic, and the third day is worse. You cradle the kid on your hip while you work one-handed, smudged grease all over your forehead and sweat sticking your hair to your neck. Using Peli’s sonic shower never leaves you feeling clean no matter how many times a day you find yourself wanting to wash the dust and grime from your body, the same way yours used to back on Arvala-7, and you immediately get why her dark hair seems so frizzy and dry whenever you step out of the stall and catch sight of the similar rat’s nest on your head in the small mirror. Hypersonic waves dry it out more than the blazing hot suns on this planet—you look the same exact way you’ve looked for decades and while you don’t mind hard work, you can’t stand the complete lack of water on this forsaken rock.

Din was right, though. She is nice, but in a way that she never wants anybody else to find out about. She cooks you food every night but expects you to clean the whole kitchen after, she lets you have free reign over the caf maker as long as you remember to make enough for her, and she allows you and the kid to pass out on the beat-up sofa in one of the secluded back rooms for the time being. On more than one occasion, when she assigns you chores that require two hands and a steady focus to complete, you overhear her babytalk behind the control panel as she bounces the kid in one arm and plays with his ears. It fills your chest with a quiet, subtle kind of warmth, and you understand why Din trusts her with him.

At least you stay busy—which, understatement. She works you so hard that eventually she starts handing you tasks that don’t really seem… pressing. Replacing the spherical joints on her three pit droids, hand-scrubbing the grime off the pots and pans she uses to cook the same two meals everyday, polishing the dusty windows overlooking the landing platform even though they’re caked over with dirt not even an hour later. You realize soon enough that she doesn’t have nearly the workload here as she claims, periodically catching her playing cards with the droids while you’re busting your ass doing chores once all the real work has clearly been accomplished, but you’re not upset. You like being busy, it’s how you’ve lived most of your life. However, at some point, you actually end up running out of things to do. After that, it’s like she has to actively look for tasks she still needs completed.

One morning you find her in the parked Crest, ripping open the guidance systems paneling and talking to herself. You sip your caf and watch silently from the landing bay, hair pulled up in a messy bun and the baby on your hip as the suns rise on your shoulders and she mutters, whole sheets of metal being tossed out from the insides of the Razor Crest.

You've also learned she responds incredibly well to the prospect of credits, so you don’t spend too much time wondering what her goal is—find something in the ship for you to fix and then charge Mando extra for the materials whenever he comes back.

Hilarious though, as if there’s anything in your ship that actually needs fixing.

You spin around with a sigh and walk back into the hangar, knowing today will probably be the first slow day in awhile.

***

A few hours later, you’re invited to play a game of Sabacc for the first time in your life.

There are so many rules—so many suits and names to keep track of, so many values to memorize, only to be forced to choose one card after every round to keep just in case the rest of them happen to shuffle at random, which occurs at least once or twice every game. There’s too much luck involved to figure out any sort of strategy; you feel like sometimes you’re hopelessly lost and end up winning anyways or you wager nearly your entire stack of bolts on a perfect hand and then you lose the entire thing regardless.

It’s an unpredictable nightmare. But it’s something to do, and you’ve learned that playing just as stupidly as you bet allows you to easily stay in the game. The baby sits in your lap and plays with one of your rusty metal gambling pieces while your leg bounces, and Peli grumbles under her breath once it appears you get ahead of her in winnings.

“Beginner’s luck,” she tells her favorite pit droid quietly, who focuses its singular eye at you in a way that somehow feels unfriendly and nods on a brand new swivel, courtesy of yours truly.

You don’t argue, because there’s no point. The whole fucking thing is luck, but there’s no point. You know enough about this game to know that you might give something away if you speak, so you keep your mouth shut and let her fill the void. You know how to stay silent, you’ve learned from the best. Wordlessly drawing a card from the deck and tucking it in between two others of the same value, you decide to trade one of your other cards at complete random and hope it all just works out.

“Ship looks like it’s brand spankin’ new on the inside,” Peli mutters into her mug out of nowhere, and you pause for a moment, before silently nodding at the offhanded comment and trying not to show how pleased you are by it. “Was falling apart the last time I saw it.”

You keep bouncing the kid on your knee and fan out the cards in front of you, hoping his big black eyes aren’t reflective enough to reveal your hand. “I have a lot of free time.”

“I can tell,” she acknowledges, crossing her legs and leaning back into her chair. Peli sets the mug down and sighs. “You’re a good mechanic. I’d offer you a job here, but something tells me you wouldn’t even consider it.”

Now, you do smile. But it’s a hidden one. A fond one. One you find impossible to fight when you’re reminded of him. You miss him and ache for him and all those collectively angsty things, yes—but mostly you’re just… able to find a bone-deep solace in even thinking about him. Your heart tightens, but it’s far less constricting than it is a comfort, a firm embrace. It surrounds you in its safety; Din’s mere existence is your protection, wrapping around you the same way the beskar protects him. Nothing can touch you. You’re safe, from all the things you used to fear and all the new things you’ve learned to fear.

No, you’d never consider it. This planet is too much like Arvala-7, just slightly more populated and dangerous. You love the baby. You love him. You’d never consider it.

“Don’t you get bored?” She asks you with a raised eyebrow, and your smile admittedly drops the slightest bit. “Just waiting around for him to come back?”

You don’t have to think about your answer. Of course you do. If you’re being honest, it does feel a bit like your life is split between worlds—one with him, and one without. Whenever he’s not here, you’re thinking about how much you want him to come back, and whenever he is here, you’re thinking about how much you don’t want him to go. You’ve never experienced anything like that before. There were a few local farmers scattered far across the arid landscape of the place you used to call home, and three of your neighbors all had kids around your age. So you experimented when you were younger, since you never had much else to do in your spare time, but you never loved any of them. You’d always go back home and continue to do chores, continue to look up at the sky and wonder what you were missing.

“Yes,” you admit quietly.

But what you don’t tell her is that in exchange, you get to see the galaxy. You get to have experiences you’ve only dreamed about, take care of the cutest little baby you’ve ever seen and become part of a family. You don’t know of anything you could want more. Adventure, companionship, pleasure, and fulfillment. Sure, you get restless, and sure, you don’t necessarily feel good about the fact that Din seems to be your driving force even when he’s away, but you know independence. You know what it means to live for yourself. You’ve done it long enough that you’ll never forget how to, you’ve experienced it more than enough to know you’re happy about throwing yourself off the cliff and falling into something different. As much as it’s new and terrifying, it’s better. Now you have other people to live for, too.

You marvel at the change—not just from a year ago, but from a handful of months ago. He used to terrify you. You used to keep your mouth purposefully shut around him because you were scared of overstaying your welcome and being dropped off somewhere equally as remote as the place you grew up. Never could you have imagined that the fiercest guardian the galaxy has ever seen would decide you’re also worth protecting.

No, you figure, you just need to… find something in addition. Something else to also commit to, give yourself something to do. You can practice the new self-defense maneuvers he taught you, that’s a good idea. But maybe you can also…

You eventually decide to prompt Peli in a change in conversation. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“What do you want now?” She takes another sip of her caf as if you’ve been bothering her about this all day long, and… well, it’s times like these that you wish you had a helmet, too, if only so you could roll your eyes.

“I’ve got a few pieces of rusted metal in the Crest,” you eventually tell her, careful with your phrasing and not sure how much you want to reveal. “They’re in bad shape, but I want to keep them. Could I use some of your tools here to hammer out some of the dents, dissolve whatever crud is on the surface? I saw you have a forge back there that’s barely been used, just need the metal hot enough to be pliable without sacrificing its integrity.”

She furrows her eyebrows at you. “But I still need your help with…”

You wait, but she’s got nothing and you both know it. Still, you keep a pointed silence and wait for it, wondering if this’ll actually work. This is what Din does, right? Just refuse to say anything and make the other person crumble under the crushing quiet? Miraculously, it proves to be successful—you watch her flounder for a response, her will wavering the longer you sit there and stare expectantly at her.

“Fine,” Peli finally acquiesces, and you grin. “But only if you win this round. What d’you got?”

You set down your cards to reveal your hand. A perfect twenty-three if you’ve been counting right, unbeatable unless she or any of the droids managed to get the same, and you know it didn’t happen as soon as she takes a few seconds for mental math and then scoffs.

“Beginner’s luck,” you tell her kindly, pushing all your winnings back over to her side of the table with one hand and scooping the kid up with the other, before turning around and heading towards the Crest in search of Din’s old armor.

***

It’s late afternoon on day five and you’re on your back on a creeper seat, sweat dripping down your neck as you reach up to fiddle with the engine of a T-16, a Skyhopper similar to one you built yourself on Arvala-7. They're not space-faring vehicles, they’re only capable of reaching the upper troposphere, but owning one allowed you to develop solid flight skills without ever truly being able to leave. Honestly, you don’t think you’ve ever despised a ship more.

You know you’ve got engine grease all over and you feel like you’re boiling in your own sweat, but you’re almost done. After this, you’ll be able to go back to working on your side project.

As soon as you’d been granted Peli’s direct permission to do so, you mixed the chemicals necessary to eat away at everything besides the basic structure underneath, and then spent all day yesterday manipulating the metal to better fit someone your size and shape. You slaved over the wickedly hot forge and developed a whole new muscle in your arm from hammering and reheating, hammering and reheating. You had to repair the way the chestpiece was tapered into a concave point by folding the thin metal back in on itself multiple times, strengthening it without flattening it back into its original shape too much, and then you ended up melting down some of the extra material from the needlessly large shoulder and thigh pieces to fill in the gaps.

Granted, you still have a ways to go on replacing the crushed magnetics box that was falling off the chestpiece and filing down the rough scrapes and sharp edges, but you’re now left with almost a full set of armor that’s a uniform dull silver in color and molds way better to your general figure than before. You’re not a blacksmith or armorer by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re good with your hands and did what you could in the time allotted. It looks better than you ever thought it would, and without access to Peli’s enormous collection of tools and machinery, you know it would’ve been better off in the trash.

Still, you have to finish this engine first before you can rip apart the control unit wiring on the armor to see how the whole set fits together and what else needs to be repaired. You’ve been working on it for a few hours before you hear the door to the hangar open. Yet, when you don’t immediately hear Peli’s voice calling out to you, or anyone else’s voice for that matter, your heart thuds in your chest with sudden excitement.

“You’re back early,” you tell the engine suspended over your head, knowing he must’ve already thrown the quarry into the Crest parked outside before coming to see you. Right on time, footsteps approach and then a boot carefully catches the flat platform between your legs, slowly rolling your seat out from under the ship until the rest of the sunlit hangar is revealed to you.

You know you must look a hot mess right now. Your hair is a disaster and there’s not a clean spot to be found on your body—sweat glistens and pools along every curve you have and you’re probably drenching the spare jumpsuit Peli let you borrow, but Maker, there he is. Every time you see him is like the first time all over again, except this time the Mandalorian is looming like a giant over you, the helmet tilted down and silently taking you in.

Instead of settling you, his daunting presence gets you hotter than dual suns in the sky ever could. Fuck, he hasn’t said a word to greet you, and yet you’re already wondering if you can entice him to shove you back under here and join you.

You slowly push yourself upright and he steps back just enough to allow it, but not an inch more than that. You have to crane your neck up to keep looking at him, and he stands close enough over you that you wouldn’t have to reach far at all if you wanted to touch him.

And it’s crazy to think that… you absolutely could touch him, if you wanted. He radiates danger, he hunts and tracks for his continued survival, he’s probably got fresh blood staining the dark fabric of his cape and he’s so fucking intimidating—and if you wanted to, you could touch him.

Maybe you can partially blame your sore muscles as to why you immediately drop your head back down, but mostly you just want to stare at a part of his body that happens to align perfectly at eye level. And fuck, nothing stops you from looking. He doesn’t help you up, but he also doesn’t move so you can haul yourself to your feet, either. He just holds perfectly still with his body standing tall over yours, content to stay exactly like this while your hand slowly reaches out to wrap around one of his ankles.

He’s so warm, his muscles flex strong under your palm as you let it drift upwards, biting your lip as you flick your gaze back up to the chrome visor and then down again to the apex of his thighs. Your other hand comes up to scale the beskar strapped to his leg and you roll yourself forward slightly, wondering if he’d let you…

The black fabric stretching over his crotch just barely touches your fingertips before his hand is suddenly whipping out and grabbing hold of your wrist.

You gasp and jerk your head up to look at him, somehow equally hoping that you’re both in trouble and not in it at the same time. Din’s abruptly chest raises with a large, labored inhale, as if he wasn’t breathing at all that entire time, as if he just now remembered the setting, the fact that he’s not alone on the Crest with you right now. Peli and the kid have to be somewhere in the hangar, you know that, but…

“We’re leaving tonight,” he breathes out through the modulator, and you have absolutely no fucking problem with that at all. “But… shit, but…”

“But…?” You prompt, wanting nothing more than to let your hands reach back up to his pants again, but you settle for slowly dragging one palm up his forearm as his grip on your wrist tightens.

“Fuck, I wanted to take you somewhere first,” he groans like your feather-soft touch is actually hurting him, his hands suddenly dropping yours and pushing you away to clench into fists at his sides. “Maker—why do you always f-fucking do this to me…”

You raise an eyebrow at him this time, the curiosity starting to mix with the heat simmering down low, the kind that you'd feel even on a frozen wasteland of a planet as long as you were with him. All at once, you decide to channel him and his trademarked silence, enthralled by the incredibly slim chance that it will work equally as well on its creator.

“…Distract me,” he finally growls out an answer to the question you never asked him, sounding frustrated with you for reasons you still haven’t figured out, and your mouth is drier than the desert outside. Oh stars, you feel… fucking powerful. “From everything,” he goes on, talking honestly and openly, more words given to you in thirty seconds than he’s probably offered to anyone all week long. “Fuck, I feel like I can barely do fucking anything anymore, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Your heart slams in your chest, wondering if he possibly feels the exact same way about you as you feel about him. Missing you whenever he’s gone, dreading the moment he needs to leave again whenever he’s with you. The thought alone is enough to set off fireworks through your veins, pumping hope and excitement from your fingers to your toes.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, biting your lip in a way that doesn’t look or feel sorry at all.

“No, you’re not,” Din grunts, before reaching out and hauling you to your feet, and even if there wasn’t a flat seat under you with wheels, it’d still be awkward and uncoordinated as fuck. “Shit. I… I need to clean up. Grab your things, go tell…”

Din trails off after a second, suddenly sounding at a complete loss. You catch your footing and stare at him as he falters. “Uh. Go tell…” He gestures with a sense of finality to the control room, as if he’s actually successfully communicating with you by doing so. “Her. That we’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” You ask him, thoroughly fucking confused. “What are you saying right now?”

“The woman,” he clarifies, clearing his throat. “The mechanic, with the… droids. Tell her I’ll pay her before we leave, but we’re g—”

“Peli?” You blurt, completely flabbergasted at this point. “Did you forget her name, Mando?”

“I…” he shakes his head slightly at you, like you should already know him better than that. “Never asked.”

“But you—?” You blink at him. “But you said she was your friend?”

“You said she was my friend,” he immediately points out, with—oh Maker, just biting accuracy. It wasn’t necessarily a jab or anything, but you still feel dizzy with how fucking spot on he is about it. Yikes, you absolutely did say that. You forgot.

“Oh…” you mumble, at a stunning loss for a response. “Ha. Oh. Yeah, huh.”

There’s too many beats of awkward silence after that, probably because he’s just so blown away by your way with words that he’s just attempting to analyze the wisdom. Stars, you’re making a complete fool of yourself in front of him, aren’t you?

“Were you jealous?” He suddenly asks, and you jerk upright, your heart kicking up to a gallop in your chest at the question.

“I’ll go tell Peli we’re leaving soon,” you quickly agree and go to scurry away in abrupt panic, but he catches your wrist and hauls you back before you can get far. You run into him with a gasp and immediately start to repeat your explanation for why you very suddenly need to depart, but the tips of Din’s fingers catch your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Hey,” he cuts your rambling short with a hushed murmur and the pad of his thumb brushes down your jaw. “Tell me the truth.”

You don’t have an answer that won’t be incriminating, and you don’t think you can get the delivery right on a lie, not to him and especially not when he’s got you so cornered. So you just keep completely silent and look up at him like a scolded child would. Innocent, wide-eyed and scared shitless about the unknown consequences of your actions.

His helmet slowly tilts as he studies you, watching you look up at him for help. His fingers gradually spread out across your jaw, flattening under the curve of your throat but so gentle, so careful that you’re almost worried he actually is mad.

“I’m sorry,” you immediately offer before he can say anything, your eyebrows pulling up in the middle. “I’m so sorry, it’s just—I just…”

His thumb carefully stretches up to brush your bottom lip, and you… Mind blank, no thoughts. Stars, you’ve got fucking nothing.

“I’ve got nothing,” you admit, giving up before you can even try. “There’s no reason. I was jealous. It’s stupid and I wasn’t going to say anything because I know it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t feel possessive over you but I do, and it’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you, and I’m really sorry if that makes you feel weird, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t have—”

Your chin lifts slightly with the gentlest movement of his hand and the subtle pressure is enough to cut your mindless oversharing off. Din’s voice lowers until it’s throaty and quiet.

“See that wall?” He asks, keeping the visor pinned to you while carefully turning his hand to the right, and your whole head easily follows the movement as he guides it. You have to blink your eyes into focus a few times, but then you immediately see what he’s talking about. It’s a partition separating the welding room from the rest of the hangar. He waits until you nod in the cradle of his palm, before leaning in and murmuring to you. “If we were alone, I’d take you around behind it and show you exactly how that makes me feel.”

You pull back from him with a startled gasp just as a voice calls out from the entrance of the hangar. “Well, look who finally decided to come back!”

Din slowly drops his arms and stares at you for just long enough to make you seriously worry that he’s going to say fuck it all and do it anyways, before finally turning around and greeting Peli with another silent nod.

She plants one hand on her hip once she’s standing right in front of him, cradling the kid on with her other arm, and you have to take a second to collect yourself now that you’re not at the direct center of his attention anymore. “Sure did take you long enough, didn’t it?”

“I’m two days early,” he grunts in his immediate defense, but it’s like she doesn’t hear him.

“You’re leaving soon I hope,” she drawls while handing the baby over to him, who makes an adorable little happy squeak at seeing his dad again. “You owe me five hundred credits.”

“It was five hundred for the full week,” he reminds her, and… he has a point. Though it was never part of the agreement, you wonder if she’ll be willing to accept less compensation for having the burden of your company be lifted early.

“Five days count as a full week, far as I’m concerned,” she shoots back, and your heart suddenly sinks when Din’s shoulders tighten and he doesn’t respond.

“Peli…” you sigh from behind him before you even realize you’ve spoken aloud.

Your host quickly sidesteps your bodyguard to eye you dubiously, and at the same time, you also jolt and wonder what your goal is here exactly. You’re ultimately just attempting to diffuse any tension sparking between them, you figure, knowing you’re probably the best mediator here. She looks at you up and down for a long time, hard and judging, before the baby babbles something wordlessly and she sighs.

“I suppose we can just call it even,” she finally huffs, turning back to him. “You’re lucky your girlfriend earned her keep, Mando.”

And then your jaw drops. Holy shit, is she serious? You assumed Peli valued credits above almost anything else, you never expected her to just… turn down the entire offer like that, so willingly. Clearly Din didn’t either, because you both just stand there for a moment in front of her in a baffled silence.

Also… girlfriend?

Is that what you are to him? Admittedly you haven’t talked to him about what to call your relationship, but then again, you’re a practical person and you never really saw a specific need to do so. You care about him, he cares about you—what else is important? You don’t need a title to recognize your value to him, and for some odd reason, calling yourself his “girlfriend” just feels like you’re a teenager again. If you were actually looking for a different word to use instead, you wouldn’t be able to find it, but you know that one just feels… not enough. Not old enough, not encompassing enough, not complex enough. It’s an elementary school version of what this is. And to refer to someone like Din as your boyfriend? Maker, just saying it aloud would probably make his eye twitch.

“Uh.” He stands there awkwardly, and you’re so blown away by both the sentiment and specific verbiage she used that you’re practically useless at this point. Shit, what’s beyond girlfriend, you wonder? Lover? No, not good enough. Partner? No. No, not wife, definitely fucking not— “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Peli waves him away and spins around to leave, but not before throwing one final thing over her shoulder. “That ain’t an open invitation to come back, by the way.”

All of a sudden, you just can’t stop yourself from breaking out into a wide grin, tucking your chin in hopes that she won’t see it with her back turned and decide to pounce on the display of weakness. The three of you watch her stride out of the room and immediately bark an order at one of her droids to get back to work, who starts looking around in desperate search of something to do, and Din’s palm finds its usual place on your lower back as she disappears.

“What a nice lady,” you offer to him, and he gives you a wordless grumble in response.

***

So it’s a couple hours later and you think the kid might actually have the right idea this time.

You find yourself wishing you had a little hover pod of your own that followed Din around, one you could close the lid on and hide in while blaster fire whistles through the air around you like the baby is currently doing. You’re trying to listen to instructions—you’re trying, but there’s a lot going on here. Voices chatting, guns firing, targets being pinged, a lively little band playing in the cantina next door.

When Din first led you through Mos Eisley and inside this specific adobe hut, if you’re being completely honest, you had hoped for food. A comparatively large restaurant, perhaps? Peli didn’t starve you by any stretch of the imagination, but her dinners were the exact same every single night, and you’ve learned to thrive on new things. While you didn’t necessarily think he was going to take you on a… a date, or anything, you certainly didn’t expect him to take you to a shooting range.

Well. Now that you think about it, this might actually be a date.

Luckily you’re hidden away in the furthest firing partition from the door, but even without the near-constant barrage of gunfire to your left, the distractions are still plentiful. The kid actually reached down and pressed the button to close his crib himself as soon as the bright beams of plasma started zooming past and reflecting in his large black eyes, and oh how you wish that were you. You don’t necessarily feel like you’re in danger or anything, but you’ve also never seen so many guns in one place before and you’re worried you’re accidentally going to hurt someone else.

So far Din has taught you the fundamentals for any firearm—always keep the safety on until you’re ready to fire, never point at anything unless you’re a hundred percent willing to shoot it, yada yada yada—and also the safety fundamentals for blasters specifically. So, making sure there’s no leaks in the gas cylinder when you first load it, never letting a strong magnet get near the power pack, checking the surface of your target for deflection curves if you want to prevent a ricochet, or maybe in his case, inspire one. He’s taught you your stance, he’s taught you how to read your sights, now all that’s left is just to… shoot.

Your arms raise up in front of you and the metal feels too heavy and awkward in your hands, and you have to hold the handle in your left and creep your right index finger all the up the side of the barrel until you feel the indented safety switch. It clicks and you reset your grip to slowly ease your finger onto the trigger, staring down the sight, right at the bullseye. Din is standing directly behind you next to the kid’s tightly closed hovering pod, arms crossed and just waiting for you to pull it.

Come on beginner’s luck, come on beginner’s luck—

You fire, and… well. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a shot miss its target that spectacularly in your entire life. You’re almost surprised the beam of plasma didn’t somehow ricochet back into the booth you’re both standing in, that’s how spectacularly you missed.

“Try again.”

There’s no amusement in his voice, nothing mocking about it. Pure monotone under the helmet, as if he was just naturally expecting that to happen.

No, you think in frustration. You want to surprise him again, impress him with how quickly you can pick things up, turn him on like last time. You just fucking know that would get to him—seeing you easily hit the target dead center with his own blaster, you know that would get to him.

You adjust your aim and fire a few more times. Miss, miss, wild miss, miss. Fuck, so many distractions, plasma flying in the corner of your vision and an increasingly heavy gaze from behind you. Another miss, a miss, yeesh that’s a miss—

Alright, so you're just embarrassing yourself at this point.

“I think it’s broken,” you shrug in defeat, taking a second to find the safety switch and toggle it before going to set the gun down on the raised adobe platform separating the line of booths from the targets—but then Din suddenly snatches the blaster from your grip and extends his arm over your shoulder, firing off six rounds in rapid succession so wickedly fast that you jump backwards into his rock solid chest in surprise. He doesn’t give an inch under the collision and even wraps his forearm tight around your tummy as he hits the bullseye with such deadly accurate precision that even the char marks and the line of smoke left wafting from the target’s center are razor-thin.

“Works just fine,” he grunts, setting the weapon back down again before urging you forward a bit. “Go ahead, give it another shot.”

But you’re on a remarkable delay, just trying to process his sheer speed, how fluid and seamless the entire fucking motion was. Fucking Maker, blink and you’d miss the whole thing. He waited to grab the gun from you until you turned the safety on, but then… then how did he fire it so insanely fucking fast? That’s like five different things he had to do with one single hand within a split second…?

“I turned the safety on,” you blink down at the blaster, clearly just trying to process.

“Yeah,” he agrees blankly, as if he’s unsure as to what specifically you’re so stuck on right now.

“So how did you toggle so fas—?”

He picks it from the shelf gracefully and lightning quick—as if he just can’t help but go that speed around his weapon—and then he twists it on its side, flexing his wrist back until the barrel is pointed upwards and you can clearly see his index finger extend all the way up to the safety switch, flipping it up and down while his middle finger rests over the trigger guard.

“How in the f…?” You mutter, lifting your hand up next to his and positioning your fingers in the exact same L shape, only the tip of your index finger barely stretches an inch shy of the switch. “Psh,” you huff, dropping your arm back down again. “Design flaw.”

“For you,” he acknowledges, using the trigger guard to flip it back to its proper position in his hand like fucking spinning it like that is just the easiest and most natural way to handle the deadly weapon. “This gun was made for me, it’s a feature. Yours would be smaller and lighter, have the safety towards the back of the chamber instead of along the barrel.”

The words and the casual display of ability cause a rush of stirring excitement to burst forth inside you, suddenly giddy at the very thought.

“Wait,” you draw the word out with a grin, leaning back into him and gently nudging him with your elbow to make sure he knows you’re only mostly joking. “You gonna buy me a blaster, Mando? I did earn my keep this week, didn’t I?”

“Have to find one that fits a big enough sight first,” he mutters while setting the gun down on the table, and you scoff at him as his hands come to rest on your hips. They squeeze and try to guide you forwards once again. “Prove that you can at least hit the target with mine and we’ll see.”

“You only get to make fun of me if you give me a real answer,” you rule, planting your feet and refusing to budge.

“Okay, but we both know I’ll make fun of you anyways,” he sighs, and you have to dig your heels in and push back into him to keep yourself rooted to the spot.

“You’re not being a very encouraging teacher,” you accuse without trying to hide your grin. “In fact I feel very discouraged right now and I think that y—”

But then Din suddenly tips his helmet closer to your ear and lowers his voice, cutting you off. “Did you know that gifting someone a weapon is considered a proposal of marriage on Mandalore?”

Your smile quickly drops and you gasp, wholly startled at the implication and immediately trying to spin around to look at him. “Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No,” comes his modulated grunt, tightening his hold and keeping you firmly facing forwards. “Of course not. Pick up the gun.”

Okay.

Okay, so that one gets you.

You immediately start giggling, painfully aware that this isn’t the time or place for it, but that one actually fucking got you. Din easily guides and parks your gullible ass in front of the window carved out of dried mud before picking up the blaster himself and forcing you to hold it with your loose hands, grumbling under his breath.

Shit, okay, focus. Focus, you can do this. You clear the laughter from your throat and suddenly get deadly serious, staring your target down like it’s personally gone out of its way to ruin your entire life. The blaster feels cold in your palms but not when Din’s hands wrap warm and tight around the back of yours, letting you hold the gun how it’s most comfortable for you before gently settling his fingers down over yours. His chestpiece presses tight against your shoulder blades when he guides the gun up and out, and his arms are long enough to extend yours fully even though he’s behind you and still has some bend to his elbows. He uses his feet to kick your ankles apart until they’re shoulder-width and then you both carefully find the trigger together.

He’s quiet and slow about it and the whole thing is one giant fucking turn-on. Maker, chill out. Chill out, he’s teaching you how to shoot. This is important stuff, there are people around, chill out…

Din takes a moment to aim the barrel and his hold is so fucking steady, so unwavering and strong. You wonder if it’d be too obvious if you pushed your hips back a little, you might be able to feel his—

“Fire,” Din murmurs next to your ear, and you pull the trigger without a second thought.

The bright red plasma beam launches from the end of the blaster and hits the target dead center. You gasp, pulling the trigger again, and unsurprisingly, it’s another perfect shot.

He suddenly lets go of your arms and takes a small step back, but the second he removes his body from yours, the rounds start bouncing wildly off the edges of the target. Your eyebrows furrow and you try to emulate how you think the angle felt before, but you can’t find it anymore and you’re just failing spectacularly.

When you decide to pause for a second, Din steps up close behind you and wraps his arms around you once more. You can feel the exact moment he’s locked in his aim, and you fire wordlessly as soon as you know it’s going to hit. Bullseye, right on the nose.

This time, he lifts just his hands away from yours, staying perfectly still otherwise and you swear you don’t move a single fucking muscle in your entire body before pulling the trigger, but it still hits the far corner of the target.

“It’s broken,” you shrug once again, and Din drops his helmet to your shoulder with a sigh. “This gun was made for you, which means there’s obviously some mod you have installed that reads biometrics and ruins the shot no matter how good it—”

“Not even close, but that’s not a bad idea,” he tells you, watching you click the safety on and set the uncooperative blaster down. “I can’t figure out what you’re doing wrong. Are you just distracted?”

Uh, fuck yeah you are. So much is going on and more than that, he’s here and he’s just… fuck, you know what he meant when he said he felt like he was losing his mind. He’s your biggest distraction, all the time. He’s still standing so close to you and the baby is still isolated and tucked away in his hovering sphere, and you take a moment to think about it.

Yes, it’s… it’s possible that you may learn better by example than anything else.

“Can I watch you do it?” You ask him, and Din shrugs before reaching around you and quickly grabbing the blaster from its mud shelf. “Wait—” you tell him while he raises and extends his arm over your shoulder, and then you wiggle sideways as much as possible in the small booth to squeeze around behind him. He doesn’t say anything as you swap places with him and scoot up behind him, but you can tell by his body language that he’s confused. You wonder if he liked that position and watching you shoot his gun, even if you’re complete shit at it.

He stands in front of you for a second and you give him an encouraging, “Okay,” to let him know you’re ready, but then the helmet turns back to look at the target like he’s still unsure as to what you want specifically. You keep your mouth shut and let him figure it out. You meant what you said—you want to watch him shoot. You want to watch him where he’s infamous, watch him do what he’s best at and let completely loose in front of you.

As if it finally clicks for him, Din turns to face the target and suddenly throws the blaster into his left hand while reaching down and pushing a button hidden under the hollow platform with his right. You have to lean around his broad shoulders to watch the target slide backwards on its track easily triple the distance before squeaking and slamming to a stop. Din stretches his non-dominant hand out and subtly tilts his helmet before firing six times, easily hitting the bullseye with just as much accuracy as before, and you frown when you notice the only shots that have actually hit the target so far have all been dead center.

He sets the gun down and stands there for a second, staring across the range like it’s nothing at all to him and it’s… remarkable. Not that he’s a wicked shot, you’ve known that the second you laid eyes on his armor all those months ago. No, it’s just… you would think this is where he’d thrive, if anywhere. The entire place is full of smugglers, raiders, scavengers, mercenaries—occupations that define themselves by their grit. They’re talking as much as they’re shooting, conversing in languages you’ve never heard but suspect Din easily understands. But instead of fitting in, he’s just… there. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he also doesn’t look uncomfortable, either. He doesn’t look like he’s having any fun at all.

None of this is considered a hobby to him, you suddenly realize. It’s not fun because he’s too good at it. This is life. This is going back to school for the most basic fundamentals of a job he’s excelled at for decades—it’s not interesting, he’s gaining absolutely nothing from practicing.

You try to think of the last time you’ve seen him truly in his element. You think back on all the different settings—he looked out of place on Canto Bight, got into fights on Corellia, hated Coruscant, seemed stressed on Nevarro, and even on Naboo, even in the middle of paradise, he looked unsure if he actually deserved to be there with you. Now here on Tatooine, where he has real people that he trusts, where he’s surrounded by like-minded individuals shooting his favorite things in the world, it’s like he’s still not able to fully let go.

Is it just you, you wonder? Does he stand out more just because you’re the one looking?

No, you think. No. You have seen him relax. You’ve seen him laugh before, you’ve seen him be himself with you.

But… only with you. A hardened bounty hunter that much prefers the company of a young woman and an infant to literally anyone else in the galaxy.

Fuck. Why does that turn you on so fucking much? It’s the display of prowess, the sheer skill he’s developed, how fucking deadly he is—and how you’ve felt him use that trigger finger to trace slow circles around your clit. The Mandalorian standing with his blaster raised has probably been the last thing too many people have ever seen in their lifetimes, and yet watching from this angle just makes you feel protected, guarded, and… so fucking horny for him.

“Do it again,” you eventually murmur, touching both your palms to his back this time just to feel it. You want to feel him shoot, you want to feel his muscles move with it. You want to touch how mechanically he’s able to aim, you want to know if he’s loose or tense when he fires, you just want to… feel it.

Din grabs the gun and as he extends his arms out, you slide your hands up his back to rest under his shoulders. He’s so broad, he feels so warm and strong, and his trigger releases are so steady that nothing above his wrists move.

Shit, before he’s even finished setting the blaster back down again, you’re already scooting up behind him as close as possible and carefully slithering your arms around his waist, hugging your body tight to his back. Din stays completely still while your mouth presses against the fabric of his cape and your hands begin to slowly slide down his stomach.

He doesn’t say a damn thing, which makes it even hotter for some reason. There’s no warning he gives you, no low growl of your name or sweet girl being dragged through the modulator. He stays completely silent and holds there while blasters continue to fire from stalls to your left, and it gives you the thrill of your lifetime. Big strong man holding perfectly still for you to touch in the middle of a crowded room.

Your hand slips under his waistband and sink down low until you can trail your fingertips along his cock, hidden from sight beneath the edge of the clay shelf. The small sound you make at feeling it already firm and at attention for you gets lost in the noise of the shooting range, but you wrap your palm around it and give it a good, slow pull upwards, feeling Din’s back expand with a breath from the sensation.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his shoulder blade, slowly playing with his cock in his pants with one hand while keeping the other wrapped tight around his abdomen.

Din immediately snatches the blaster off the platform and fires it the very moment he takes aim, and you can feel his cock pulse in your palm as he lets off the shots. Dead center, as always, but he clunks the metal back down with a bit more force this time and then lingers his fingertips at the sloped edge of it for a second, as if he’s considering whether or not he should hold onto it.

You’re already wet between your legs, but it gets worse the longer he allows you to keep doing this. His skin is furnace-hot and he throbs for you, and you trail your thumb up to check—oh, Maker, he’s leaking for you, too. You drag the pad of your thumb over the tip and gently rub the wetness along the curve of his head, before easing back down to give the shaft another slow pull.

A quiet puff of air comes through the vocal filter, but that’s all you audibly get out of him. Still, it’s more than enough to fill you with a wicked heat and a desperate desire for more. So you bite your lip and glance around just to double-check that nobody else has wandered over behind you and the kid is still tucked away in his crib, probably passed out in the secluded darkness at this point. And then you barely take a split-second to consider it before your knees are bending and you’re slowly sinking down the length of his body.

Din is a fucking statue. He doesn’t do anything to allow your wiggling underneath the raised platform anymore than he widens his stance to prevent it. Once you’re on your knees in front of him in the dim isolation of your hiding spot though, he takes a single step forward and pins his waist to the hardened clay above your head, and a thrill skitters through you at being completely walled in on all four sides.

You reach up to hook your fingertips in his hem of his trousers and begin pulling them down, so tight and achy between your legs that you want to shove your hand down between them already. You don’t though, not yet, because you need two hands to be extra careful in getting his cock out. You don’t even want the fabric of his pants to touch it, you want your mouth to be the only sensation he knows here.

At the very last second, you decide to pull the waistband down far enough to let his balls rest outside the confining clothing, getting increasingly hotter at the thought that this isn’t going to be sneaky and dirty, even if you’re in public. Din’s wide stance and the floor-length cape hide you perfectly from any prying eyes behind his back, so it’s going to be soft and it’s going to be slow and he’s going to be comfortable while you go down on him.

Your mouth is already watering, so you bend down just slightly and lift your chin to gently drag your tongue along the smooth skin of his balls before anything else. Honestly—you don’t think he’s expecting you to go there first, because his whole body suddenly jerks at the velvet soft sensation between his legs and you let out a low hum in response. He can’t reach you down here unless he tries to, so you scoot your knees up a little bit and just decide to go for it. This way he won’t be able to get it confused, he won’t pull you out from under here halfway through when you suck on his balls before anything else. This is what you want from him, what’s right here in your mouth.

You switch to the other one and Din twitches with a filtered breath, the skin already tightening up and responding gorgeously under your tongue. His hand hovers somewhere near the raised platform above your head, fingers curling in his leather gloves and caught right between stopping you and letting you continue. While he allows it, you ease your way up and make it just tantalizing enough to make him ache without providing any real stimulation, slowly trailing your tongue up the length of his cock and pressing plush lips to the flared head.

Din exhales a shakily while you take your time, tasting the precum as his body produces it, just kissing and licking and purposefully refusing to touch him with anything besides your mouth. Without being able to see the rest of him from this angle, you're left to your own devices—you’re so gentle and soft about the pleasure that you start to separate the man from the throbbing erection you’re currently playing with. You begin to enjoy yourself without thinking too much about the struggle he must be withstanding right now, you moan softly against his heated skin even though you know you’re being a tease at the worst possible moment, but no matter how you decide to take your time with it, Din continues to allow it. He endures. Silent, perfectly still, until you eventually decide to wrap your lips around the head of his cock and flutter your tongue up underneath it.

But then he jumps and your eyes open when a deep, unkind voice from the stall to your left calls out, “Hey, Mando! Gonna fuckin’ shoot or just stand there, huh?”

You can hear his immediate frustration in the blaster scraping against the shelf over your head, and you moan softly around his cock the second you feel him tense and start firing. The smooth skin pulses on your tongue and you slide your fingers around the backs of his knees, opening your throat and slowly taking him deeper.

And, for a man that has repeatedly fired six perfect shots every single time he picks up his gun, he falters after just three this time.

The heat of your mouth must be too overwhelming. Too fucking good, too detrimental to his focus and composure to even perform the most basic tasks he typically excels at. Like a seasoned mathematician that suddenly struggles to count to ten, a renowned author that can’t recite their ABC’s—Mando can’t even fire a weapon right now and it’s all because of you.

He has to keep trying though, he has to make an actual effort now that you both know someone nearby is paying at least some sort of attention to his performance. The sound of more plasma arcing through the air over your head slowly disappears into the background in a way that it never could while you were the one firing—you’re completely hidden and safe down here, you can moan low in your throat while keeping your hands around his knees and begin to bob your head without another thought or worry whatsoever. Handling it is all on him. He just needs to stay quiet, be still, and shoot his gun. It should be the simplest thing in the galaxy for him, right?

Wrong. So wrong. You hear the way the bolts are pinging off the sides of the target now, you listen to him grunt and let off a few more shots that also sound like they miss. Your soft palate lifts and you’re practically drenching yourself at how wide he stretches your throat while you take him down as far as you can, and there’s a moment where you’re holding there and you think about doing something about the dull ache throbbing between your legs. But once you pull off him for air and automatically touch your drooling tongue to your palm, you decide this is what you want more.

Your slick hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly jerk him off while your mouth moves down to attach to his balls once more, your touch gliding strong and wet along his entire length. Din almost doubles over into the platform, his hips stuttering up for the first time at the hard stimulation you’re finally giving him. His skin swells and tightens in your mouth—you can feel the tension locking his thighs down, you can hear the shots above you start to decrease in frequency, and you know he’s already close.

So you move back up to suck on the head of his cock again and slowly swirl your tongue around it, continuing to use your hand to pull steady and firm on the rest of his shaft, and you just close your eyes and wait for him to give you what you want. His firing soon stops altogether and you squeeze your finger between your thighs and press hard against your clit, just needing to relieve some of the ache. You keep doing that, you keep drawing circles with your tongue while slowly jerking the rest of him off into your mouth, and at some point, it all just becomes too much for him.

“Shit,” Din gasps, along with the sudden sound of metal skittering against the clay above you, and your eyes pop open in surprise. “Ah, sh—shhhhh—”

Maker, did he just drop his fucking gun?

You start to pull back, but then suddenly a trembling hand shoots down and clutches tight under your throat, hooking hard behind your jaw to make sure you stay right there.

His cock starts throbbing and he shudders, slamming his other palm on the shelf and cumming hard in your mouth. You’re already swallowing before he even gives you anything but Maker, you’re fucking desperate for it that your hand moves to curl your fingers against the exposed skin at his hips as if that’ll somehow help you get it sooner. The first taste of him comes as soon as you dig in and drag your nails down his flesh, and Din is helpless to do anything else besides clutch your jaw tight and gasp raggedly while emptying himself down your throat.

He shakes and shudders and you don’t spill a single drop, clutching his hips and pulling him close to keep him in your mouth, and as he slowly comes down from that plateau, you lick every inch of him clean. His fingers gradually lose their rigidity around your jaw and eventually, his fingers drop down to press gently against your throat while his hips pull back.

He slips from your mouth and you wipe the wetness from your chin, staring up at his cock wistfully and almost wanting to keep going. Is that fucked up, you wonder? What would he think?

He hasn’t moved yet, why isn’t he moving? Your job is clearly finished here, no matter what kind of way you may feel about that. The coast must not be clear, you have to assume. Perhaps someone is wandering around behind him, maybe he’s still being cautious about the nosy person next door—all you know is that you can tell he wants to move but he isn’t, which likely means he can’t. You know his cock must be so unbelievably sensitive right now, but he’s not easing his body back far enough away from the shelf to tuck it into his pants. He’s keeping it right in front of your face and expecting you to stay there until he deems it appropriate for you to get up.

The longer you wait for him to step back and let you out from under here, the more your need sparks and grows. What would he think? That you’re so desperate for his cock that you still want it in your mouth even when it’s soft and spent? Maker, he’d be fucking right on the money.

At some point, you can’t stop yourself. You lean back up to slowly take his soft cock back in your mouth, and Din nearly spasms while you slip your hand under your waistband and widen your knees.

You don’t do anything spectacular to it—you’re not that cruel—but you do hold him on the heat of your tongue and keep him there, fluttering your eyes closed as your finger finally touches your clit. Air puffs shakily through your nostrils and you think Din is actually shaking harder than you are, his body fighting oversensitivity while yours starts the race towards bliss. He doesn’t stop you but it also feels like he’s purposefully trying not to, like everything in him is rebelling against the wet heat of your mouth but knowing you’re only doing this because you’re so painfully turned on. You’re doing this because you need it, in spite of the electric shocks of wicked sensation it seems to be inspiring in him.

Your finger speeds up and you start gently sucking on the warm, giving flesh, and his hand trembles as it grabs at your hair. Fuck, you don’t care if he thinks you’re desperate—you want him to recognize it, you want him to know exactly how much you love his cock—

That thought sends a dark thrill down your spine and pleasure burns bright and needy where you’re still rubbing your clit, dropping your hips and rolling them forwards against your hand. And oh, your only lament is that you wish he was the one doing this. You wish Din was building your pleasure instead of letting you use his body in search of your own, you wish it was his hand working between your legs and about to shove you over that ledge, but then again. Something about this whole fucking scene is just so… undignified. Debased. And you’re getting off on it, quicker than you ever thought possible.

When you cum, you’re good and you don’t make a single sound when you cum. You squeeze your eyes shut and your entire body jolts with every single shattering wave of ecstasy, and Din tugs a handful of your hair and slowly rocks his hips once, twice, fucking your mouth while you endure wildfire burning through your veins. By the time you finish convulsing on the fucking floor of a Tatooinian gun range, you know you can go for another and probably get it equally as quick as that one, but Din is already pulling his cock out of your mouth and shoving it back into his pants. You’re like jelly as your elbow is immediately caught in his arm and you’re hauled up from your hiding spot, dazed and disoriented.

The chrome visor stares you down and you want to shrink in on yourself, thinking he’s going to take your happy ass back to the Crest. You should be in trouble, you know you should be in trouble. Leaving the recesses of your dark cubby and coming face to face with your surroundings brings a brand new clarity to light—you totally should not have done any of that. He was trying to teach you, for Maker’s sake. He was taking the time to show you the valuable knowledge he’s gained regarding weaponry and self-defense. Fuck, you even told him on Naboo that you wanted to shoot a gun, and he brought you here to do just that.

Except then he just spins you around and picks up the blaster from the adobe ledge in front of you, placing it firmly in your hands.

“Okay,” he pants quietly next to your ear, breathing hard and shallow through the helmet. “Now you should be able to focus, right?”

Fuck… Fuck, is he serious? You can barely hold the damn thing, you’re shaking so hard. How does this work again? What does this do?

“Wh-What?” You croak—fuck, your voice is gone. “I… I can’t—”

“Try,” he encourages, helping your comparatively tiny hands flip off the safety but other than that, stepping back and leaving you to it. Completely and hopelessly lost, you weakly twist around to watch him stand next to the kid’s closed metallic shield. “Hit the target,” Din reiterates with a nod, trying to catch his breath. “You can do it.”

You look back out with unfocused eyes to see it still all the way on the far end of its track, and there’s just absolutely no fucking way. “I… can’t.”

“Hit the target and we can go home,” he tells you, and while you don’t exactly know what home is anymore, something tells you it’s somewhere in hyperspace. A resting baby, a metal floor, a pitch black hull, and your cheek pressed against a warm chest.

It sounds… wonderful.

Inspiring a newfound kind of desire in you, you lift your arms as best you can and work so, so hard to keep them steady. The target is in your sights and you do your absolute best—fuck, you really do, but you pull the trigger and the shot sadly bounces off the edge.

You drop your hands, already defeated and drained. “I can’t.”

“Hit the target and I’ll buy you a blaster,” he ups the ante, and you instantly lift your dead arms again. Fuck, come on, come on, you can do this.

You shoot. Nope. So you shoot again. And then you shoot again, and again, minutely adjusting your wrists purely based on where the bright red plasma is landing and ignoring the scope entirely.

“A nice one,” he continues over the pew pew pew of you just continuing to fucking miss, fucking miserably, over and over again. “Expensive. Hand-crafted, one of a kind…”

Miss, miss, miss, and—no. Just, no. There’s only so much glaring failure you can take before you snap. You finally stop shooting and growl in frustration, going to slam the metal down on its resting place. “Mando, I ca—”

“Hit the target and I’ll marry you,” he says quietly, and you freeze just before impact.

… What? N… No…

Miraculously, you somehow manage to calmly switch the safety on and set the blaster down before turning back to see the helmet staring at you, unmoving.

You… you know it must just be a joke, right? Just a stupid extension to the one he made earlier, it must be. You blink dumbly at him and flick your gaze between the visor and two large black eyes staring at you from the crib, wondering if you glitched or if you’re just hallucinating.

“Uh…” you hear yourself say, even though you’ve got absolutely nothing, but Din doesn’t offer anything else to fill in the gaps of your startled misunderstanding. If you didn’t have such a wild fucking reaction to the words, you'd probably wonder if he actually said them or not—that’s how much he gives away. Silent, so unbelievably silent when you’re begging him to give you at least something. Is he messing with you again? Is he just that confident that you’re going to fail?

It takes forever for you to turn back around and face the target, but you eventually do when he refuses to elaborate. Your heart slams in your chest and you wonder what you’re doing even attempting this.

The moment you lift your trembling arms is the moment you know your heart is pounding too fast—your finger twitches with the wild rush of blood flow and you end up pulling the trigger way before you’re ready. You fire before you’ve checked your sights, you fire before you’ve taken any sort of aim whatsoever, you fire spontaneously enough to surprise even yourself and it—

—it hits dead center.

Your stomach drops and a jolt of some rabid feeling punches through you, you have no idea what it is. You whip around so fast that you get dizzy, seeing him standing there, completely still.

“That was just beginner’s luck,” you quickly reassure him, suddenly feeling faint. Holy shit, holy shit, what the fuck just happened? “Listen—hey, no, listen, I can’t get it again,” you explain shrilly to the utterly dead silence from him. “Look, watch this, double or nothing.”

You spin back around, well aware that absolutely nothing about what you just said or what just happened made any fucking sense at all. Beginner’s luck when you’ve been consistently awful at this, telling him repeatedly to listen when you’re very, very fucking aware he hasn’t said anything, double or nothing on a literal proposal as if double marriage is something that actually exists?

No. Shut up. Don’t even think that word, don’t think about fucking anything. Fire, fire without thinking, just lift the gun and pull the trigger—

You do, and oh. Oh, no.

“Uh?!” Your voice comes out on a squeak, now in a complete fucking panic. What the fuck? No fucking way. Perfect, perfect, the odds are fucking astronomical—another deadly accurate shot. “Ah, um, okay, scratch everything I said—th-third time’s a charm?”

Wide-eyed and having absolutely no clue what you’re doing at this point, you fail to see Din slowly turn his helmet down and to the right as he stands behind you. You go to lift your arms and pull the trigger, but then he suddenly reaches out lightning-quick and bumps your elbow upwards at the very last second.

The abrupt push causes your shot to be angled off course spectacularly and you can’t do anything but look up and gasp in horror, worried it’s going to ricochet off the ceiling and land somewhere this building isn’t architecturally designed to absorb. There’s just enough time to wildly wonder why the fuck he did that—

—but then, like pure magic before your eyes… the beam of plasma adjusts itself in midair.

It fucking bends. Across the length of your entire firing lane, it curves in a downward trajectory and hits the target with absolutely impossible physics.

Your jaw fucking drops and you whip your body around in dumb shock to see Din staring hard at the closed shield next to him.

… that’s not closed.

The baby tilts his head at you and coos happily, one ear tipping up while the other tips down, and you’re completely blown away. Not only at the entirely unexpected demon-power display, but what specifically he was hoping to get out of it. You’re still stuck, blinking down at the adorable little goof with abilities you’ll never understand.

Only, a hand suddenly grabs yours and drags you back to yourself.

“We need to leave,” Din says quietly, switching the lid shut on the hovering crib and pushing it towards the booth’s exit while tugging you along behind him. “I don’t know how many people saw that, we need to leave.”

Sure enough, voices in the next partition over start picking up, likely the only ones in here who had a good enough angle to watch the physically unthinkable shot somehow meet its target, and your adrenaline quickly begins pumping while you keep your head down and power-walk your ass to the door. You don’t know the kind of consequences that could potentially arise from others witnessing the kid’s literal sorcery, but you know you’d rather not take the chance. The voices start growing louder as you three make your quick escape, beginning to ask others around them if they just saw that, but you’re already out of the rectangular adobe structure and long gone by the time anybody steps out of their panels to hear the uproarious accusations of cheating beginning to fly.

***

Stay tuned for the next part!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #star wars #fanfic #reader insert #no-droids

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tewwor-aaa · 2 years ago

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🌙 S𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

1. What does your muse smell like?

… Irish Springs whenever he’s on Earth.

I really wish I was joking, but every time Clarence summersaults his ass back down he always gravitates towards that overpowering bar soap. Maybe it’s because it’s cheap to get. Maybe it’s because the smell of it is still linked to the early days of his childhood when everything was normal ( when that’s the smell he frequently links to his father & that one time he accidentally went to get a bar with wet hands and the thing shot out, off the shower wall, and right back at his eye ).

Who’s to say? :)

There are other scents that constantly carry along with this planet hopping bozo, though. Fresh from Chips the ship there’s a metallic hint from all the gear — sort of like the fumes from welding. Alongside it, there’s an odd mix of burnt gunpowder, bitter almonds, petrol, even a bit antiseptic, and of course — petrichor.

In the off chance Clarence bothers to put cologne on ( which is extremely rare ), he usually goes for something light and pleasant — whatever reminds him of a nice, sunny day.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

It varies! By default I would say they’re rough as hell. Sometimes he’s guilty of not using gloves when he needs to ( someone yell at him whenever he’s fixing engines or even.. welding ), but if any trauma happens to his hands… well, his body regenerates the damaged bits back to perfect condition.

And given Clarence’s track for unfortunate circumstances / clumsiness… there have definitely been times where he’s had to regrow his hands.

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

What the hell doesn’t he eat? Rationing between planets is uber important ( thank goodness he knows this ), but if he’s off ship and frolicking around? God knows what that man ingests in a day.

Clarence is a notoriously unfussy eater so he’ll hoover anything edible. But I will say, he does try to have at least 1 or 2 fruits a day. Oranges / orange equivalents or pears if he can find them. Other than that? It’s a food roulette babey.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

Good? Debatable, but he can harmonize surprisingly well. There might not be an amazing amount of vibrato or other outstanding qualities, but he can carry a tune — even sight-read a little bit. Bonus: his voice range falls between tenor 2 and baritone.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

.. christ… where do i even start?

nervous ticks — leg jiggling and fidgety hands for starters ( main reason why he started to make his own little puzzles so he can keep his hands busy whenever ). rushed speech, although it’s a toss up between being anxious and excited. touching his face, particularly the chin and sides of his face.

bad habits — gnawing on things like a gerbil, usually sticks to ice but he’s definitely damaged some teeth from being real nervous a few times; recently been switching to gum so he won’t crack or break anymore teeth ( they grow back of course ), but has definitely choked and swallowed several.

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

doesn’t matter if he’s in space or on a planet where he can breathe without a helmet — clarence dresses painfully simple.

his gear is bright orange, has numerous mended areas from snagging on a ton of things, and a medium sized ‘be back in 15′ patch on the chest for all the times he dies because usually… it only takes 15 minutes for his body to regenerate ( well, depending on how much damage there is of course ).

on earth? this man rocks a simple short sleeve crew neck, khakis, crew socks, and sandals.

aside that, his general appearance is low effort. mussed / bird nest hair, some stubble ( never a full beard or stache though ), and a.. can-do attitude.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

one might say… overly so. while he tries to be mindful of personal space ( it’s always a work in progress ), he cannot help how verbally affectionate he can be. compliments are always bountiful and he loves to give gifts. if he comes by anything that reminds him of a friends or loved one, you can bet your ass he’s getting it. even if that means there’s some peril along the way to obtain said present, but it’s the effort and thought that counts, right?

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

face down, ass up— no but seriously, this man either sleeps on his face or like the chalk outline of a crime victim. blankets are optional since he runs pretty warm by default, but there has to be at least 2 pillows. one with good support for his neck and another to cling to.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

absolutely. if he’s not talking up a storm that the entire neighborhood can hear, then there’s the stupid sound of his sandals thwapping with each step. even when he’s out to snag some artifact that’s secured to the teeth, he’s still loud as hell.

✨ TAGGED BY: my other blog xoxo goirl

✨ TAGGING: @mythvoiced @wrrnth @42piece @motherednature @6billion @vulpesse @natterghast @killedarlings @villxinoux + @lapinecide @riverspat you!!

#⁺˚*･༓☾　clarence luc watts ➟ headcanon　☽༓･*˚#// my sweet dumb idiot dude

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capricorn-stark · 4 years ago

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Smoke and Mirrors

pairing: jason todd x reader, childhood friends

warning: language, slightly heated towards the end but it’s very mild, smoking - i’m not a smoker nor do i condone it, don’t do it kids

a/n: references some early stuff from RHATO (2011)

“The girls at the diner used to call those cancer sticks.”

You thought it was pretty ironic for him to say that when he plucked the cigarette you were holding right out of your hand, leaning against the railing of the balcony and seeming utterly unabashed. You hadn’t even heard him landing beside you until he started speaking.

You made a face at him as he unlocked and slid his helmet off while grinning at you in a typical self-satisfied fashion, bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“Let me guess,” you started dryly, watching a plume of smoke swirl out of his mouth as he took a drag. “That’s why you took their warning very seriously and told yourself to never, ever smoke one.”

“I never said that,” he protested with another obnoxious laugh as he turned to glance over at you. “You made that shit up yourself. Not my problem.”

You rolled your eyes at him before moving to fish out your pack and lighter out again, half-heartedly settling another one between your lips and lighting it up. Jason’s eyes followed the smoke back to you, his own expression unreadable.

“And I thought you said you quit this shit.”

You shrugged, not quite looking at him when you opened your mouth to answer.

“People say stuff all the time, Hood. What did you expect?” Your words were directed towards a little more than just smoking. A beat passed before he shrugged it off.

“Hell if I know.”

You both sat there for a while in silence as you smoked, watching the grey clouds stray towards the hazy glow of the setting sun on the horizon. The city beneath you was beautiful tonight, a seemingly endless stretch of dark gleaming buildings reflecting the pinks and oranges of the sunset. You wanted to relish that moment more than anything for a while, and you did.

You closed your eyes and let the cigarette leave your mouth, clouds falling from your lips, nicotine buzzing in your bloodstream.

It would be a beautiful night. You could tell.

When you opened your eyes, you felt Jason’s eyes on you again and your turned your head to meet them. In the sunset, they really did glow a strange hue of green - yet another marker from his swim in the Lazarus. You hadn’t seen those eyes in quite a while.

“What, you want to take a picture?” you started in a somewhat jestful tone at his expression. “It’ll last longer.”

“Would you let me?” was his rather cocky comeback as he took his own cigarette out of his mouth, another smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “‘cus I don’t have anything against that idea, per se-”

“I was joking-”

“Right, totally.”

“I was!” The look on his face was infuriating enough to let you know that he didn’t believe shit. You let out a rather long and weary sigh. “I thought you weren’t planning on coming back anytime soon.” And at last, the disdain you had been trying so hard to contain from him was surfacing in your tone.

And clearly, from the way he was staring at you, he seemed to notice.

His latest adventures with his new friends, dubbed The Outlaws, hadn’t exactly been on the down-low. You knew one of them, Roy Harper, from being his best friend from a long time ago, and you had seen the glowing orange alien chick who accompanied them for the past few months on the news after he had taken off from Gotham.

You couldn’t deny the fact that you had been more than a little dismayed by the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to give you some sort of goodbye before they left, either - no visits, no phone calls, no letters, not even a poorly placed sticky note on the front of your apartment door left to get swept away by some janitor when it fell off.

You woke up one morning and heard from his brother that he wasn’t around Gotham anymore, no real explanations as to why the hell that was.

He just disappeared.

“You’re not thrilled to see me?” he attempted with mock hurt, and you gave him a very unimpressed look. “Sure, doll. I see how it is.” You acted like the nickname didn’t affect you as much as it did, because he didn’t deserve the satisfaction of otherwise.

“You know what I mean, Jason.”

“I thought it was Hood?” He caught your look again. “Jeez, I’m just fucking around.” The silence stretched on and he at least had the sense to look a little guilty when he spoke again. “Y/N. Listen, I’m - I’m sorry.”

You didn’t say anything for a while, your eyes still fixed ahead on the horizon. What did he expect you to say?

“I didn’t plan on leaving like that, I just - shit happened. And I didn’t want to stay in this shithole of a city for longer than I had to, anyways.”

Of course. He was bad at goodbyes, so he never said them. You were above chasing after him, so you never did.

“You could’ve at least made a call after you left.” The cigarette was still burning in your hands, the white filter crumbling away in the wind. “Or, I dunno, sent a text, or even a damn email or something. Anything.” Even you were surprised by the contempt lacing your voice with every word you spoke. You had told yourself he had to have had his reasons for leaving and that you wouldn’t waste your own time being angry at him. But somehow, you couldn’t help it. It had hurt more than you chose to realize. “It’s been months.” For once, his passive expressions and sarcasm had been replaced with something else.

Remorse.

“I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal to you.” You almost let out an incredulous laugh at that.

“Not a big deal to me? Are you serious?” You turned back to face him and he pursed his lips, clearly having realized that he had said the wrong thing. “After you came back - from the dead - and after everything that happened, you seriously thought I wouldn’t care what happened to you?” Jason opened his mouth, then wisely closed it while you tossed your cigarette down to crush it beneath your heel. “Wow, Jason, you knew me way better than I thought you did.”

“I didn’t mean to leave,” he tried again after a beat, taking a half-step towards you. “I wasn’t - I was on a mission, and this submarine thing with the dudes I was dealing with blew up, and then I woke up like a week later on this island thing with a Tamaranean alien princess who thought I was Dick, and then I found out Roy was gonna get executed, so-” He seemed to realize how incredulous that sequence of events sounded from the look on your face. So he let out a sigh, wringing his hands. “Okay. Yeah. I was kind of a douche.”

“Kind of?”

“I was definitely a douche,” he amended with another sigh, running a hand through his dark hair. He took a breath. “But I did mean it. I’m sorry.”

And you knew he meant it when he said that. Even back in his unruly days as a Robin, when your friendship had first formed, you had figured out that it was ridiculously hard for Jason Todd to let go of his pride and apologize for basically anything. When he got older, it admittedly hadn’t gotten all that much better.

Until now, apparently. Just a little. And you could never stay angry at him for very long, as much as you might have tried.

You let out a sigh yourself, glancing up at him.

“When did you even get back?”

Jason made a show of fishing his phone out of his pocket and taking a look before answering.

“About - twenty minutes ago.” He cleared his throat a little. “I wanted to see you.” There it was again - that infuriating feeling in your chest.

“Did you?” You tried to keep your tone as neutral as possible as he rubbed the back of his neck, somewhat awkwardly glancing away from you before he spoke again.

“Yeah. I missed you.”

Well fuck. That was a big one.

“I guess I missed having you around. Sometimes.” He chuckled at your attempt to be nonchalant, stepping even closer to you.

“That’s it? That’s all I get?” You rolled your eyes at him, refusing to say otherwise. You weren’t about to give in to him.

“Yeah, that’s all you-” Before you could finish, he had cut you off with a kiss. And in another moment, after his arms wrapped around your waist to pull you in closer, you realized your entire train of thought had been derailed completely because your best friend was kissing you.

“Get?” he offered when he pulled away again, another rather smug smile playing at his lips when you managed to look at him again, clearly flustered. “You sure about that?”

You appropriately told Jason to fuck off before you pulled him down towards you again for another kiss. And that kiss turned into another, then another, and another.

Your seemingly blasé attitude towards him and his constant teasing towards you had always helped you both shy away from whatever it was that you actually felt towards the other. It was easier to laugh at each other, or flirt, or push each other away than to actually move past your pride and admit how you felt.

But then again, between tender caresses and heated kisses, you didn’t think there was a need to really say anything out loud. Where his hands were on your body alone could tell anyone what was going on in his head.

You had missed him more than you could express in words, and it was increasingly clear that he had felt the exact same way. Your relationship had always toyed at the fine line between friendship and something more, and your actions in that moment had firmly moved you both past the former.

For so many years, your respective egos had provided a cover from a truth neither of you had been ready to come to terms with. But now, beneath the haze of cigarette smoke, sheets, and Gotham sunsets, you could finally see what exactly that was. There had always been something more underneath all of your smoke and mirrors.

And although it wouldn’t be right then and there, eventually, you’d clear all of that smoke away.

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deaconusdelirium · 3 years ago

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Fight your demons

Requested: “what if the reader slipped in and out of what happened and what’s not. Like, switch Crosshair out with the reader, after they get their chip removed, she’s just really scared about hurting the Batch and especially Omega, maybe she just has a mental breakdown and then that’s when everyone notices how much you’ve lost yourself. I’ve also noticed you have more Crosshair lovers than the other, so go ahead and do Crosshair. Soft! Please🥰”

Oh man, that definitely hits the feels

———

You ran, ran far, Gerreras soldiers weren’t cut off, and they sure went going to get back to him. “Commander. We caught a few of Gerreras men, six to be exact” you stopped, making the other Elites as well. You held a fist up, “Fall back, we’ve got what we need” “but the orders were to eliminate all of Gerreras troops” the guy who thought of himself higher than the group spoke up, throwing an attitude already, the others looked at him. They knew he said something, “oh?” You turned, facing him, “I’m the commander here, you take orders from me. And I say we fall back, let those two go, they’ll tell Gerrera we’re here. He’ll send out more of his soldiers. Then we’ll strike, got it?” You explained, walking closer as he backed off, “yes, commander” he nodded, standing straight again as you took off towards the Regs who had the hostages.

They weren’t far, but that didn’t mean you could walk. By the time you got there, there was eight of them, “we caught two sneaking around” you hummed, walking up to the soldiers, “let’s make this easy and short. Where’s Gerrera?” “like we’ll tell you” one of the guys spat, “oh I’ll make you, starting with her” you pointed at one of the ladies, the Elite grabbed her. Forcing her to her knees. “Talk” the soldiers looked at her worryingly, “don’t! Tell her, I’ll be fine” the woman spoke, “let her go” “talk and then maybe I will” they all glared at you, the Elites stood behind them, just in case they got any ideas. They seemed to talk to each other, you watched as they exchanged words between them “We lay our life down for Gerrera, we’re not telling you anything” their heads held up high with pride.

“Fine, kill her” the Elite that was holding her, shot her, making Gerreras squad yell and try to break free. “Last chance, all of you” you warned, wasting time on people who weren’t worth it. “Didn’t you hear the first time? Or can’t you get anything through that helmet of yours? We’re not saying anything.” The supposed leader spoke for them all. You leaned over to the ‘executioner’ as he always did as told. “Kill them all, leave the one at the end alive” you said, he gave a swift nod. Telling the others as the guy at the end flinched as his teammates fell, the sound of leaves crunched under your boots as you walked up to him. Kneeling down to meet his eye level, “you’re chosen for a reason, now, I promise not to hurt you if you tell me, where Gerrera is” he shook, looking at you. “He left, but his caravan..” he finally spoke. “Uh huh” “they’re the vulnerable ones, down the road, just before you caught us” you stood up, walking away, “thank you for your cooperation, your no longer needed” you shot him, making the troopers around look at you.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him if he told you the truth!” The woman slightly raised her voice at you, “and he’s lying, we have scanners all over this planet, more than one. If someone was disobeying orders to help Gerrera, we would still have others to tell us if a ship has left or not. And they’re has been no word on that, however. The caravans most likely here, I’d say far off considering we have troops a few clicks out and we would have found them by now. We have no use of a liar with us” they listened, you were right. If someone did betray the Empire, then there were still others loyal, and they would immediately alert you. They watched as you walked off, coming to your side again. “Find them” you told others as they got into squads and set out.

The caravan wasn’t hard to find either, it seemed like they didn’t know that you were there. Now you watched as they quivered by their ship, holding each other. One of the Elites spoke against your orders, “we signed up to be soldiers, not an execution squad” he spoke, the others unsure if they should follow the man, “you know why they put me in charge?” You asked, he turned to face you, the other Elites stepping back, knowing he was done for “it’s because I’m willing to do what needs to be done” you shot him as the others backed up again, looking at you. “Good soldiers follow orders, finish the mission” you told the others as they walked closer to the civilians. You watched as they complied with your orders, feeling a bit of pride grow for your squad since they almost stopped questioning your ways.

—

You woke up, gasping as tears had already made their way down your face in your sleep. The image played like it was moments ago, but it seemed like forever, you touched the side of your head. The feeling of the small scar there told you that the chip wasn’t there anymore. You felt like you were trying to breath, your eyes watered again. As you heard Hunter run in while a sleepy Omega jogging after him, her eyes widen as she seen you. “Y/n, Y/n are you ok? What’s wrong?” Hunter came to kneel at the edge of your bed, his hand touched your arms as you pulled away, “don’t...” pulling away from his grasp. “Y/n?” Omega called out, walking towards you, her hands held out to grab yours. “I said don’t, go away” Omega looked at Hunter worryingly, he nodded to her, she walked out feeling sad. “Y/n, what happened, is everything alright?” Hunter asked, his voice gentle as to not make you anymore upset. “I.. I don’t want to talk about it” you held your knees up to your chest as you spoke through your arms. He understood, standing up and walking out the door “I’ll be here if you need me” he said before leaving.

You wiped your tears with the end of your blanket, regaining your breath as you calmed yourself. “Problem?” Crosshair asked, leaning against your doorframe with his arms crossed, he was the only person you didn’t want to show tears around, considering he was more intimidating than Wrecker and Echo. “No” you answered shortly, sitting there as the thought of innocent people were gone. “I know you’re lying,” he spoke, coming to sit at the end of your bed, “I’m listening” he said it like he does it all the time. I mean, he did, he mostly listened to Tech rant about things he didn’t understand. And he liked listening to him, he didn’t mind at all. You didn’t answer, but he seen as you came to touch your head again. Oh, he knew now.

“You’re worried?” He questioned, hoping to at least get a short answer from you. He didn’t sound upset or moody like he usually was, you scoffed, “more like scared... and worried. I pushed Omega and Hunter away- but I was just so.. scared I’d hurt her. I remember it like it was just today, those innocent people” he was surprised at how easily you pried open. “Those children, just like Omega. They died at my hands, I did it without hesitation. I knew what I was doing yet, I didn’t. It felt like I couldn’t control myself. It seemed right, but now, now it’s wrong” did being under the influence of the chip take that much of a toll on you? Was it like that for all clones? He nodded, “I didn’t mean it, it just..” tears fell as you cried, “it hurts to even think I did that. I would never have done that” you wiped them away, Crosshair felt like he needed to do something.. anything.

“It’s not your fault. It’s the chip” he spoke, trying to reassure you. “And that chip, ugh it still feels like its there and” you cut off as you rubbed the scar. “I just want to be my old self again, one who wasn’t being used by everyone to get what they didn’t want to do, done. I hated it, I hated every second of staying with those Elites, and having to see Rampart almost all the time when I reported back to Kamino” it sounded awful, it must have been too. “I just wish I could forget about it” you confessed, finally feeling like you were able to breath after getting that all off of your chest. And he didn’t judge, he didn’t say anything rude like he always did. You silently cried to yourself, Crosshair didn’t say anything for awhile. You felt like you made him uncomfortable, “sorry, I just..” you apologized, wiping your tears away as embarrassment replaced your self pity.

He didn’t know what to say, it sounded like nothing could be done to help you. So he did the one thing he could think of, he turned and pulled you into his arms. Unsure if he was hugging too soft or too tight, he didn’t even know if hugging too soft was a thing. “Cross, you don’t have too” “shh, just.. relax” you smiled weakly at his attempt to sooth you, and you did relax. His warm embrace felt comforting, something you’ve never felt before. Maybe it was because you’ve never been held or hugged, or maybe because you just tried and needed someone to listen after all you’ve been through. He stayed like that for a long time, he felt the occasional hiccup of you trying not to cry again, he moved away, and so did you. You watched as he stood up, then came to lay down. He pulled the covers over him as he made you lay down. He wrapped his arms around you, but what if this was too far for him?

You laid there, still, not wanting to step over his boundaries. You grew tired, finally putting a hand on his side, making him tense up, but soon relax under your touch. He gently squeezed you, making you slowly come closer until you were holding onto him. “Cross?” You asked, whispering to him while facing his chest. “Hmm?” He was curious to know what you had in mind again, “tell.. tell me this is real?” You hesitantly spoke, grabbing his shirt and holding as much as you could of him in your grasp. “It is.. why?” He waited for your answer, “I’ve had dreams like this, when I was back on Kamino with the Empire. Where one of you held me, mostly you. I missed you guys terribly, then I realized it was always a dream” his cheeks grew warm and his heart broke at the thought of you missing them.

They didn’t mean to leave you all the time, but they had too. “You’re back with us now, don’t worry” he said, tangling his legs with yours and holding you closer. The sound of his heartbeat was new, you actually felt it, and his breathing was something to add onto. It matched yours, or did yours match his? It got late, and you still couldn’t sleep, what if your chip instincts came into play without you even knowing, and then you hurt one of them. Crosshair seemed to be sleeping, but you weren’t sure as you kept tossing and turning every minute, “Y/n, what is it now?” He asked, finding you far away from him when the side you were sleeping on was empty. “I couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you... sorry” “there’s no need to apologize, come on” he pulled your arm, making you lay beside him again.

It felt a little better, but not enough to make you sleep. He took note of it, “it’s not there anymore if you’re wondering” he knew you were worried about to chip, so his hand came up to softly rub your temple with a feather like touch. It seems to make you sleep, considering you weren’t moving and your heartbeat slowed to a gentle pace, and your breathing was shallow. Was this all it took to make you sleep? His question was answered as you snuggled into him again, it may have been new to him too. But he had already loved this new found form of touch and reassurance. He only wished he could take away your darkest memories and never have you think of them again, but if this helped you sleep at night knowing someone was finally there, then he would be there every night to fight your demons.

———

Wow. I like this one, although... lemme know if you clones want it softer cause I feel like it’s not soft enough...

#crosshair #crosshair the bad batch #the bad batch #star wars tcw #star wars #Crosshair x reader #Crosshair x y/n #Crosshair x you #Hunter #omega #tbb #oneshot #requested

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mustyrosewater · 4 years ago

Text

their responses to the words “make me.”

as i’m sure we all know, the two words “make me.” are some of the most used in a brat’s vocabulary. greatly inspired by my good friend @the-door-matt (who is a self proclaimed brat.) i have decided to write how pedro’s characters respond to said sentence. good luck, and god bless the brats.

NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

javier pena :

baby, are-

are you sure you don’t have a death wish? surely you do if you give a man like javier pena any from of attitude.

all day, you’d been trying to get under your co workers skin, simple things such as taking just a little bit of extra time getting your coffee, making you late. wearing those bell bottom jeans you know hugged your ass just the right way, anything you could do to get on javier pena’s nerves, you did.

you don’t even remember what he asked you for, maybe he’d asked you to hand him a pen, or even pass him a file that was sitting beside you; all that you remember, is leaning forward slightly from where you were sitting on the desk and tilting your head before saying those cursed to words.

“make me, pena.”

admittedly, you should have known better, but for some strange reason, you’d just felt the need to push one his buttons, at least you’d been wise enough to do this when it was after hours, only the two of you left in his office to sort through reports and such.

you should have known that from the way he turned deathly still and looked up at you slowly, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. if look’s could kill, you’d most definitely be dead. you could only watch as he slowly took the cigarette from his lips and squashed it in the ceramic ashtray on his desk.

next thing you know, javier has gotten up from his desk and is now standing in front of you, a hand now wrapped gingerly around your lower throat, not applying any pressure, simply sitting his hand there and keeping you still.

“is that how it’s going to be? you’ve been trying to get under my skin all day missy.”

as he speaks, his head lowers from around your throat to begin ghosting along your covered skin, barley applying enough pressure to feel his touch, just enough to know that its there.

“this is what you want? is that why you’ve been trying to push my buttons all day hm?”

legend has it you had trouble walking the next day, bruises on your hips and thighs certainly saw to that. needless to say, javi didn’t get attitude from you except on some very special occasions.

francisco “catfish” morales :

you took his hat, babe, why did you take his hat?!

he’d been searching for it since he woke up, after he’d had a shower, only to find that his hat wasn’t waiting for him on the bedside table as it always was. there was also the matter of the fact that you were nowhere to be found.

he came down the stairs slowly, only now hearing movement in the kitchen. when he finally poked his head around the corner only to find you in the kitchen, leaning on the counter and waiting for toast to pop did he spot his cap sat snugly on top of your head, turned backwards allowing him to see the logo of the oil company.

you must have heard him, because you turned and offered him a big smile, though he could read the mischief clear on your face.

“morning.” you practically sang as he approached, wrapping your arms around his waist and standing on your toes to kiss the end of his nose. his hands sat snugly on your hips as he stared down at you like you would stare at a puppy that had been caught chewing on its owners shoe.

before he could reach up to take his hat back, you broke away from his hold once you’d heard the toast pop.

wasting no time, frankie only shook his head. “give it back.” he knew you knew what he meant, but you only turned around, giving a mock clueless look.

“give what back, babe?”

“my hat, give it back.” he didn’t sound angry, not even annoyed; if anything, he sounded like he was enjoying this little game you’d started with him.

“make me, francisco.”

you quickly realized you’d fucked up when his eyes suddenly darkened, as he moved closer to you and had you pressed up against the counter in a manner of seconds. his breathing had suddenly grown heavy and he was practically grinding against you.

as you breathed out a few soft moans, shutting your eyes and wrapping your arms around his neck, you felt the cap being pulled off of your head, opening your eyes just in time to see him placing his cap back on his head.

your mouth hung open as he smiled down at you and turned around heading for the front door.

“don’t even think about it francisco.” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him back into the kitchen, hearing him laughing as he spun you around and pushed you back onto the counter, continuing his trail of kisses.

shane “dio” morissey :

oof, well, i can tell you that you fucked up.

dio is not somebody who likes to be given attitude in any shape or form, not getting his way, whether it be through manipulation or force, is an entirely foreign concept our resident goth boy.

literally, doesn’t even matter why you said it, or what it was about. all that matters is that the words “make me” are like flicking a switch in dio’s mind that suddenly has you pressed against the wall with his hands wrapped around your throat as well as dio practically seething the most pornographic sentences into your ear.

don’t expect to be experiencing any release though, dio is going to do whatever he wants, and that means that you won’t be cumming until you’re crying, not until you’ve learnt his lesson.

whether that means you spend hours with his head between your thighs or rather hours bent over the bed with him pounding into you relentlessly until you can’t take anymore, it’s all the same to dio.

he’s not going to let you cum until you are in tears baby cakes, not until you’re crying out that you can’t take any more and that you’re sorry, this is never going to happen again and that he needs to stop.

well, then he will, only long enough to gruffly let out “make me.” before resuming his torture on your body.

yeah, you won’t be walking straight for quite a few days after that, sorry not sorry.

oberyn martell :

it’s the giving an actual prince attitude for me-

no, for real, despite the fact that oberyn is a prince, we know that he doesn’t take it too close to heart when it comes to thinking he’s above certain things.

however, you? being a brat? haha yeah that shit’s not gonna fly. as soon as you say that sentence and give him that look, it’s over. oberyn doesn’t tolerate you being a brat unless he wants you to be a brat.

he will simply repeat his request, allowing you one more chance to be good for him, when you retaliate with another “make. me.” this time pausing between words, oberyn simply shrugs, he gave you a chance, can’t say he didn’t try.

he walks towards you and picks you up, dropping you down onto the bed, staring down at your as he unlaces the lather belt holding his tunic in place. he lets it fall off of his shoulders leaving him only in his loose orange pants as you stare up at him, narrowing your eyes and biting your lip.

he’s not stupid sis, he knows that this was what you wanted all along, seven god’s forbid he actually lets you get away with it though.

overstimulation and spanking is all that you’re going to get, all while he nonchalantly tells you “i gave you a chance to be good my little dove, if you want to be bad, see what you get.” before he lets another smack come down hard on your thigh.

much like our friend dio, oberyn isn’t going to stop until you’re on the brink of tears and apologizing profusely, just pleading, begging for him to let you come.

however, unlike dio, oberyn will cave in and let you because he’s lying if he says that look when your eyes roll back and your mouth hangs open turn him to putty in your hands.

din djarin :

ok look, he tried, he really did.

when you first replied to his request to pass him a tool with a mischevous “make me.” he only stopped for a second before resuming what he was working on.

“i’m serious.” he replied as nonchalantly as always, only causing a pout to form on your face.

“so am i.” you shrugged, moving the tool box out of his reach with your foot when he let out a sigh and reached for the tool himself.

“i’m not in the mood.” he grunted, standing up to tower over you, staring you down through the vizor of his helmet. you couldn’t even see his face, but knowing that under his helmet he must have been starting to get annoyed only brought a smirk onto your own.

the tool that was clasped tightly between your hands was the next object of his staring. he reached for it, only for you to place your hand behind your back, not once breaking eye contact with the bounty hunter.

though his helmet you could hear the pissed off huff he gave, right before he grabbed your other wrist and spun you around to push you down onto the crate you’d been previously sitting on. unable to move, you could only wait as he pried to tool out of your hand and suddenly let you go, only turning back to what he was working.

pouting, you turned around, expecting to see him continuing his work, instead, you watched him chuck the tool back into the tool box before he looked back at you, reaching forward to grip you by your shoulders and lead you into the room that two of you shared on the crest.

only checking once to make sure the kid was asleep, he shut the door behind him and shoved you down onto the bed, beginning to unbuckle his belt, only staring at you through his vizor.

he fucked you into the mattress that night, so hard that you had bruises on your hips when you woke up, walking out of the room only to find him working once again, missing the small chuckle that emitted from him as you limped past him.

maxwell lord :

sorry my love, maxwell lord IV doesn’t take orders from anybody, especially not you. the two of you had gotten into some petty argument, something about how you’d already responded to star labs saying he’d be attending their charity gala, and now here he was, claiming that he no longer wanted to attend purely based off of the fact that one of the sales rep’s had given him a dirty look as they were leaving.

you were stood in front of his desk, arms crossed and tapping your foot impatiently, staring at your boss as he propped up his feet and gave you that smirk that was all to familiar and all too infuriating.

without another word, you simply threw your hands up and grabbed your coat, turning around and walking towards the large mahogany doors you knew would take you out of his office.

“don’t walk away from me.” his voice rung out behind you, as well as the sound of him standing up from his chair.

you didn’t reply, only continued walking; just as your hand touched the door handle his voice rung out again, though much colder, much more harsh.

“don’t you take one more step out of this office.”

you whipped your head around to look at maxwell, your eyes suddenly wide with insult, who the hell was he to order you? well, technically he was your boss, but still.

you took a few steps towards him, your heel’s clicking on the marble floor before you stopped and stood in silence, letting your eyes linger on his face before finally speaking.

“make me.”

without even waiting for a reply you turned around and continued your retreat out of the office that you were sure cost more than your own house three times over.

but before you could leave, you felt hands on your shoulders as you were spun around harshly to meet the angry eyes of maxwell, his breathing was heavy and his perfectly gelled hair had moved slightly out of place, leaving a few strands sitting on his forehead.

“is that what i have to do to get you to fucking listen to me once in awhile hm?” as he spoke, he turned the two of you around and continued until you were pushes against his desk feeling the hard wooden table digging into the backs of your thighs.

all i’m gonna say is, expect to be bent over that desk and prepare to hide the bruises around your thighs from by the time our man is done with you.

you may have begun to order him around a lot more often after that occurence, who knows.

max phillips :

okay well, for one

why are you saying “make me” to your boss

especially when your boss is max phillips

it was, in all honestly, because you were having a bad day, technically your shift wasn’t starting for another ten minutes, you’d only just sat down at your desk and let out a sigh as you heard your boss’ office door opening as well as those infuriatingly well polished shoes appearing in your vision.

without even saying good morning or anything, max was already on your case about those reports that were meant to be on his desk by this afternoon.

not even waiting for a reply, he patted you on the shoulder and reminded you that you needed to start working.

without even thinking, as he was walking away, you blurted out a snide “make me.” it was meant to be quieter than it came out, a little snap only meant for your ears, and yet, somehow, he seemed to have heard it loud and clear.

the second, and i mean the second, those words leave your mouth, max’s head will have spun around to look at you in disbelief, sparing little to no time before he’s placing his hands flat on the desk of your cubicle and narrowing his eyes at you, only to growl:

“my office, right now.”

hope you’re ready bby, cause max certainly is.

all your coworkers have to pretend that they don’t know exactly whats going to happen when max asks you to close the door behind you.

max practically shuffles his desk into the wall while bending you over it and fucking you into tomorrow, in his mind, this was his way of showing you what an attitude like that would get you

they also pretend that they can’t hear the banging and muffled moans coming from his office, he’s their boss, they can’t say shit.

by the time your waddling out of his office, sheepishly adjusting your dress and collar, all while max leans in the door frame with a confident smirk plastered on his face.

this is then followed by him demanding that everybody stop staring and get back to work.

jack daniels a.k.a agent whiskey :

i love our yeehaw man, you love our yeehaw man, we love our yeehaw man.

so i can’t work out why you would want to get on this mans nerves.

it starts out small, little things that you know will push his buttons, stealing his hat off of his head once, then twice and then finally a third time.

you sat on his desk beside where he was working and grabbed the hat off of his head for the third time after he’d taken it back, placing it on top of your head and flicking the brim upwards playfully.

you knew he could stop you from taking it, but he was either enjoying this more than he was letting on, or didn’t have the heart to stop your fun, either way; what had started out as fun was very noticeably beginning to annoy him.

he sighed deeply when you grinned at him, swinging your legs back and fourth from where you were sitting.

“babygirl, light of my life, will you please stop taking my hat.”

his voice was audibly tired as he looked up at you, only to see you grinning.

“but i like it, it looks better on me.”

by the sound he made, you could tell you were right, or at the very least, he really enjoyed seeing you in his hat, but despite that, he still lifted a hand to reach for it only to have you lean away from his reach

“i’m gonna have to ask for that back sugar.”

“make me cowboy.”

as soon as you said that, his eyes noticeably darkened as soon as you said it, leading to him standing up and stepping in front of you, standing between your legs.

“i won’t ask again babycakes. give me the hat.”

your only response was to lean in and smile at him.

“make. me.”

that was the limit, within mere blinks of an eye you found yourself bent over whiskey’s knee as he sat down in his office chair, the hat still on your head.

“i gave you the chance babygirl, no arguing now.”

your ass is gonna be red by the time your out of that chair, and i can confirm you will indeed be walking weird tomorrow.

but hey, it was worth the hat, wasn’t it?

pero tovar :

baby i hope you know what you’re doing..

you stole his coin purse off of his belt while walking past him in the market, you’d stolen several coin purses today, this was just the first one that caught you.

you were only a few meters away when you’d heard him yell out from behind you, resulting in you breaking into a sprint through the crowd in order to get away from the mercenary now hunting you.

it took a few minutes of running before you were able to successfully escape, hiding behind a building and leaning against the wall huffing and puffing feeling like you were going to be sick.

finally calm enough to continue on, you turned the corner only to run bang smack into said mercenarys chest, the now very angry mercenary.

“you made me chase you through three streets senorita.”

despite attempting to turn and run once more, he caught you almost instantly and had you slammed against the wall.

“you’re one of the only people that have been able to outrun me, but despite this, you stole from me. give it back.”

maybe it was the high adrenaline, or the fact that the close proximity was allowing you to feel his breath on your cheek, but for some reason, you decided to dig your own grave even deeper.

“make me.”

the growl that left that man was nothing if not animalistic, the next thing you knew, you’d been swung around and having your chest pressed against the wall as he grinded against you, dipping face down to breathe in your scent.

“if we’re going to be like that senorita...”

yeah, needles to say you had a very fun time from then on out explaining to people how you met your latin lover.

dave york :

death. ELECTRIC CHAIR. did u really, reeeaallly decide to give a trained assassin attitude? ur funeral babes.

i don’t even want to know how it happened, but as soon as that man heard “make me.” leave your pretty little lips. oh mama.

you were bent over the kitchen counter, hand through your hair, pulling it back and other hand blissfully placed around your neck, gradually applying more pressure.

“oh, you thought that was fucking funny? you want me to make you? you little fucking whore, i’ll make you then.”

trust this man will be leaving several bruises all over your body, this is literal hate fucking at a certain point, there is no other way to describe the way this man reacts to attitude of any kind.

words cannot describe the state that you are left in, but as much as it hurt, the aftercare is worth it. waking up to him laying soft kisses along your shoulder, all the bruises and bitemarks.

bringing you coffee while running you a bath so that the two of you can relax and let your body recover from the absolute torture and pleasure it has been through

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djarrex · 4 years ago

Text

Countermeasures || 1

Archives

Fives x ofc!reader

x | next chapter ->

| main masterlist | series masterlist | read on ao3 |

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of lust? is that a warning? otherwise, nothing yet ;)

chapter summary: Renna (you), an intern who spent the entirety of her internship thus far filing paperwork in the archives of Tipoca City’s medical wing, finally is able to work with a real patient - that patient just so happens to be Fives.

note: Renna will basically be taking the place of AZI-3 in the Conspiracy arc. A lot of the dialogue I wrote is from the episode, and of course I added more to dig deeper into Renna and Fives as characters. When this idea came in my head I was only planning on writing it as a oneshot. As I starting writing this, however, I realized there was so much more that could be done with it since this arc is both a good one and a sad one. If you’re ready to go on this journey with me, then keep going under the cut! <3 Also, I wanted to add that there will be POV changes in this chapter. I don’t know if I’ll stick with that going forward, but we’ll see.

* tbh special thanks to @bvcketfvcker for coming up with the series title and being da Best™

***

The archives of the medical wing in Tipoca City, the capital of the watery planet Kamino, were always so cold and lonely. Every single day of your internship thus far has included you being nearly drowned in paperwork, no real field experience to show for it.

You’ve been on Kamino for your medical internship for what, close to six months now? You were still stuck doing paperwork. Maybe at the six month mark you’d be moved up to sterilizing all the medical equipment, which would seem terrible to anyone else, but at least you’d be in proximity to anything remotely “medical”. You were longing to get your hands dirty, to start real field experience, to learn how to heal. You wanted to help people, to help anyone in need. You wanted to learn the practices for saving someone’s life. Everything you wanted, you could not get if you were stuck in the archives with paperwork as your only companion.

You decided within your first month that you would not let the paperwork and lack of real purpose get to you. So, you made your situation better by wearing - to the best of your ability - a positive attitude. On the day that marked the end of your first month here, the Kaminoans told you that music can be played in the archives as long as it’s not too loud, so you brought in a small radio the very next day. The start of your second month was a little better than the day before. You hummed to the music playing on the radio as you tried to make a game out of filing the paperwork. Turns out, not even a simple game could be made out of something so boring and tedious as filing paperwork.

You lost count of the days you’ve been in Tipoca City, within the archives shelled by the stilted dome structures, after your second month. Every day was exactly the same; you filed and shredded paperwork, organized reports, and finished filling out medical reports that the Kaminoan doctors didn't even want to bother with. Every day you woke up early, headed to the archives, and spent your entire day there in solitude until it was time to head back to your quarters for the night. Lunch was always dropped off to you by a couple of guards from the Kamino Security Team. The guards were always in full grey and white armor but you already knew what they looked like; they were clones, and you’ve seen their face in every file. They were handsome, sure, but there were literally hundreds of thousands of them out there.

You were pretty sure you were coming up on month six of your monotonous internship. Waking up and getting ready was a routine ingrained in your bones. You were taking the regular route to the archives from your quarters when you were stopped by a couple Kaminoan doctors on the way. To your surprise, they asked you to follow them, which you were hoping translated to you not having to work in the archives anymore. Maybe month six was the lucky number.

You walked behind the tall and slender creatures through unfamiliar halls. You had no idea where you were following them to, but anywhere was better than where you were originally heading.

They kept walking, with you in tow, when you passed by the only Jedi you’ve ever really spoken to - Master Shaak Ti, a calm and collected Togruta who was known to have a soft spot for the clones here on Kamino. The Jedi nodded in greeting to the Kaminoans in front of you, then over at you. With no words spoken, you were now following the Jedi through the halls, still unsure of the destination.

Just around the corner, you saw two very decorated troopers coming towards you. They donned blue and white armor with a ton of other accessories. As they got closer, the one trooper removed his helmet and carried it at his side. This trooper had the usual dark brown hair and kept the common clone cut style. The way this clone walked with his helmet pressed to his hip had awoken something in you, though you couldn't put your finger on exactly what that something was.

“General Shaak Ti.” The other clone removed his helmet as he greeted the Jedi. He was blonde and sported a closely shaved cut; despite having the same face and body, the two clone troopers looked completely different. They were unlike any clones you’ve ever seen.

That’s when you noticed another trooper laying on a stretcher behind them; his hair was long enough to be worn in a bun, a tear drop was inked underneath one of his closed eyes. He was also unlike any clone you’ve ever seen - especially since he appeared to be unconscious, He was hooked up to oxygen, you also noticed, as two guards pushed his floating stretcher right by you and around the corner, out of sight once they went down the hall.

You realized how zoned out you were and quickly snapped back to reality - only for only a second, though - as you became transfixed on the clone in front of you on the right, the one with dark hair. You scanned his features a little more now that he was closer; he had a dark goatee that framed his chin and his right temple had the number “5″ inked on the skin. His armor was crazy different from the armor the guards here wore. He looked... good. Uh oh.

For just a brief moment, the “good looking” trooper’s eyes broke away from his conversation with the Jedi and met yours. Slightly embarrassed, you snapped your head forward and glued your eyes to the Kaminoan’s ankles in front of you.

Just as you started listening in on the conversation, the two clones, the Jedi General, and Dr. Nala Se broke away and turned the corner in the same direction they took the unconscious trooper.

Kriff. You missed the entire conversation. The Kaminoans started moving forward, and you assumed you were still supposed to follow them, so you did. You still had no clue where you were going, but you’ll get there eventually.

***

Fives’ POV

Fives walked to the left of Rex, a long-neck doctor in between them, while Tup’s unconscious body was guided by two Kamino guards behind them.

“You will have to say goodbye to your friend now.” The long-neck broke the silence. Fives was worried for his friend. No one, not even Kix, could figure out what was wrong with him. Why would Tup shoot and kill General Tiplar? Fives noticed Tup was acting somewhat strange right before it all happened, but didn’t think too much of it at the time, Now, he’s racking his brain, trying to understand what set Tup off. He’s a good soldier, a good man. He’d never do such a thing in his right mind.

It was suggested that Tup be sent to Tipoca City, to Kamino, back to his roots, for a better chance of figuring out what was wrong with him. Fives gladly accepted the offer to escort his friend there, and was overjoyed that Rex came along with them.

General Shaak Ti came into view, and the troopers came to a halt. Captain Rex greeted the General, and she turned her attention over to Fives.

“Fives, am I correct?” He nodded. Tup was being pushed from behind them and then around the corner in front of them, quickly going out of view. The General spoke again, her eyes glued on the unconscious trooper being led down the hall. “You’ve served with Tup?”

Fives was desperate to be by his friend’s side right now. “Yes.”

Then he saw you. You, a foreign species to Kamino. What were you doing here? It had been a while since Fives was last on Kamino, but he was sure there weren’t any others like you here before unless they were Jedi - but the only Jedi known to hang around Kamino was General Shaak Ti.

He had noticed you tailing the long-necks before you had even come entirely into view. Fives let his eyes flicker over to you as Tup was being taken away, only to have locked eyes with you for but a second. He noticed you blushed right before you snapped your head forward, obviously embarrassed that you’d been caught staring. General Shaak Ti’s voice broke Fives’ trance - didn’t even notice he was losing focus once he caught your eyes - and it was all over in less than five seconds.

“You must come with me.”

Fives quickly snapped his attention back to General Shaak Ti, ��with... all due respect, General, I can’t just abandon him now.” The Jedi General smiled reassuringly, and turned to lead Fives and Rex down the hall in the same direction Tup was taken.

Fives knew where his undivided attention should be, and that was on Tup - his friend - his friend that for some reason just gunned down a Jedi in the heat of battle in the space station just outside of Ringo Vinda, only to come to with no memory of what he had done. Fives cursed himself for thinking of you when his friend was about to be strapped to an exam table, being poked and prodded like some kind of lab scurrier.

***

Renna’s POV

Dr. Nala Se, the Chief Medical Scientist on Kamino, approached you once you had gotten to the head medical lab and informed you that you’d be the one who would start procedures on a clone trooper who had potentially been exposed to a virus of some kind. You nodded, all too giddy as you gladly accepted the task.

You were escorted by two guards to where you’d be working with the patient. When the door whisked open, you slowly made your way into the quiet room, the door shutting quickly behind you. You glanced to the right, noticing the window that would normally allow you to see into the room next door was blacked out - put into the privacy setting. Strange.

“You?” The deep voice - a voice that sounded like honey in your ears - put a halt on your thoughts about the darkened window. You knew it was the voice of a clone; the only voices you ever heard were either the slow, drawn out words of the Kaminoans or the clones’. Of course a clone would be in that room, of course a clone would be the subject of your testing.

Who you didn’t expect to see was the clone trooper you saw in passing not even a half hour ago - the one with the dark goatee and number 5 tattooed on his temple - the one who made you blush when he caught you staring.

You felt yet another blush heat your cheeks before you even registered it was happening. What the hell were you blushing for? He’s a clone, and you’re here to take blood samples and body scans to make sure he’s okay. You knew you were staring at him like a fool, and for way too long. You shook your head slightly in an attempt to reorganize your thoughts.

“You ok, Miss... miss?” He stood up from his seating position on the cot, and cocked his head to the side with his arms folded across his chest. You nodded your head slowly.

“Renna,” you nearly whispered your name to him - the words almost came out choked - for some reason you had forgotten how to speak in Basic for a moment.

“Look, Miss Renna, I am not a threat. Neither is Tup.”

Your brow raised as you studied the clone’s expression. It was hard; his eyes were piercing and his brows were furrowed. Crossed arms flew to his sides, hands tightening into fists. No doubt he was feeling angry and confused.

“T- Tup?” Was that the name of CT-5385? “You’re referring to CT-5385?”

“Tup! The trooper in that room right there?” He pointed over to the darkened window, “He’s a good soldier, my friend, and he’s in the room next door getting - getting tortured by those long-necks.” A beat. “None of us clones go by numbers anymore, by the way.” You closed your eyes for just a moment, trying to think about what to say next. You inhaled deep through your nose, then slowly out through parted lips, watching as his expression went from angry to more... afraid? Worried?

“Trooper, I promise Tup is in good hands. I’ve been briefed on his- his condition... they - we - just want to find out what made him kill Jedi General Tiplar, that’s all. They’ve asked me to do a couple of procedures on you, take some notes, since you were close with Tup. Maybe we can find something in you that will help your friend.”

The trooper’s expression changed again, softening as his fists unclenched at his sides. Surely he had to understand the gravity of the situation; when you were briefed, it was mentioned that no one on Kamino had any idea why CT-53 - Tup - shot a Jedi General in cold blood, or why he keeps floating in and out of consciousness, murmuring things like “kill Jedi”. Clone trooper Tup seemed to have no memory of what he had done; and so far, no scans were showing anything wrong with him, though his health was deteriorating.

You walked over to the counter where the sterilized needles and scanners resided and started to prep the equipment, reading over notes to see what it is you needed and what you were supposed to be testing him for. Reading through the notes, you realized this trooper’s designation was ARC-5555, and the tattoo “5″ on his temple made sense now. It was actually kind of... cute.

It was silent for a couple minutes while you were getting everything ready when a loud, airy sigh coming from behind you made you turn around to face ARC-5555.

“The name’s Fives.”

***

Fives’ POV

Fives was getting more worried for Tup by the minute. His rising frustration didn’t help, either. General Shaak Ti had engaged the privacy setting on Fives’ only view of his unconscious friend, leaving him in the dark as to what the long-necks were doing to Tup in the room next door.

Fives sat in the room in silence, alone with his worries and doubts. You were out of his thoughts at this point; the worry and fear he felt for Tup swallowed him whole - until you were the one walking through the door. It could have been any Kaminoan, any droid, yet you were the one they had sent.

His eyes wide, he watched you slowly walk in as you immediately set your attention to the darkened window to the right side of the room. Fives wanted to know if you knew what they were doing to Tup, why they were hurting him, why Fives wasn’t able to be there by his side. He had a million questions, almost all of them relating to Tup, except for the ones he had about you.

Fives was sitting on a cot on the other side of the room, and you hadn’t noticed him yet. What is she doing here? Who is she? She definitely isn’t a long-neck. He wanted to ask you all kinds of questions, a mix between wanting to know more about Tup and wanting to know more about you, but all he could muscle out was one word.

“You?” Fives shook his head in disbelief as the first word he said to you left his lips. It did manage to get your attention, though, because you turned away from the dark window and were now staring directly at him. Fives felt his heart beat just a little harder when he could finally take in your whole figure in more than just a quick glance. You were beautiful - more beautiful than anything he’d ever seen, and wearing the same thing he saw you in earlier; a tucked-in dark grey skin-tight top that came up your neck like clone under-armor blacks did, a white lab coat that came down to your ankles, hugging your curves in all the right ways along the way. The coat was open in the front, save for the one buttoned part right at your waist, just barely keeping the coat together. Your black boots were knee-high, your black leggings tucked into them. You stepped closer to Fives and his heart started racing; he was completely in awe of you, but there was something else, and it made warmth head straight to his groin.

***

Renna’s POV

Fives. That was his name. Not ARC-5555 , just like Tup wasn’t CT-5385. “No clones go by numbers anymore,” he had informed you. Being waist-deep in paperwork all the time never gave you an opportunity to actually work with the clones. All you knew about the clones were their designations, along with whatever the paperwork was filed for. It didn’t occur to you that they had names.

“Look, is Tup gonna be alright? Have they found anything out?” Fives’ eyes were pleading, begging for some kind of reassurance.

“Please, sit down.” He huffed, but obeyed. “We’re using hyper level tests, so we should get the results fairly quickly.” He nodded his head, thankful for any little crumb you could give him. “I’m gonna need to get started now, okay?”

Needle in hand and ready to go, you preemptively apologized.

“Wh- ow!” You jabbed the needle into the side of his neck, a sympathetic smile on your lips.

“I said I was sorry!” You chuckled quietly. Fives rubbed at his neck and you made you way back over to the counter, inserting the needle into the port next to the computer.

“Well?” His hand still rubbing at his neck, you squinted your eyes to read the results displayed on the screen.

“Everything... seems normal.” You weren’t exactly sure what to expect, but you were happy your very first patient wasn’t immediately dying on you.

“Oh, great! That means you can let me out, right?” The excited tone in his voice made it quite difficult to relay the next part to him.

With an apologetic smile, you walked back over and sat on the cot across from him.

“Actually... I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, Fives. I was instructed to keep you in quarantine until we’ve pinpointed the exact cause of Tup’s breakdown. We can’t risk any further casualties.” You couldn't bear to look at him now, so you glued your eyes to a fresh scuff mark on the toe of your boot.

“Like I told you before, I am not a threat, and neither is Tup!” You looked back up at him when his voice raised. Fives wasn’t angry, or at least it didn’t appear that way. He was worried for his friend.

“I- I believe you, Fives. Unfortunately, I’m not the one to make those kinds of calls. I’m just- just an intern. This is my first day not filing paperwork in the archives. I don’t- I don’t want to mess this up. You’re my first real patient.” You stood up to leave the room, letting your hand rest on his shoulder for just a moment in an attempt to comfort him. Something you never thought you’d be doing - comforting a clone. You told him you’d be back later to check up on him and to perform any tests the doctors deemed necessary. Then you left.

***

As you headed for your quarters for the night, you couldn’t help but think back on your introductory meeting with your very first patient. You replayed your short conversation over and over in your head; you transfixed on his voice, the raw emotion in it that went straight to his facial expressions, and the way he looked at you. You’ve seen his face many, many times in the files you were doused with daily, but most of the clones on Kamino didn’t have anything significant to mark them apart from one another - no scars, tattoos, different hair styles, and were generally clean-shaven. When you first saw Fives, his tattoo and facial hair was what did it for you. You hated to admit it, but you may have just accidentally gotten a crush on the ARC Trooper.

This was all new to you. You never realized clones had such... emotion. Or capable of such emotion, for that matter. You were kept in the dark for the entirety of your internship on Kamino, and now you understood why. You weren’t Kaminoan, you weren’t a Jedi, you were just an intern. In their eyes, there was no reason as to why you should engage the clones, so they kept you busy with paperwork every day. You wondered if you were physically kept away from the clones because you were also human, and therefore were able to share the same emotion and ideals as them. That idea wouldn’t have made sense to you if you thought about it earlier today, but now that you met Fives, it made sense.

Maybe the Kaminoans were fearful that you would be a distraction to them, or them to you.

***

Tags: @bvcketfvcker @deewithani @chromia7567

#djarrex writes #countermeasures series #arc trooper fives x you #arc trooper fives x reader #arc trooper fives x oc #fives x reader #fives x oc #fives x you #fives smut #arc trooper fives smut #the clone wars fic #conspiracy arc #the clone wars conspiracy arc #arc trooper fives #captain rex #clone trooper tup

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tewwor-a · 3 years ago

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🌙 S𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬.

1. What does your muse smell like?

… Irish Springs whenever he’s on Earth.

Who’s to say? :)

In the off chance Clarence bothers to put cologne on ( which is extremely rare ), he usually goes for something light and pleasant — whatever reminds him of a nice, sunny day.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

And given Clarence’s track for unfortunate circumstances / clumsiness… there have definitely been times where he’s had to regrow his hands.

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

What the hell doesn’t he eat? Rationing between planets is uber important ( thank goodness he knows this ), but if he’s off ship and frolicking around? God knows what that man ingests in a day.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks?

.. christ… where do i even start?

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

doesn’t matter if he’s in space or on a planet where he can breathe without a helmet — clarence dresses painfully simple.

on earth? this man rocks a simple short sleeve crew neck, khakis, crew socks, and sandals.

aside that, his general appearance is low effort. mussed / bird nest hair, some stubble ( never a full beard or stache though ), and a.. can-do attitude.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

✨ TAGGED BY: @romancemoon ( history.... is bound to repeat itself.. ilu )

✨ TAGGING: @yulyecng @onlyoddities ( give me rue or florence ) @oddisms @temporalobjects @megaerans @debtwon @hnjwn @amaarok @blatantvirucide @prtcts @guttersniper @calstrare @jeoseungsaja @consigleire @theirtragedies @villxinoux + you!!

#⁺˚*･༓☾　clarence luc watts ➟ headcanon　☽༓･*˚#// babes wake up #// the worst planet hopping idiot's back

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basicbatboys · 4 years ago

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Drain-O

Part 2

WARNINGS: Abusive ex, descriptions of abuse, violence, death, angst, language

A lil vent writing :) This is the first thing I’ve written in a very long time and a topic close to my heart! The title is irrelevant to the fic, it was just my own personal Drain-O

1914 words

Jason finds out you’ve been talking to an abusive ex who you’re convinced has changed. You go out with the ex and chaos ensues. There’s nice fluff at the end with Jason consoling and talking with you. This is not a light fic.

If you or someone you know is struggling with domestic abuse, it is not a situation that you can handle alone. Please reach out to someone and find help. You deserve better.

800.799.SAFE (7233)

https://www.thehotline.org/

I stood in front of my full length mirror, smoothing down the slight creases in the dress I’d grabbed out of the closet. I smiled softly at my reflection. It had been a while since I’d felt this nice- since I’d had something to feel nice for. I gave myself a final once over, and when I was content I turned to head toward my desk to finish the final touches on my hair and makeup. When I turned, I was a little too unsurprised to see a dark figure crouched on my windowsill. I sighed and walked toward it, undoing the latch.

“Jaybird, you find the worst times to pester me.”

The figure slid through my now opened window with a grace that someone of his size shouldn’t be able to muster. His feet hit the ground with a soft pat and he shut my shade to give himself the privacy required to pull off his helmet. He flashed me a cocky smile and ran a hand through his hair. “It’d hardly be pestering if it was a good time for me to show up.” He pointed out, walking toward my bed and taking a comfortable seat.

I rolled my eyes and retreated to my desk, flipping my hair into a simple messy bun. “I’m leaving soon. And you know, if you keep showing up here, someone is bound to think you live here and break in.” I gave him a pointed look and he responded with a nonchalant eye roll.

“Fun surprise when they stumble on a woman getting ready for a-” he looked me up and down, “date?” He tried.

I nodded. “Yeah, a date.”

He frowned softly and stood up, walking to stand behind me and look at me through the desk mirror. “With whom?” He demanded lowly.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. I turned around in my chair and folded my hands together, begging. “Please, papa! Please, I love him! You can’t forbid me from going out any longer!” I chided, my voice high and my lashes batting.

He sighed. “You know why I’m asking, batbreath.”

I sighed too and turned back around, my attention returning to my makeup. Jason had a reason to be hesitant about my going out. He’d recently discovered that my ex had been talking to me again, and foolishly, I’d let him talk me into taking me out tonight. Of course, Jay didn’t know that last bit. If he did, there’s no way he’d let me leave. My ex had been… Impolite, to say the least. Before I had been introduced to the vigilante family he’d been really good at knocking me around. Most days I’d spend my time covering black eyes and downing countless painkillers. Now was the hard question. Why was I going out with him again?

Well, it had been a year now. I knew how to handle myself, if he thought to try something. And really, I missed him. The memories we had together were clouded by pain, but he was the first man to love me. He held me at night. He kissed me under the stars and in the rain, he bought me flowers and bracelets, and he held my hand on the subway. I missed the way I felt carefree when he laughed. I missed the happy times. I thought, hoped, that things could change. That things would be different now.

“Hey.” Jason nearly yelled, snapping me out of my train of thought. I nearly pierced my nose with my mascara wand.

“What?” I snapped, turning to look up at him again.

“I don’t want the trademark attitude right now. You don’t get to have an attitude. Who are you going out with, this is serious.”

I sighed, defeated. “His name is Zack.” I said, sliding him a fake name. “He’s a nice guy, really!” I lied, forcing a smile. “A really good guy.”

Jason didn’t seem convinced, but he nodded and backed away from my chair. “Okay.” He said, grabbing his helmet. “I won’t pester you anymore.” He said, spitting my earlier words back at me. He headed toward the window, slid on his helmet, and opened the shade. “You look nice, batbrain.” He finished before exiting through my window and into the darkness again.

“Thank you.” I said to no one.

---

“Dylan, don’t fucking touch me.” I growled, wiping the blood from my nose. I was backed into an alleyway. My blood felt like it was 90% alcohol at this point. He’d been feeding me drinks all night for this planned outburst. I’d never felt stupider in my life.

“God, how many times have I heard you say that? At least a thousand, at this point.” Dylan laughed, stalking toward me. I realized now that I never watched him drink anything but water. Stupid.

“You deserve this, sweetheart, after the hell you’ve put me through. It’s been impossible to bang anyone with all the bullshit you’ve spread about me.”

I could hardly hear him. There was so much fog in my head and the pain from the blows he’d already delivered were clouding any sort of brain function I could have been riding on. Any of the training Batman had given me was out the window.

“It wasn’t bullshit.” I slurred. I wiped my still-dripping nose again. “See?” I said, holding up blood stained fingers. “Not bullshit. You’re a psychopath.”

He laughed again. “Oh, the attitude. How I missed the fucking attitude!” He reached into his pocket and pulled out something I couldn’t distinguish. Then, I saw the glint under the little light that the alley offered. A knife.

I backed up until I hit the wall. Was this really how I was going to die? Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

“I’m going to really enjoy silencing that fucking attitude.”

He walked toward me, slowly. I felt like I was suffocating. There was no way out. No one here to save me. I looked right at him.

He didn’t seem off put. He didn’t stop, he just maintained his pace. He was about a foot away from me when a shot rang out. I watched his body soundlessly fall to the ground. My ears were ringing. I stared, open mouthed, at the pool of blood that slid out from under his head, black and thick.

I looked up. A red helmet stared blankly at me from the rooftop. It was only then, really, that I realized I was crying. My knees gave out and I fell to the ground, my palm landing in the puddle of blood.

Jason landed on the ground beside me moments later. He knelt down and took my hand, helping me back to my feet. “Let’s get you home.” He muttered, his tone unreadable.

----

The sun beaming through my window woke me up gradually. My head was killing me and my pillow had small dots of blood decorating it from the times when my nose had continued bleeding throughout the night. I sat up slowly and the memories of the night before came flooding back. Jason.

I reached for my phone, but I couldn’t find it. I stood up and walked cautiously out to the living room. He was here and had presumably spent the night. He was already awake and sitting on my couch.

“Hi.” I breathed, unable to say more than that.

He looked up at me with dark, angry eyes. Then, surprisingly, his gaze softened. “Come sit down?” He asked.

I nodded and sat across from him. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t need to. I knew what he wanted from me was an explanation.

“I-” I started, then stopped. I was already crying again. Embarrassment was the best word for what I was feeling. “I lied to you. I don’t need to tell you that, you already know. I lied to you because… Because I knew you wouldn’t let me go. And I should’ve told you. I shouldn’t have trusted him again, Jay. I know. But… I…” I couldn’t fully articulate the way I felt. I knew that I needed to try but between the throbbing pain and the hangover burning a hole in my brain it was damn near impossible to get anything coherent out.

Jason didn’t say anything. He wanted to let me finish, I assumed.

“He was… I loved him. I thought that maybe he had changed because he apologized and explained things. He said he was seeing a therapist now. That he had figured out ways to help himself cope with his problems, and Jay, I mean, he was my first real love. He made me feel so carefree and so happy. The times that he hit me were… I mean they were terrible but he always worked so hard to make up for it. I thought that there was good in him. I thought that maybe we would go back to just being happy together. And with everything I learned in training I knew I could protect myself. And then he got me drinking and I thought he was drinking too but he just kept ordering me drinks and you know how I am with alcohol, I didn’t think twice about what he might have been doing to me. Jason, please-”

He held up a hand. “Don’t.” He said softly. He put his face in his hands and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I… I’m disappointed.” He said finally. The words struck me deep in a core part of myself. “I thought you knew better.”

I didn’t know what to say. I looked down and watched the tears from my eyes turn into dark spots on my shorts.

“But-” he continued, “That’s how you’ve always been. Always wanting to see the best in people. Always wanting to fix what just can’t be fixed. You were clearly manipulated. He clearly fucked you so badly in the head that you really thought he loved you.” He looked up at me.

I can’t imagine what he must see. Some dumb child sitting in front of him, crying like everything wasn’t her fault. I would have been safe if I hadn’t just walked right into his trap. I could have saved everyone the headache. I must have looked so pathetic.

“You don’t need a lecture. You need help. You need-” I let out the sob that I’d been holding in and he sighed. “You need a friend.” He stood up and walked toward me, pulling me into his arms. “I am so sorry that you have never known real love. I’m sorry that that is what love is to you because it is so much more beautiful than kissing bruises.”

I looked up at him and he carefully tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and wiped away a tear that had tracked a glistening trail down my cheek. “It is so much gentler.” He whispered. I couldn’t hold his gaze so I looked back down.

He didn’t force me to look at him. He didn’t say anything after that. I wanted to believe him, but the love he described sounded too fairytale-like to be real. Love is damaged. I wanted to argue but I knew there was no point. He saw me as damaged, and hell, maybe I was. All I could offer him was the same hollow “Thank you.” that I spoke to no one the night before.

#jason todd x reader #dc fanfic #jason todd #x reader #angst #fiction #fanfiction #detective comics #red hood #red hood x reader #dc fanfiction #for the soul #triggering content #fluff #repair

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something-tofightfor · 4 years ago

Text

Magnetic; Din’s POV - Part 3 (Chapter 4)

Pairing: None… really.

Word Count: 3,884

Rating: This is just kind of angsty, no real warning.

Summary: Din gets to know you a little better as the three of you settle into your new routine - and having a conversation late one night makes him realize the most important thing about you.

Author’s note:

I apologize for how late this is going up. I got sidetracked and then had to edit. Oops.

This goes alongside chapter 4 of Magnetic. As I said with the last chapter - If there are any specific scenes that you’re DYING to know about from his point of view as I move through the story, please feel free to send a message or leave a comment, and I’ll be sure to include them.

It didn’t take long for him to gather his things the following morning. Eyes opening with the sun, Din sat up, noticing that Grogu’s eyes were open, too - the child staring at him from within his floating carriage. “Morning, kid.” Grogu cooed softly, lifting one hand to his mouth, and with a sigh, Din swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Hungry?” He already knew the answer, but before he began putting his armor back on, Din opened one of the packages of food he’d brought, handing it over. “Eat. We’re leaving in a few minutes.” While he wasn’t looking forward to having to constantly worry about your presence on the ship with the two of them, Din was excited to be back in flight, moving through the stars with Grogu in the co-pilot’s seat. I’ll get used to it. And if she can’t hear me… By the time he was fully armored, Grogu was finished eating, and the two of them emerged from the room into the early morning sunlight. Cara and Karga were waiting in the entryway of the inn’s main room, and while they both stayed mostly quiet, it was a relief to see them again. This feels … normal. There was no need to make conversation, even though Cara’s focus was on the kid, and the sound of your voice caught the man off guard, Din’s head swiveling toward the hall where you were. But you didn’t greet him, instead focusing on Grogu, too, the kid’s attention immediately shifting from Cara to you. That’s unexpected. As the six of you made your way from the inn back toward the ship, Din was surprised to hear that you fell into conversation with Karga and Cara easily, although the pilot kept quiet. He could see her glancing at him every now and then, but he ignored it, choosing to keep his helmet facing forward. At least I won’t have to worry about anything like that on the ship. He smiled beneath the beskar, finally turning his head at the sound of your laughter, your comment about Grogu’s reaction to Cara’s words drawing a quick snort from him before he caught himself. Not the time. But even as he stopped himself, he found that his mind was wandering. When’s the last time someone made me laugh like that?

He gave you five minutes to say goodbye and check your ship once more for stray belongings, and as you turned away, he finally faced Cara and Karga, eyeing the two of them. “Guess this is goodbye, Mando?” The other man spoke, a single nod from Din the only reply. “You know, without you taking things regularly, the bounties have been piling up.” “Good.” Din straightened his shoulders, one hand on his hip. “More work for when I come back.” Karga laughed, leaning forward and waving at Grogu before he turned and walked away, muttering under his breath about the Mandalorian’s cocksure attitude. Cara stood with her arms crossed, head tilted to the side. “What?” “You’re going to have your hands full, Mando.” With the kid? I know. “Do me a favor.” She leaned in, eyes bright. “Give her a chance.” Her? “She cares about the kid. She’s gonna be a huge help to you, and …” “What are you saying?” He glanced at Grogu, watching as the child looked between the two of them. What is she thinking, kid? “You -” “She’s been with him for just as long as you were, Mando. She knows him differently than you do. Let her … talk to her. It can’t hurt.” She’d been just as adamant about Omera, about giving that woman a chance, but there was something new in Cara’s voice as she spoke about you, and the man knew that it was because Grogu was directly involved. But what is … she isn’t wrong. “No promises, Cara.” Din sighed, reaching a gloved hand out. “I’ll see you soon.” She gave him a lopsided smile, shaking his hand quickly before pulling it back and bending down to kiss the top of Grogu’s head. He blinked up at her slowly, raising a hand in a quick wave, but the moment she turned her back, Grogu’s attention was back on Din, the kid’s eyes moving from the man to the ship and back. “Yeah, kid. Let’s go.” Adjusting his bag, Din began to walk for the lowered ramp, Grogu floating close behind. ---

He heard you coming before he heard you speak, but Din didn’t turn to greet you, instead waiting for you to take a seat to his left. I’ll - His words melted away before he could even open his mouth at the sight of the kid making his way into your lap, twisting his tiny body to look up at you. What’s going on? “What’s he saying? If he’s -” Din watched the expression on your face shift from confusion to surprise, but it was like a blaster shot to the chest to hear the words you spoke. Of course he’d notice. “It’s not the same ship. I… he wouldn’t have …” Damn. “Let’s get out of here, and then I’ll explain.” As he began the takeoff process, Din’s mind traveled back to the moment on Tython he’d watched the ship explode, to the time he’d spent sifting through the ashes and rubble, unearthing only a few small pieces of beskar in the spear and the ball. I’ll… I’ll give that to him after I explain. He made it through the retelling of the story of Gideon’s attack without faltering, taking Grogu from you halfway through. I know, pal. It hurts. It hurts to… But it didn’t hurt worse than you telling him that Grogu was apologizing for his part in the destruction, Din’s arms tightening around the small figure and his breath catching. “I’m just glad we weren’t on it.” At that, he saw your reaction, a visible stiffening of your body, but Din didn’t focus on it, instead reaching into his pouch for the beskar sphere. Grogu’s reaction was immediate, his arms rising to reach for it, nearly snatching it from the Mandalorian’s hands. Knew you’d be happy to see that. He was smiling again, focused on Grogu as he turned to show you his prize, but again Din’s breath hitched at your revelation that he’d shown you the ball and other memories through dreams. She can see dreams? I… Moving Grogu from his lap and back onto the empty seat, Din waited for your reply, hands resting in his lap. This could be dangerous. He didn’t know what he expected from you, but a simple explanation - you easily equating the way you used your ability to what he did with his skills - was not it. Grogu made his way back into the man’s lap without much delay, but Din was focused on you instead, hanging onto your words. I’ve never had the Force explained like this before. He had questions for you - a ton of them - but kept it to simple ones, relevant to only the current conversation. We’re not … I can’t ask things like that. We don’t know each other. But the dreams, that… and Grogu? As he listened to you explain the Force and your apparent ability to listen in on the dreams of other powerful Force users, Din found himself wondering just how strong you were. Does … is she like Ahsoka? Like Skywalker? Is she more powerful than Grogu? Can she… But it wasn’t until you mentioned the mudhorn that Din’s attention snapped back to your face, watching as you eyed the signet on his pauldron. She’s smart. He questioned your abilities without thinking, the words falling from his lips before he could stop them, and the man winced as you froze. That’s not … not something she likes talking about. There was an undercurrent to your words, to the explanation that you wouldn’t even try to move objects or suspend them, and Din decided to move on, even though you gave him a little more information. She doesn’t owe me, and she’s still trying to explain. He saw your tears and for the first time in many months, felt conflicted about causing someone distress. I’m not interrogating her, I shouldn’t have asked. Especially since she says she hurt someone. He frowned, watching as you glanced down at the child, pausing before you wiped beneath your eyes. She doesn’t want me to see her like this. Or maybe she doesn’t want the kid to. It was something to think about, and Din filed away the information for later, deciding to change the subject - though he never got the chance. “So, Mando. It looks like you don’t have to worry about me in your head or in your dreams.” About that. His admission - and your reply - again stunned him, and Din felt the confusion within him strengthening. So the beskar keeps my thoughts private, but it might not matter when it comes to dreams because she can only see the kid’s because he… projects them. It was a lot to take in, and so Din switched his focus to something that he was much more comfortable with: outlining the bounty itinerary.

There was no reason for him to announce his plans to you, but he did it anyway, explaining the order that he’d chosen out loud while still thinking about the conversation you’d just had. It was nice to have the additional connection between himself and the kid, though it would take some getting used to. But she’s here to help. And she might … she might be the thing that keeps him with me. You kept quiet as he spoke, Din’s eyes on you though he kept the helmet facing forward… and Cara’s words echoing in his mind. Give her a chance.

---

It took a few days to settle in, but the three of you made the most of being on the ship and the limited amount of space you had. Din was used to it, but he could tell that you weren’t, often finding you pacing in the small sleeping quarters that he’d given to you, or aimlessly organizing and sorting through supplies while he and Grogu did other things. You never complained, though, and Din was surprised at that.

He was even more surprised at how vigilant you were - it hadn’t been specified that you’d be responsible for teaching Grogu, or caring for him while the man piloted the ship, but you did both without question. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to find you and the child in the cargo hold, working on different skills. He watched the kid pass items to you, find things that you’d hidden, open doors and drawers, and even levitate his entire body a few inches off of the floor for a few minutes at a time. He couldn’t do those things before. Not like this. He was content to watch - the two of you clearly had a routine, but Grogu didn’t let him sit on the sidelines for long, pulling him into whatever he was doing with coos and wide smiles. Din couldn’t turn him down, especially when there wasn’t much else to do on the way to the first bounty, and so he allowed himself to relax slightly, getting used to being around the kid again. It was strange to him after a year apart to hear the kid’s vocalizations throughout the ship, or to see him climbing around, but Din didn’t take a single second for granted, keeping his eyes on the kid whenever possible, never hesitating to speak to him or reach for him. The first bounty was difficult, but he knew that it wouldn’t give him trouble, and so he felt confident in letting his attention wander, mostly when he was sitting in the pilot’s chair and watching the endless expanse of space. You were in hyperspace, sure, and the man had filtered the glass to make it less bright, even through the visor, but he could still see the streaks of light ahead of him. The view from the cockpit had always calmed the Mandalorian, and it was no different with the kid sleeping beside or behind him, the hours stretching on. But there was more for Din to consider than the kid or the bounties, and he found his thoughts returning to you more often than he’d expected. When he’d given you the tour of the Razor II, you’d listened quietly as he’d explained what the different areas of the ship were, what the weapons in the locker could do. You’d asked questions, but they weren’t invasive - instead, he realized that you were just collecting the information necessary to make the following weeks bearable. He found himself speaking to you more than he’d intended, going into the history of some of the weapons, outlining the reason that he’d wanted to give you the sleeping quarters instead of keeping them for himself, even though the cot on the bottom level of the ship was much too small to be truly comfortable for someone his size. But it means being able to take my helmet off with the kid. He’d never traveled long term with a woman before, so everything was new to Din, but you took the information without challenging him, thanking him and smiling. You gave the two of them the space he’d hoped for, but despite your overall friendly demeanor and welcoming tone, he noticed you pulling away slightly between the first and second bounties, took stock of the fact that you spoke less and less to him as the days passed unless you were directly spoken to. But why? It distracted him slightly; giving him pause as he tracked the bounty on Cadevine, wondering how you could switch between being around the kid all the time to distancing yourself, how you could go from being surrounded by people at the Academy that you could read to essentially being alone in a ship with only Grogu to listen to. It has to be hard for her. The tracking fob’s blinking became more frantic and Din’s thoughts shifted, moving from you and back to the task at hand. I’ll talk to her about it.. I’ll … make it better for her.

It was unlike him - to speak so much and so openly with someone that he barely knew - but as a way to ease into it, Din asked you more questions about Grogu and the Academy, trying to find a way to get you talking. Why? Why do I want to do that so much? He wasn’t certain of the answer to that question, but he would have been lying to himself if he’d said that he didn’t enjoy listening to you speak, hearing Grogu’s thoughts out loud for a change right alongside yours. Your life had been much different than his, and your habits were still much different than his, but listening to you was a chance for the Mandalaorian to relax, something that he wouldn’t ever take for granted. Halfway between the third and fourth bounties, something shifted between the two of you. He’d been dozing in the cockpit when he heard you climbing the ladder, pausing outside of the doorway. If I don’t move, she’ll just go into her room. Instead of letting that happen, Din invited you in, unsure of what he wanted to say to you until you made your suggestion of taking a break. It wasn’t a surprise to him - stopping for a day or two had been on his mind, too, but hearing you say it out loud convinced him that it was the right call. But she can’t just … You seemed surprised at his questioning of where you’d be if the two of them had a chance to spend more time together, and again he couldn’t stop himself from reminding you that you weren’t there to simply stick to the background.

Your explanation shocked him, but Din let you speak, making note of the mention of your friend Bari, along with your assessment of your place on the ship and in Grogu’s life. She shouldn’t feel like that. He was happy to have the kid back - happier than he’d been in months, but didn’t like that it was at your expense. I have to find a way to change that. He’d been just as surprised at the joke he’d made as you were, and Din was quick to clear his throat, moving the conversation along. Unexpectedly, the conversation shifted to your understanding of Grogu’s species, something else Din had wondered extensively about. In all his time bounty hunting, there’d never been another encounter with anything like him, and with the information you had, it confirmed to the man that the kid was just as special as he’d assumed him to be. And that’s why it was important to go. One of a kind? He needed to be with people like him. Din hadn’t planned on asking you questions about Grogu’s past, but once he began, he couldn’t stop. You didn’t have the answers, but at the flash of emotion passing through your eyes as you admitted that you’d tried to figure it out, he stiffened and then forced himself to relax, thinking. If they asked her to try, that must mean… they must be … He didn’t have much time to contemplate your closeness with the child, instead feeling an overwhelming concern for you - and for Grogu - as you admitted that Grogu had attacked you using his power in order to keep you from digging deeply through his mind. The way you spoke about it casually was concerning to him, and for the first time, Din wondered just how much you were willing to ignore and accept for the kid’s sake. The way I would. The way I did. “You care about him. Even after -” You justified Grogu’s behavior, writing it off as a traumatized child that had suffered instead of blaming him for it, and despite the fact that he couldn’t read your thoughts, he realized in that moment that there was something different about you. She … it’s real. Everything she’s saying. They aren’t lines, it’s not … The realization scared him, but it also made him much more aware of you, too. You weren’t just a teacher or a caretaker - you were just as much family to Grogu as Din himself was. And that means that this is … hard for her. He hadn’t considered that before, because he’d been so focused on what having the kid back meant to him, but even though it was still early on in the trip, he knew that things had to change. I need to … need to give her a real chance. Need to … let her in, to help her understand. “Why haven’t you asked more about me? About the bounties, about my past, about my armor… or Mandalore?” It was a risk - he knew it - but it was worth it to the man. This is … this changes everything. But you were still timid with what you asked him, and though there were slight challenges in your words and tone, Din wasn’t uncomfortable with the things that you did question - or what you said about him. It was a welcome change to hear someone freely speak to him, to call him out and make assumptions based on what little they knew. And she isn’t wrong about much. He smiled to himself before he answered, admitting that he had hesitated when it came to letting Grogu go in the end, but that didn’t phase you. And she’s… using Mando’a. You weren’t fluent, but still, hearing the word for family come from your mouth sent a chill through his body. He’d heard it once, via transmission, but watching you speak the word with no pause was a different story, his eyes focused on the way it looked and sounded leaving your mouth. I should speak it more around her. Teach her more if I can. It’ll help Grogu, too. That loosened him up a little more, and Din felt bold enough to ask you to keep going. Your honesty was refreshing, and while you were analyzing him, Din wasn’t surprised when you turned the conversation to yourself and your own motivation - even though he was surprised by the contents of your admission. She stayed for him? Could have gone anywhere, but she … He knew how easily Grogu had won him over, but again this made Din question your behavior. If that’s true, why is she so willing to sit back and just let me be with him? You wanted what was best for the kid, that much was clear to him, and without pausing to think his words through, Din asked you another question, heart pounding in his chest as he waited for the answer. She calls him that because of me. Calls him … oh, Maker. He felt his mind wandering, even though he was still listening. I learned more tonight than in months. I … this is more. He hated asking you to be the middleman between him and Grogu, but Din didn’t know what else to do. There is no one else. She’s… she’s just as important to him as I am. At the movement of your hand, Din’s attention snapped back to you, but you stopped before you touched him, drawing your hand back. She stopped herself. She … He stood, armor clinking together quietly. Anyone else would have just … Cara and Terys and other women.

His hand was on your shoulder, grip tightening as he spoke - and then tightening further at your reply. Father. I’m his … he calls me... There was no specific word for father in Mando’a; it was interchangeable with mother, but as your answer settled in his mind, he realized that he’d considered himself Grogu’s buir for a long time. And this … this means he still thinks that. With one final squeeze to your shoulder, Din turned and left the cockpit to keep from making the sound that threatened to leave his throat. Father. And she just… kept it going. The night hadn’t been what he’d expected, and neither had the conversation, but as Din climbed down the ladder with shaking hands, he realized that it had been exactly what he’d needed. Now I know. Now she knows that I know. He knew you wouldn’t come after him, and so after a few minutes of pacing in a small circle in front of the cot - and the cubby where the kid was sleeping, swaddled in blankets - Din turned the lights off and began the ritual of removing his armor for the night. What else can I do?

He used the fresher, splashing water on his face, and then returned to his cot, sliding in beneath the blanket and staring up into the darkness. You’d given him a lot to think about when it came to Grogu and his relationship with the kid, but you’d told him just as much about yourself, too. That night, the last thing Din thought of before he went to sleep was you, and the honest expression that had filled your eyes the entire time you’d spoken.

---

If you want to be added or removed from my tag list, please let me know - it’s open.

Magnetic/Din Djarin Tag List :@the-blind-assassin-12 @pheedraws @alraedesigns @malionnes @deceiverofgodss @thisisparadisemylove @siegfriedkingsglaive @valkblue @hehe-oof @jynrumbly @psychedelic-star @nuttyenthusiastdetective @gingib @bitchylittleredhead @littlemissoblivious @misguidedandbeguiled @cannedsoupsucks @greatcircle79 @thisshipwillsail316 @mandosmistress @tanzthompson

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