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crosshairlovebot · 1 year ago

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enclosed intentions / crosshair gn!reader

pairing: crosshair x gn!reader (no y/n). reader has a nickname.

description: amid your growing feelings for the silver-haired sniper, you and crosshair are paired together on a mission that goes awry, which brings to light intentions you've been aching to know.

word count: 9,934 (pHEW!!)

warnings: near-death experience (everyone lives). landslide. heavy storms. enclosed spaces. minor injury. minor injury description. making out. light angst.

been wanting to write another crosshair fic for a while bc he's my GUY and i love him!!! season 3 is only fuelling the burning fire he stokes in my chest. i hope you enjoy this! strap in! it's a long one! (sorry if there are any errors, i've edited this but it's so long it's entirely possible that i missed some <3)

also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.

More often than not, Clone Force 99 was sent on dangerous missions – missions too specialised for the regular battalions and squads that filled the Grand Army of the Republic. The missions that troubled Jedi Generals regarding the potential loss of men. But Clone Force 99 and their specialised skills took on those missions with ease, enthusiasm even.

You were about to embark on another one of those missions.

When you’d first joined the GAR as a medic, you’d heard rumours about the squad of defective clones and their enhanced skills, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t impressed by their reportedly unbroken mission success.

When Echo walked into your medbay after he’d been rescued from Skako Minor and you were the first to check over him – making him feel comfortable after years of prodding and inhumane treatment – it only made sense for you to join the team as a field medic to continue to treat him and the other members of the squad.

Though they were initially dubious of the idea of a nat-born joining their ranks, they had always been a misfit crew – you were only another addition to that, and it wasn’t long before your presence with the squad felt like being at home.

You got on with each of the members well, even if they grumbled and complained about your regularly scheduled medical check-ups after missions.

Tech was a great help in collating the medical files he’d made from when he acted as the informal medic. You joked along with Wrecker, who often used you as an alternate barbell, lifting you over his head to warm up before a mission. Hunter often conferred with you before mission briefings to go over any hazards that could harm them. Echo was probably your strongest bond, the trust that existed between you both created a level of closeness not shared with the other members of the squad.

But Crosshair…

You’d soon discovered that Crosshair was weary of anyone who wasn’t part of his immediate family, and you joining Clone Force 99 – and in such constant close quarters, meant your relationship with the sharpshooter was a little more distant than the others.

You tried not to let it bother you so much, but it was hard when you were joking with Wrecker, and you could feel Crosshair’s discerning enhanced eyes on you. You often ignored his gaze as best you could, but sometimes you would look over at him, and hold his eyes for a moment before he got up and walked away.

You wish you knew what those looks meant. You would lay in your bunk at night, and think about it, trying to piece together any patterns and figure out why Crosshair’s eyes never seemed to truly leave you.

Despite the distance between you both, it didn’t deter your intrigue about him. There was something about him that drew your attentions towards him.

If you didn’t feel his eyes on you, your eyes would find him. He was so fascinating to watch. Everything he did, he did with purpose; intention. Nothing about Crosshair was insignificant. Every word, every gesture, every look held meaning. You liked trying to figure it out, but you had yet to decipher much of it – especially when it was directed at you. He was like a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved, hiding all his answers in disappearing ink, you had to hold him up to the light to try and unravel him. You wished he would let you, but his terse demeanour kept you at bay - not wanting to disturb what balance you had.

So you were content to watch him from a distance. He was methodical about everything. Cleaning his rifle the same way after every mission, never missing a step, always performing each of them in the same order. His armour went on the same way. You would watch how his toothpicks would always dangle from his lips as he cleaned his prized weapon, and you would almost be hypnotised by the way he moved the wooden stick between his teeth. You spent so much time staring at his mouth, that you could probably draw it from memory.

He was magnetising.

Whenever you needed to perform a medical check on him, you would do so quietly and draw it out, as if trying to soak up every moment of the closeness to him, catalogue it all.

When it came to checking his hands, you would gently hold them in your palms and gently massage the joints that could get cramped from holding the rifle tightly. You would check the nerves with a light prick on each fingertip and around the palm. Those examinations were so tense, his eyes on you the entire time watching your every move in the tiny medbay on the Marauder. You could barely focus in that room, there was nowhere to hide from his sharp eyes. And when you dared meet his gaze, his eyes would hold yours in a way that left you breathless and you were never able to look him in the eyes for very long. They’d look right into yours, an expression dancing in them you could never place.

But he never said anything to you – not unless you asked him a question about pain. But you’d think about each interaction for days afterwards.

Your silent exchanges filled your head at night, spilling over into your dreams. Dreams where those hands you’d just inspected in the waking world would be holding you tightly, that mouth you’d stared at brushing against your cheek and neck, whispering things you pretended not to remember once you woke. You’d wake up from those dreams confused, still feeling the ghost of his touches on you. It didn’t hit you until several dreams later that that initial intrigue had given way to feelings much deeper; to an intense crush that only seemed to build the longer you spent with Clone Force 99.

If anyone else noticed, they never said anything. You carried on as normal and hoped Hunter’s heightened senses didn’t pick up on the way your face heated or your heartbeat increased when Crosshair was near.

Except the silence between you broke a few days ago.

After the last mission, you were scheduled to do the weekly checks on the squad. You always left Crosshair until last, knowing he liked to clean his rifle as soon as the mission debrief was over. When you called him into the tiny room, he sat down on the bench, and you completed the first part of the check-up smoothly.

It was when you were massaging one of his hands, loosening the stiffness with your own fingers, that you felt his close around yours.

You had stilled and slowly looked up at him. His brown-eyed gaze met yours and you felt the air get sucked out of your lungs. You watched his eyes flick between yours, his throat working as his fingers were warm around yours. He was holding your hand, and it was warm and strong despite its slenderness. It was such an innocent gesture, and yet the sensation of his touch made your face burn and heat unfurl in your chest as your feelings for the sniper were unleashed in full force. You didn’t know what to do, but you would be lying if you didn’t like the feel of his fingers around yours. But this was Crosshair – the Crosshair who barely spoke to you, who watched you like he was analysing your every move.

“A-am I hurting you?” you managed to stammer out.

Crosshair blinked, seemingly jolting himself out of a trance and pulled his hands away roughly, frowning. “No.” His voice was like gravel, and he stood up and quickly left the room, check-up unfinished.

You had no idea what had happened, what you had done, what he had done, but you stood in that room trying to quell your racing heart for ages before you worked up the nerve to emerge. You spent that night thinking about the warmth of his fingers around yours and the way his throat bobbed like he wanted to tell you something.

What was it that he wanted to say? You knew Crosshair was always intentional in everything he did, so what was his intention with holding your hand like that?

Now, as the Marauder flew into a planet you couldn’t remember the name of, you felt those brown eyes on you from where Crosshair sat in one of the seats in the cockpit, his arms crossed and toothpick between his lips. Echo helped Tech guide the ship as Wrecker bench-pressed Gonky in the corridor. Hunter stood nearby as you held onto the back of Tech’s pilot seat as the ship flew into the planet’s atmosphere.

Since joining the squad a mere two months ago, you had been to more planets than you ever thought you would visit in your entire lifetime, but you had never seen anything like this.

The sky was full of enormous floating rocks, with thick greenery on top. You didn’t know how they stayed floating like this.

“This place is unbelievable,” you murmured. “How is this possible?”

“The rocks are held up by the planet’s unique gravity, creating a balanced pull that tethers the rock to its place. Think of them as miniature planets that exist within the atmosphere,” Tech explained.

You hummed in amazement as Tech flew past them all and steered towards the planet’s surface, which lay beneath a thick bank of dark clouds. The clouds gave way to rocky terrain, with a mountain range that jutted up from the ground haphazardly, not unlike their floating counterparts, as well as canyons and valleys. The whole planet seems to be rocks in various states. Tech landed the ship in a clear area and then everyone turned to Hunter.

“So, what’s the plan, Hunter?” Wrecker called out, finally giving Gonky a rest and placing him back on the ground.

Everyone gathered around a holomap Hunter had brought up. You felt Crosshair slide in next to you, his crossed arms grazing yours. Heat prickled your skin, the memory of the warmth of his fingers coming to life again, and you shifted slightly, drawing your arms closer to your body. You looked up at him but for once, his gaze wasn’t on you, but on the blue graphics in front of him. Your face burned. It was embarrassing how much of an effect he had on you, and even more so now after that moment in the medbay. He seemed to have completely forgotten about it, and here you were still having phantom feelings of the way his fingers wrapped around yours.

“We divide our squad,” Hunter begins. “Break off into pairs. The mineral we’ve been sent to recover is located across this entire sector, but according to Tech, not all of it will be viable.”

“There is a very narrow window in which the mineral is usable, and it will be difficult to find. But we will need to be cautious. The viable mineral is highly volatile when handled. And there’s an incoming storm headed this way, and due to the unique gravitational field on this planet, the storms here are quite lethal,” Tech tapped on his datapad.

You took a deep breath in. It appeared there was a lot that could go wrong.

Hunter nodded. “I can feel it. We’ll need to move fast, so let’s get going. Echo, you’re with me in the Badlands. Tech and Wrecker, you head west for the Valley. And that leaves Crosshair with N’edee up in the Mountains. Comm if you find any viable mineral and triangulate your position as best you can for reference before extracting as much as possible. Then head back to the Marauder where we’ll reconvene. Questions?”

Everyone shook their head. “The terrain is tough out there, so let’s try to avoid N’edee having to patch up any injuries,” Hunter added, sending you a smile. Everyone nodded before Hunter signalled everyone to move out.

N’edee was the little Mando’a nickname they’d appointed you. It meant ‘no bite’. After you’d first joined, you’d witnessed your first ever disagreement between Crosshair and Hunter and, not used to their scuffles yet, tried to mediate between them. They were so amused it stopped the argument and earned you the name – since you’d rather try to keep the peace instead of letting them fight it out.

Now, you knew better, but the name stuck. You wished you hated it, but Crosshair’s smirk as he called you it the first time was the first time he ever sort of smiled at you.

And the last.

The squad grabbed their gear, and you strapped your med pack to your back and holstered a blaster you barely ever used. You felt your whole body go into overdrive, not only because of the risk of the mission but also because you were paired off with Crosshair. The thought of being so close; just the two of you sent nerves running through you. If it was anyone else, you wouldn’t hesitate to ask what happened in the medbay, and try and sort it out and move forward, but you didn’t have that kind of closeness with Crosshair. There was no way you felt comfortable bringing up the way he held your hand – this was an important mission, and you didn’t want to risk ruining it by making Crosshair uncomfortable and clam up so tight you’d lose the modicum of trust you had.

Whenever intention he’d had, you weren’t destined to ever know what it was. So, you’d just have to take a page out of his book and pretend it never happened.

You made your way down the Marauder’s gangplank to find Crosshair waiting for you, helmet under his arm and holding the barrel of the sniper with his free hand as the hilt rested on the ground. He was the only one there, the others had already started their treks. You quickened your steps down as he looked over at you, heat blooming up your neck.

“Sorry,” you told him. Crosshair shook his head, either dismissing the apology or disappointed in your slowness to get ready – you couldn’t tell.

“Let’s go, the storm’s moving quickly,” he informed in that way of his. He placed his helmet on and started walking. You watched him walk away, not looking back at you as his long legs carried him quickly through the rocky ground in the direction of the mountain range.

“Try and keep up,” he called back, and you huffed, adjusting your med pack and jogging after him.

Crosshair kept a quick pace as you both walked, and his height didn’t help. The rhythmic beeping of the scanner Tech provided you with and your footsteps were the only sound between you both. You tried to keep up as best you could as you approached the base of the mountain range, but you were still lagging a couple of metres behind him.

You had been worried about the awkwardness a conversation about what happened in the medbay would bring, and yet you were not even close enough to have one.

You huffed, a light sheen of sweat covering your brow, as you stepped over a bunch of rocks, moving between them as best you could, looking down at your feet to ensure you didn’t fall. The weather was beginning to change, and you knew the storm was getting closer as the wind picked up and nearly knocked you off balance a few times. But you had still to find any viable mineral. You looked at the scanner and saw it was indeed picking up signs of the mineral, but none of it was suitable – either too old or too young a sample. You sighed. This was going to take longer than you thought, and you only hoped you had more luck once you reached the mountains, and that the storm would hold off.

“Watch your step,” Crosshair called back to you. You looked up to watch him as he stepped on a boulder and jumped down into what must’ve been a small ditch at the foot of the mountain range. You frowned and kept walking. As you got closer, you were surprised as you realised he was waiting for you. His helmet was trained on you as you reached the rock and you tried to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal to you. You stepped on top of the boulder, the wind whipping around you as his gaze tilted up at you. For once, you towered over him. You couldn’t help but smile playfully at him.

“So, this is what the world must look like for you,” you joked, trying to ease the tension that was still thick between you.

Crosshair let out a small scoff at your joke before holding out his hand. “Hurry up.”

You widened your eyes at his extended hand, your eyes flicking to it and then back to his visor. After the medbay, you hardly imagined he’d be offering a hand to you again in a clinical setting, let alone to help you descend a boulder. You looked at his outstretched hand, letting a moment pass as you waited for him to retract it, but he didn’t.

This gesture was intentional.

You slowly placed your hand in his. His hand was as warm and strong as it was several days ago, and the familiarity of it made your insides jolt as you felt it wrap around your palm. The nerve endings in your hand tingled in excitement as they ignited from his touch. Heat coiled its warmth through your whole body as you crouched down to a sitting position, doing your best not to topple over not only from the wind. He helped you slide off the edge down to where he was standing, his hand steadying you.

You wobbled on your feet slightly as you landed, and you looked up at him, wishing he wasn’t wearing his helmet right now so you could discern his steely gaze. Though you had a feeling his bare face still would not betray anything of what was going on in his head.

Was he acknowledging what happened? Or was he just being considerate of the terrain?

Before you could open your mouth with a ‘thank you’, he let go of your hand and started walking up a pathway that seemed to wind up the mountain.

You guessed it was not the former.

You took in a shaky breath, body tingling with the remnants of his touch as you felt its cold absence and started after him; scanner poised as you walked.

The pathway up the mountain was wide enough to walk on, but too narrow to walk side by side comfortably without worry of falling over the edge. So, you trailed behind Crosshair once again, who had now slowed down that the route had grown more precarious. You clenched your jaw as you followed his steps carefully, avoiding any loose rocks as you walked. You tried not to think about the increasing ascension of the mountain, the ground below getting smaller and smaller the higher you both trekked as you continued to scan the side of the mountain for any trace of a viable source of the mineral, but still, there was nothing.

The higher you moved the wind that whipped around both your bodies increased as the clouds rolled in. You had to move your hand alongside the mountain as you waked, too afraid you’d blow away as the gusts of wind threatened to knock you over.

You’d been walking for a few hours by now and with the weather getting worse, the constant pace was starting to wear on you; arms and legs sore and feet aching, face stinging. You looked out over the cliff and saw you were almost halfway up, and the sky was getting darker as the storm continued to draw closer. Every time you looked, it seemed to be moving towards you quicker, so as much as you wanted to stop and rest, you knew that you couldn’t – especially when you looked ahead at Crosshair and saw he didn’t seem to show any signs of exhaustion.

Though you knew clones had been engineered to withstand increased levels of physical exertion, you still felt inadequate not being able to keep up. Even after two months with the squad, you still weren’t used to the physicality of the missions. You weren’t initially trained as a field medic, but you still didn’t want to look like you couldn’t handle this simple mission – even if it was more gruelling than you anticipated. So, you gritted your teeth and kept walking, despite the way your body protested with each step.

Crosshair began to slow before he stopped and turned to look at you. “Picking up anything?”

You shook your head and hoped you didn’t sound as puffed out as you felt. “Nothing viable. Not even a false read.”

Crosshair grumbled. “Another wild bantha chase.”

You tried to sound upbeat, but you weren’t fooling anyone. “Maybe the others have had more luck?”

“Maybe,” Crosshair said, his helmeted face drifting from you to the sky. He removed his helmet and scowled as the storm drew closer and closer to your position on the mountain. It was close enough now that you began to see flashes of lightning strike within the clouds, and you jolted when a crack of thunder sounded like it was almost on top of you.

“The storm is too close,” he said, shaking his head in concern.

“I know. Should we head back to the Marauder?”

“There’s no time. We need a pickup,” Crosshair sighed and placed his helmet back on, pressing the side of his helmet. “Hunter, do you copy?”

You watched him, hand gripping the mountain as the wind grew stronger with each passing second. You were starting to feel spits of rain hit your skin as more thunder and lightning struck. Your body was shaking with exhaustion and all you wanted to do was lie down in a safe place and fall asleep.

“Wrecker? Do you copy? Tech? Echo? Hunter, are you there?” Crosshair spoke into his comm, his voice getting harder with every word. He let out a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t reach them. There’s too much atmospheric interference with the storm, maybe even the gravity too.”

You looked at him and tried not to sound panicked, but you knew your face betrayed you anyway. “What do we do?”

A crack of thunder sounded, and it was like the sky was splitting open. The mountain shook under your feet, and you fell to your knees, yelping. You felt Crosshair crouch next to you, a hand on your back to steady you. You looked up at him as the rain started to pelt down heavily on you both. You tried to shield your face, but the rain was so heavy it felt like knives cutting as it hit the skin of your face.

Crosshair hooked a hand under your arm and hauled you up. “We have to move.”

“We need to get off this mountain!” You shouted over the rain.

“We need to find shelter. Come on,” Crosshair skirted you in front of him and you both started to run up the path in the pouring rain. You held a hand against your brow to try and see, but the rain and wind intensified more than you thought possible, blurring your vision.

“Crosshair, I can’t—”

You slipped on a rock loosened by the wet ground. You cried out and fell forward, landing on your hands harshly. You felt your palms sting as you tried to get to your feet, but Crosshair slid his hands under your armpits and lifted you just as there was a flash of bright light, and the mountain shook again, this time more violently. It felt like the lightning had hit the mountain this time, and when you tried to look up to check, your worst fears were confirmed as the sound of rocks tumbling began to get louder over the heavy rain. Panic coursed through your veins.

“Go!” Crosshair yelled, hand steady on your arm as you both ran, him pulling you forward. You could feel rocks landing behind you and you tried to run faster, skin numb from the rain.

“There’s a cave up ahead! Hurry!” Crosshair shouted as he led you towards the mouth of the cave. Your thighs and calves burned, and Crosshair pulled you inside just as rocks fell and covered the entrance of the cave, trapping you both inside.

You fell to your knees, catching your breath as you looked around and realised how dark it was. You’re eyes hadn’t adjusted yet, so could barely see anything, but you heard Crosshair’s body hit the ground nearby as he sat down, grunting as he took his helmet off. His breath moved quickly too as you blinked and tried reaching out to see where he was.

“Crosshair?” you said, patting the hard ground next to you until you found his knee.

“I’m here,” he said, placing a hand over yours. You sucked in a breath as his fingers curled around yours. “You okay?” He asked, his voice raspy.

Your heartbeat which had only just started to slow, picked up again as he held your hand again. How many more times was this going to happen? Would you ever not freak out when he touched you now? Was that his intention?

You swallowed. “Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?”

You felt the muscles in his hand flex. “Yeah.”

You took in a shaky breath and let him hold your hand again, relishing in the feel of his fingers wrapped around yours for a moment, so warm and solid. The feel of his knee under your palm, a part of the body you had originally thought completely savoury until this very moment. After a moment too long of no sound except the roaring rain on the other side of the rock, you cleared your throat before you felt around you with your other hand. “I can’t see.”

“I can.”

You blushed profusely and hoped to the Force you didn’t look as bewildered as you felt. “Right. Of course.”

Crosshair slowly let go of your hand but made a point of keeping your empty palm on his knee, like he knew you needed to feel him close by.

The word intentional flashed in your mind.

Your stomach turned over at the gesture and you wiped your face with your other hand, shoulders beginning to shake. You heard Crosshair take off his pack and scramble through it, pulling out a small light that he usually placed on the end of his rifle. He clicked it on, and you shielded your eyes, before blinking your vision clear. Now you could see Crosshair’s face half illuminated, his brow was creased as he held out the light to you.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from him. You pointed it around the cave and realised it was not so much a cave, but an oversized cavity in the side of the mountain. It wasn’t very deep, and it looked like its width was only a little bigger than Crosshair was tall. But it had saved your lives. You looked behind you, at the rocks that had fallen there.

“How are we going to get out of here?” you asked, running the light over the edge of the cave to see if there were any openings, but there were none substantial enough for you to try and get leverage to move the rocks that blocked you both in. Some rain fell through the cracks, the water landing on the rock as the storm carried on outside. That was good – at least you had some airflow.

“We need to wait for the storm to pass before we can see if comms will work to call the others,” Crosshair explained. “If we can’t contact them, we’ll have to wait for them to find us.”

The thought of being trapped in here for an undetermined amount of time made your heartbeat begin to race. “And if they can’t find us?”

“They will.” Crosshair’s conviction was comforting. You’d learnt that his belief in his brothers was unwavering, and never misplaced. If he believed that they would find them, then you did too.

You looked at him, careful not to shine the light in his sensitive eyes. His gaze was on you, and this might’ve been the first time you didn’t feel the need to avert your eyes. As intense as his gaze was, it was soft, and the brown of his eyes shined in the low light. Your hand was still on his knee and your eyes flicked down to it. You didn’t know if removing it would make it more awkward, or if leaving it there would. In the split-second moment, you were debating it in your head, with your body still shaking when Crosshair interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re shivering,” Crosshair said. “You need to get dry.”

You looked up at him and realised just how much you were shivering, now that the adrenaline had worn off. Your clothes were soaked through from the downpour, and the chill was sinking into your bones. You knew that if you didn’t get dry, you would get hypothermic.

You held out the light to Crosshair to take, which he did wordlessly. With shaky hands, you pulled your med pack off your back and placed it in front of you. Crosshair shined the light where you needed it as you searched through the items for a reflective blanket and when you found it, you pulled it out, the light bouncing off the shiny fabric. You looked at Crosshair, heat crawling up your neck.

“Um, I need to…”

Crosshair turned his head immediately but kept the light pointed in your direction. As quickly as you could, embarrassment flooding your trembling frame, you removed the layers of clothes you had on. You kept on the black GAR issue bodysuit you wore under all your clothes, even if it was slightly damp – you weren’t going to be completely bare with just a blanket between you and Crosshair. As you stripped everything off, you noticed the palms of your hands were grazed from the fall, and it hurt to move them as the skin stretched. You would deal with it once you weren’t shivering anymore, but the priority right now was to get warm.

Once you piled all your clothes together – there was no hope in everything drying whilst you were stuck in here, you pulled your knees to your chest and wrapped the reflective blanket around you tightly.

“Okay.” You said and Crosshair looked over and he squinted as the light bounced off the blanket, gaze searching your frame.

“What about your hands?”

“My hands?”

“You fell. I saw your palms are grazed.”

He was so perceptive, you wondered what else he saw that he never acknowledged. “I’ll patch them up after I stop shaking,” you told him, wrapping the blanket tighter.

Crosshair shook his head. “Aren’t you always telling us that injuries should be treated as soon as possible? Give me this—” he pulled the med pack in front of him and pointed the light inside.

“Crosshair—” You said as he dug around your pack, pulling out some antibac wipes and bacta patches. “You don’t have to. It’s not your job.”

Crosshair sent you a withering look before he placed the light between his teeth and gestured for you to show him your hands. You sighed and pulled your hands out of the blanket as best you could without it slipping off your shoulders. You turned your palms up, still slightly tremoring. They weren’t bleeding, but they were red and rubbed raw from the gravel you landed on. And they stung, but you were trying to be brave about it.

They were easily treatable, but your hands didn’t look pretty, that’s for sure.

Crosshair looked at them, adjusting the light in his mouth so they were completely illuminated before he shook his head with a frown, ripped open an antibac wipe, and cradled one of your hands in his.

He met your eyes, a silent question in their gentle expression as his hand was poised, wipe ready to be drawn across your palms. You’d never seen him look at you like this before; this softly. It was so easy for your crush to bloom when he looked at you like this. You looked into his brown-eyed gaze, cheeks heated, and you nodded.

Crosshair gently placed the wipe on your palms, and you sucked in a breath as it stung the exposed skin. You felt the hand that cradled yours tighten and then he slowly began to clean the wound. With his attention on your hand, you could watch him unabashedly. The roles between you had now reversed. He was treating your hands as attentively as you treated his. The way he held your hand in his large palm was so gentle that your heart fluttered. You could feel the heat permeate from under his gloves into your skin, and you felt your hand slowly begin to still, the warmth returning to you with his touch. You were so touched at the way he was doing this for you, without you even asking. The way he insisted upon it. You hadn’t expected it after the medbay, and you ignored the little voice in the back of your head that asked what his intention was and simply savoured this moment of kindness from the man you were hopelessly crushing on.

He was as methodical as he was when cleaning his rifle, wiping the wound on one hand in even strokes that coated all the raw skin twice before he moved to the other hand, a new wipe this time.

You watched the way the light was poised between his teeth, and when his eyes flicked to yours for a moment, you averted your gaze back to your hands reflexively. You heard him breathe out through his nose harshly as he discarded the wipe and grabbed a bacta patch, pressing it between his palms to warm the liquid. You watched him, your eyes meeting his tattooed gaze once again as your hands remained suspended between you.

You thought back to the medbay, at how his fingers had curled around yours so naturally like it was instinctual; at the way he pulled his hands away so quickly and so forcefully it was like your hands had been burnt; at how fast he’d left you standing there, reeling from his actions. You tried to think of what his intention had been, and what you had done that had made him retreat.

“I’m sorry…for the other day.” Your voice was quiet in the small space. The storm continued to rage outside, but there was no way he hadn’t heard you. Crosshair looked at you, knowing exactly what it was you were referring to, and placed the bacta patches in one hand before removing the light from his mouth to talk, confusion etched into his brow.

“Why?”

You brought your lips between your teeth as your eyes flicked between his. “Because I upset you.”

Crosshair looked at you for a moment, an undiscernible expression passed over his half-shadowed face as your eyes stayed locked on each other. What you would give to know what he was thinking, what thoughts swirled in his head. Two months of watching him had barely scratched the surface – you wanted to know everything, to be privy to the innermost workings of his mind.

Crosshair was the first to break his gaze, shaking his head.

“You didn’t upset me.”

You frowned at him, but before you could ask him what he meant, he had placed the end of the light back between his teeth and started applying the bacta patches to your palms, activating the adhesive and smoothing them down over your hands with his thumbs. He held one of your hands in both of his, his fingertips touching the back of your hand as he ran his thumbs along the edges of the bacta patch. He pressed them gently down, and you could already feel the bacta doing its job. He did the same thing to the other side.

You watched him and you realised you’d never felt so cared for before. Never had you been held so gently, treated with such practised methodical hands that were also so soft and caring. Your heart swelled.

He took the light out of his mouth. “Bandages?”

You cleared your throat. “They’re in the side pocket.”

Crosshair took some out and started wrapping your hands up so the bacta patch would be more secure. He was so good at this. With the light dangling from his teeth, he circled the bandage around one hand, before he tied it off and tucked the end, and then the same on the other side.

When he was done, he dropped his hands from yours and removed the light from his teeth for the final time.

You looked at your hands. You couldn’t have treated them better if you had done it yourself. You hadn’t even had to coach him through what to do, and that impressed you. It only made the warmth in your chest grow, that hopeless crush in full bloom and only growing more hopeless by the minute.

“Thank you,” you told him and pulled your hands back underneath the blanket.

Crosshair hummed and then placed the light up on its base between you both and leaned it against the rocks behind you, so the beam of light shined upwards and illuminated where you at. You watched him then sit back against the rock, stretching his long legs out in front of him and closing his eyes, sighing. You sat facing him and brought the blanket around you tighter. You no longer shivered, but you still wanted to be warmer than you were. You stared at the side of his face, Crosshair’s profile half-lit in the light. You gazed at the brown of his skin, the sliver of his hair, the slope of his nose, the purse of his lips. You noted the stubble lining his angled jawline, and wondered what it would feel like against your lips. He was beautiful.

“Crosshair?”

He only hummed again in response.

You tightened your hold on the blanket as you worked up the courage to ask the question that was burning inside you. You couldn’t sit here anymore and not know.

“If I didn’t upset you…what happened?”

Crosshair opened his eyes, but he didn’t speak straight away. It was like he was searching for the right words, the best way to explain what had happened. You waited patiently for him to answer, your anxiety only building in anticipation.

Crosshair scraped the sole of his foot on the floor of the cavity as he brought one of his knees to his chest, resting his elbow on it. You swore you saw the tips of his ears turn pink, but you weren’t sure in this light. “I…crossed a boundary, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for acting the way I did.”

You blinked at him, confused. That was the last thing you expected him to say, especially his apology. “Boundary? What boundary?”

“Does it matter?” Crosshair grumbled, his voice scratching.

“It does to me,” you told him gently.

He turned quiet again. He avoided your eyes, instead choosing to focus on a spot on his knee, frown etching deeper into his brow. You wished he would look at you. All those times you caught him watching you, now you willed him to meet your gaze. If he looked at you, you would be able to tell him with your eyes that he could trust you with whatever it was he was having a hard time verbalising. That you wouldn’t judge him the way you knew so many people did. That you saw him, how underneath all that surly exterior was a kind heart who’d been wounded too many times. But he pointedly didn’t look at you, and all you wished to say would remain your secret.

Crosshair sighed, breaking the silence. “You’re our medic, that’s more important.”

That only puzzled you more. “More important than what?”

Quiet descended again, and after several moments, you tentatively reached out and placed a bandaged hand on his shoulder pauldron. His eyes darted to you, wide like they were before in that medbay, and he shrugged you off, his voice hard and frustrated, and his cheeks tinted pink.

“Just forget it. It won’t happen again.”

You watched him, and the way his hands were clenched on his knees. The way he wasn’t looking at you anymore. You recalled the panic in his eyes that you saw in the medbay when he allowed himself the comfort of holding your hand, and how he’d had that same expression just before. You thought back to all the times you caught him looking at you, the way his eyes never left you – even when it was just the two of you during check-ups. The way he brushed up next to you when standing in mission briefings. The way he didn’t hesitate to touch you when he was helping you or keeping you safe – because it was easier to hide behind those gestures than the curling of his fingers around yours alone in the medbay.

Intentional. Intentional. Intentional.

Oh. Oh.

You felt your heartbeat increase as heat rushed through your body, your stomach flipping over at the realisation. You bit the insides of your mouth to stop yourself from smiling before taking a breath. It all made sense now.

Crosshair wasn’t upset at you, he was embarrassed. The man who was so careful about everything he said and did, had one moment where he allowed himself to do something on a whim, and it had made him vulnerable. The impulse had revealed a secret part of himself he had always intended to keep hidden, and now it was out there, and he was embarrassed about it.

He was embarrassed because he thought you didn’t feel the same.

What a fool. A beautiful stupid fool.

Nerves rattled through your body, but you couldn’t sit here any longer and not let him know how you felt too. “Crosshair…” you said his name softly, barely above a whisper.

Crosshair didn’t move, his eyes stayed glued to the middle distance, his hands still clenched into fists. You let out a breath and held out your bandaged hands. At the movement in his periphery, his eyes slid towards your hands and then up to your face. You flexed your fingers, a silent signal to place his hands in yours. His mouth turned into a line and just when you thought he wouldn’t, he slowly placed one of his tight fists in your palms.

You cradled his hand, the back of it resting in your bandaged palm. As best you could with your other bandaged hand, you began to manually unfurl his fingers, spreading them out slowly against yours. He let you, his hand as pliable as it usually was when you did this – there was no apprehension in this moment, only trust. You began to slowly massage his hand, pressing and kneading the joints of his knuckles and the centre of his palm. Neither of you spoke, and the storm continued its fury on the other side of the rock, but it very well could’ve been a parsec away with how intimate this moment was. All you could focus on was him. You could feel him watching you, wondering what you were doing, but you didn’t let his intense gaze pull you away. Not anymore.

Once you reached the end of the massage, you slid your palm over his, fingers lined up. You moved your hand slowly like he was a baby tooka you had to coax into your lap, you were giving him time to pull away. You let your fingers fall between the gaps of his and then curled your fingers down, so you held his hand.

You felt him tense as he realised what was happening, and you looked at him, but his eyes were locked on your intertwined hands. You waited to see if he pulled away, but he didn’t. His hand stayed firmly in yours, his fingers still splayed out – but his palm stayed pressed into yours. You heard him take in a shaky breath as he finally looked at you.

His eyes had softened on the edges, but his shoulders were still tense, and he had an expression that looked like he was pleading with you; begging you not to play with him like this.

You wouldn’t dream of it.

“Is…is this the boundary?” you asked. You felt Crosshair shift, and his voice came out in a rasp and his ears were definitely pink in this dim light.

“Yes.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands and squeezed his gently. “And me being your medic is more important than this?”

His reply came a second and a half later, all strained and breathy. “Yes.”

You looked at him, his tattooed gaze boring into your face. Ever the perceptive one, you could see he was trying to figure out what you were doing, and why you were doing it. You offered him a smile as you gave him the answer.

“This…this isn’t a boundary for me. Me being your medic has never mattered when it comes to this with you, and never will.”

You watched his eyes widen minutely, and if you didn’t know his face so well, you wouldn’t have noticed anything. But other than that almost indiscernible change in expression, Crosshair remained unmoving, his shoulders still rigid and his fingers still splayed out, not touching the back of your hand.

You searched his face and suddenly felt like you had completely misjudged his actions. Maybe he didn’t have the same crush on you, you did him. Maybe he had just held your hand by mistake, that what you thought had all been intentional, wasn’t actually intentional at all.

Your face burned and embarrassment flooded your body. You started to pull your hand away from him.

“But if it’s a boundary for you—”

But Crosshair’s fingers came down before you could rip your hand away, and he held your hand to his tightly, stopping your palm from leaving his. His hold was secure, warm and purposeful. There was nothing to hide behind anymore.

“It’s not,” he told you, his voice as soft as you’d ever heard it. He looked at you, and he was more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. You felt your heartbeat flutter. You knew this was hard for him, vulnerability of any kind wasn’t Crosshair’s comfort zone. You smiled at him as reassuringly as you could.

“Good.”

You felt his shoulders drop as his whole body relaxed. Your heart almost burst when you saw the corner of his mouth turn up at you – a smile that was yours and yours alone. You smiled at him, that warmth in your chest glowing brightly, making you feel so at home, you almost didn’t mind you were trapped in this space. You were with Crosshair, and that was enough.

You both sat there, holding hands in the torchlight. It was such an innocent kind of intimacy, but for you both, it held so much. So many unspoken feelings now known through the feel of your palms against each other. You never wanted to let go, and you suspected he didn’t either. You felt his finger muscles flex and you squeezed his hand. He lifted his thumb and placed it on top of yours, stroking it gently in a ministration so comforting you could’ve sobbed. You smiled at him, and he returned it.

A genuine Crosshair smile was a rare gift so few received. He kept them, saving them for the people he trusted and loved. To get one now, to see the corners of his eyes crinkle and the smile lines in his cheeks stretch in a closed-mouth smile, you felt honoured. You never imagined you would ever see Crosshair smile at you like this, to let you close like this – to let you close at all. The dim light of the cave had revealed the disappearing ink of his feelings, and it was extraordinary. You would tell him the full extent of what you felt for him in time, but for now, your feelings were wordlessly exchanged with just you two for witnesses.

You watched as Crosshair tentatively and wordlessly brought the back of your hand to his lips. With his tattooed gaze on you the whole time, he placed a lingering kiss there. You inhaled sharply at the gesture and the skin tingled under the bandage where he kissed you. The rain outside was heavy, but your heart felt light – like if you weren’t trapped in this space, you float away and join those rocks in the sky. You watched him pull away, brushing his lips on the spot for a moment before he let your hands drop between you.

“Was that okay?” he asked, his husky voice asked softly.

You chuckled, a grin stretching across your face. “Yes. More than okay.”

Crosshair hummed, his eyes smiling. “Good.”

The mountain shook again, and you looked around you frantically as dust from the cavity began to fall on you both. Crosshair pulled you against him, arms going around you as he shielded you to his chest. You held onto the edge of his chest plate so tight it dug into your fingers, your face pressed into his chest as he held you tightly. You squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on the mixed smell of soap and wood of Crosshair instead of the panic that coursed through you. When the tremor stopped, you looked up at him, and him at you.

“You okay?” he asked

“Yeah,” you lifted your head but didn’t dare untangle yourself from Crosshair’s arms.

Crosshair adjusted the blanket on your shoulders, pulling it tighter around you. “The longer this storm goes on, the more danger we’re in.”

“Should we try the comms again?”

Crosshair let go of you briefly to grab his helmet and put it on. “Hunter, come in. Tech? Wrecker? Echo? Do you read?”

You waited. Crosshair’s arm tightened on you, but he let out a frustrated sigh and pulled the helmet off roughly, setting it down next to him. “Still nothing.”

You let your head rest on his shoulder as you sighed. “What do we do?”

“Wait.”

You groaned. Crosshair chuckled and you felt his hand run up and down your back soothingly. It was a simple gesture, but one that conveyed how much he cared for you. A man of few words, he let his actions show his feelings for you. And you had no doubts about it.

After a minute, you lifted your head to find him looking down at you intensely. You felt his arms tighten on you as this hand travelled down to your waist and stayed there. You blinked up at him, drawing your eyes across his face before they landed on his lips.

They had been so soft when they touched the back of your hand, what would they feel like pressed against your own? You’d dreamt about it, but you had a feeling that it would be nothing to the reality of it.

“N’edee?” His voice was quiet, but you feel the weight on them in your stomach.

“Hmm?” you hummed innocently, but there was nothing innocent about what was running through your mind right now.

“Can I test another boundary?” His tone was hesitant, careful as he leaned in a little closer to you.

Your voice came out in a whisper. “Which one?”

“This one.”

Crosshair slowly closed the distance between you and pressed his lips to yours. It was like your whole body lit up inside, igniting you so completely you were aware of every nerve ending you had. Your fingers tightened on his armour just as Crosshair languidly pulled away after too brief a moment. You stared at him, dazed with your mouth parted slightly, and in need of more.

“Well?” he asked, his voice like silk.

You were breathless. “Not a boundary. Kiss me as much as you like.”

“If you insist,” he smirked and pressed his lips to yours again.

Kissing Crosshair was an all-consuming kind of feeling. That magnetic pull he already had on you only seemed to intensify the minute his lips descended on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck as he hoisted you onto his lap, your thighs falling on either side of his as you straddled him, and the blanket slipped off your shoulders – not that you needed it anymore with the heat that thrummed through you.

You melted into the kiss, and you were right – your dreams of his lips were nothing compared to the real thing. You felt the tickle of his breath on your cheek as you arched yourself closer to him. With just your body suit on, you could feel every hard ridge of his armour against you. His arms moved across your back, and you could feel his fingertips searing along your shoulder blades. His hot mouth moved against yours and you allowed yourself to nip at his lips. You felt him flinch before his lips stretched into a smile against yours, a chuckle vibrating his chest.

“Guess you do have some bite, N’edee,” he mumbled against your lips.

“Just for you,” you breathed, and he groaned into your mouth, kissing you deeper.

He was just as starved for you as you were for him, and you wondered how long exactly he’d been feeling like this towards you, but you’d ask such questions later. His mouth was heavenly, his lips like a caress against yours. Your lips parted and he took the chance to deepen the kiss as you dragged your hands up into his buzzed hair, feeling the short strands against your fingernails. And you felt just how skilled he was his tongue as it slid against yours, and you silently thanked his toothpicks for giving him the practice.

You’d never been kissed with such passion before, with such intention. Now, he was no longer embarrassed, he did not hold back his kisses and touches. That knowledge made it all the more thrilling as Crosshair pressed you into him, pulling your hips against his with hands that you knew to be tender, but now held with you with such desire you felt dizzy.

He moved his lips down your jawline to just below your ear, and you panted as you tightened your arms around him, rocking into him. He sucked the skin there, his tongue darting out and wetting the area. It made you moan so loudly you were glad no one else could hear how desperate you sounded.

“Crosshair,” you moaned.

You felt him smirk against your skin before he made his way back to your lips. Groaning into your mouth again, you felt his hands move from your hips to your ass and back up again, and you felt your body go into overdrive, pulsing with a wanting need. Where did he learn to kiss like this? You wanted to thank whatever Kaminaon training module taught him, or the illicit holos you knew Tech had stashed on the locked-down data drive you found a week after you joined them – whichever it was.

You were so lost in his kisses, the way they grew in fervour with each press against your skin, you almost didn’t hear the beeping of Crosshair’s comm in his helmet.

“Crosshair,” you said when you finally heard it, pulling away, but his mouth just found your neck instead. You patted his shoulder. “Crosshair, the comm.”

“What?” he said raggedly. His lips ceased their attentions, and he pulled back. His lips were all swollen and you smiled at the knowledge that was all you. You stayed perched in his lap and he grabbed his helmet and put it on. You could hear the other voice when you were this close to him.

“Crosshair, come in.” It was Hunter.

“Copy, Hunter,” Crosshair said, and you mentally applauded him for not sounding as breathless as you would’ve.

“Are you and N’edee okay?”

Crosshair’s hand squeezed your thigh, and you squirmed on top of him, smiling. “For the moment. We’re trapped on the mountain. The storm caused a cave-in, and we can't get out.”

“We’ll lock in on your signal and fly to your location. Stand by.” You realised then the rain and thunder had stopped, and that the storm had now passed.

“Copy,” Crosshair said before he removed his helmet and placed it next to him again, and you both looked at each other. He gripped your hips. “They’re on their way in the Marauder. Wrecker will be able to push the rocks out of the way, and we’ll be free.”

You breathed in, relieved help was coming. “I didn’t even realise the storm had passed,”

“Well, we were busy,” Crosshair snided.

“Right,” you laughed lightly.

Crosshair looked away from you for the first time since everything changed between you, and his hands on your hips loosened. You frowned as you watched his once open expression, slowly begin to close off again in the dim light. He looked uncertain, all in his own head again and you realised that he was worried – worried that this moment together was but a brief interlude in which you got caught up in the danger of the situation. You wanted to shake his shoulders and tell him he was being absurd, how he could think such a thing after all you just said and did. But you didn’t, because like baby tooka, Crosshair needed gentle reassurance; that his vulnerability and his feelings were not being played with.

Later, when you had more time and were back on the Marauder and tucked away in the medbay just the two of you again, you would tell him just how much he had nestled his way into your heart. That your crush was much more than that, that you saw all of him, and though you were still learning to decipher the riddles he was made of, you never wanted to stop. That you saw all his intentions, and now yours was to hold his heart in your bandaged hands the way he held yours.

But for now, in your final moments alone with him before his brothers rescued you both, you locked your eyes on him and gently grabbed the hands that had slackened on your hips, linking your fingers together once more. You watched his eyes find yours, his brows slanted at the ends as he looked at you with all this apprehension. You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them, lips lingering there as you let the gesture convey wordlessly your intention to keep nurturing what was between you for as long as he let you. That this didn’t end once you were both bathed in sunlight again.

“I hope we’ll be busy again later? And many laters after that too?”

Crosshair’s shoulder relaxed and you smiled as the corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, his eyes smiling as he squeezed your hands once more. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

banner art by @vimse thank you reading! if you made it this far, thank you! i appreciate it so much! this is the longest standalone fic i've ever written!

🏷️ @starrylothcat @sinfulsalutations @moodymisty @nahoney22 @freesia-writes @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @bobaprint @crosshairsnose @jesseeka @thegalaxys-edge @chopper-base @shredderwest @leavingkamino @r2d2staser @beckbucket @pb-jellybeans @mylifeisactuallyamess @padawancat97 @littlecrowtime @jedipoodoo @ezras-left-thumb @lovelycurls @fruitsaladtree @literallydontlook @burningfieldof-clover @queencousland101 @clonethirstingisreal @skellymom @hopelessromantic727

TAGLIST FORM

#larissa writes #crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader fic #crosshair fluff #crosshair angst #soft crosshair #tbb x reader #the bad batch crosshair #tbb crosshair fic #the bad batch fic #bad batch crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you

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phoenixyfriend · 11 months ago

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Accountant of Theed

Read on AO3

After all is said and done, someone needs to balance these books, and nobody actually told the accounting department how they paid for this new hyperdrive. Mimi really hopes it's not a loan from the Hutts.

Disclaimer: I am not an accountant, but I work in an adjacent field (and have been considering getting a certification, but that's neither here nor there). While I did take some courses on it, I asked an Accounting Person to look over the excel sheet before I went forward with the rest of the fic to make sure it's internally consistent. Thank you to @gnomer-denois for confirming my balance on these works!

The reconciliation sheet does NOT follow contemporary guidelines in terms of format etc, but that is because it is:

In space! Standard practice differs from Modern United States or what have you.

Not the primary balance sheet, just the simplified version made to show to Queen Amidala.

If you'd prefer to view the Excel sheet in a more easily navigable form, there is a google drive link available. This is also your best option if using a screen reader.

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

Theed is safe. They are rebuilding. There is even financial support, aid, from the Republic.

It comes with strings attached. Oversight. Auditors.

Wouldn’t want Naboo to misuse funding after that nasty mistake with the Trade Federation, right? Sure, Naboo wasn’t the one at fault, but one can never be too careful...

Mimi, as an accountant for the government of Naboo, does not in fact want to commit fraud, or enable corruption, but the rolling audits do feel a little like the Republic is punishing them for getting invaded.

“Hey, boss?”

That tone. Mimi does not like that tone. “Please tell me it’s not another unauthorized purchase with a missing receipt. Which account did they pull from this time?”

“Um... we don’t know?”

Mimi gives them a moment. No elaboration is given.

“You don’t know?”

“We don’t know,” the younger employee repeats.

“What do you mean?” Mimi asks. “People charge things to accounts or cards. They forget to submit receipts. We hunt them down for receipts, and make sure nobody is skimming off the top. That’s how it goes. Unless this is a purchase on a personal and we need to reimburse—”

“Um, maybe?”

“In which—what? That’s just... okay. There’s a process for reimbursements. You aren’t following it, which means... what? What do you mean, you don’t know? Did they use cash, or pull from an account?”

The younger employee looks down at their datapad. Looks back up at her. Looks baffled and a little scared. “Um, it’s... we still don’t have a receipt, but we also don’t know where the money for it came from? But nobody’s put in a reimbursement request and I can’t imagine anyone on the mission had those funds on them, not even the Queen herself.”

“The money for what?”

“Um. It sort of just... showed up?”

“So, it’s some kind of gift?” Mimi presses.

“Too big,” the younger mumbles, refusing to meet her eyes. “It would have to be disclosed.”

“I am giving you five seconds—”

“It’s a hyperdrive!” they yelp.

“...Explain.”

“One of the mechanics was looking over the Royal Cruiser, and found that there was unrecorded repair work to the hyperdrive. The ship took enough damage during the escape that he wasn’t surprised, but then he noticed that it was from an earlier run of the part, and when he checked, the serial number was completely wrong. The hyperdrive was completely replaced.”

Mimi closes her eyes and takes a breath. “The mechanic doesn’t know?”

“He said there’s nothing in the records that matches it at all, and it’s a big enough part that there’s no way it would just slip through the cracks, not when it’s that expensive and going on the Royal Cruiser.”

“So,” Mimi says, “we have a part worth almost as much as the rest of the cruiser combined, that just... came out of nowhere, and nobody claiming for reimbursement.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what it looks like.”

Mimi has no interest in fraud.

“Find out who was piloting when Queen Amidala escaped, and see if they have any answers,” Mimi tells them. “If we can keep it to just the hangar staff without drawing in the Royal Retinue, it’ll be easier on all of us.”

“Here’s hoping, ma’am.”

(Continue on AO3)

#phoenix files #star wars #the phantom menace #original characters #naboo #accounting #Padme Amidala #Sabe #Tsabin #Anakin Skywalker #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Shmi does not appear but this is like half about her. and Qui-Gon. and Watto.#so #Shmi Skywalker #Qui Gon Jinn #Watto #receipt reconciliation

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hotchscoffeecup · 5 months ago

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don’t punch beskar, you’ll break your hand

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Rating: M (18+ MDNI)

Word Count: 6.8k

Tags: Hand to hand fighting, Injury, Burns, Blindfolds, Penetrative Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Mild Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mando Takes Off His Helmet

Summary: You’re the Marshall of your small remote town. When you’re injured in a fight with pirates, Mando tends to your injuries. Time spent together in close quarters leads to even closer relations and when Mando suddenly disappears, you can’t help but feel used. (Happy Ending)

A/N: I wrote this back in Summer of May 2023 and am working on bringing my works over to Tumblr from AO3. I’m not super well versed in Star Wars lore outside of Mandalorian, so some details seems a little vague or inaccurate, that’s probably why! Hope you enjoy!

You nod your thanks as the bartender replaces your empty drink with a full one, flipping a few credits toward him from the dwindling tower you’d stacked in front of you earlier. A tentacle shoots out from the barkeep’s octopus-like face and snaps them out of the air. He grunts his assent and disappears into the back room.

You sip the bitter alcohol and revel in the burn as it slides down your throat to settle in your stomach and fuel the delightful buzz trilling through your body. It’s not enough to disorient you, but enough to ease the dull ache in your temples as you pour over the journal you’ve logged each and every one of your arrests in since the day you became Marshall of this godforsaken town. It’s not what you wanted to do with your life, but what else was there to do in the wake of pirates setting up shop on the outskirts of your city. There was no one in charge, never had been, and no one willing to take up the mantle. They were lost, leaderless.

And now here you are, feeling more lost than you ever had before.

You shake off the thought and return to your logs, tracking crime rates and making note of the areas with increasing levels of violence, piracy, and spice usage. Every time you thought you’d rid an area of criminal activity, it seemed as if double the illicit operations popped up in their place. So was the cost of being an independent planet. It made it all the more appealing to set up shop where there was no threat of the Republic stopping you. In a more developed part of the planet, they would’ve had the means to install better infrastructure or hire more of a guard to dissuade this sort of thing. Not here though. Not on your small blip on the map.

Crime rates had increased hard and fast, with pirates demanding protection payment from the shops and people that lived there. They were armed to teeth and operating a small black market, selling and trading spice and weapons to any and all willing to buy. And every day the market grew, attracting more criminals and making it that much harder to corral the growing threat.

You just didn’t have the manpower to take them on, so all you could do was sit and watch as they overtook the city, your city. It may be a godforsaken town, but it was yours damnit and you would die to protect it.

It had been nice once, beautiful even. The buildings sleek and well lit, laughter pouring out of open doors into the street as people and aliens alike drank, ate, and celebrated a life not run by any government or order.

The peace was short lived as pirates moved in, taking advantage of the wayward town often missed on maps by travelers and government officials alike. They were a town off grid, perfect for a crime syndicate to set up shop in. By the time you’d discerned the severity of what was happening, it was too late and it wasn’t long before they’d overtaken the city and turned it into an industrial hellhole; scrap yards piling higher than buildings destroying the views of what were once lush forests, now mines. Pirate lackies stood guard atop high metal walls that overlooked the town, ready to gun down anyone that might step too close until one day they attempted to lay the town bare; collateral damage in pursuit of establishing a central hub so they could expand their operation and make the entire city some sort of a base; the people living within the walls of the city be damned in pursuit of their own twisted little empire.

They’d have been successful if he hadn’t arrived, the Mandalorian. You’d heard rumors of one traveling the galaxy with a small green creature in tow, though the nature of the creature varied widely. When he’d arrived, there was no creature, and you didn’t feel as though it was your place to ask about it. He’d then helped without even having to be asked. No bargains. No payment. He just wanted to help.

Together, you devised a plan, and with a few of his allies in tow, you destroyed the base from the inside out; something you still can’t believe you’d managed to accomplish with so few individuals. But for the Mandalorian, he himself might as well have been the equivalent to an entire fleet of troopers and his allies the same.

You’d suffered some major burns to the right side of your body in the explosion that leveled the base, but it had been worth it to see that pirate filth laid to waste. Everything had still gone according to plan.

In the weeks that followed, the Mandalorian had tended to your injuries and saw to the restoration of the city. Your memory was hazy after the explosion, but you remembered the pain of it all; the gnawing, biting pain that cut down to your bones as he cradled you into his arms and jettisoned you back to the Razor Crest. Your vision had been hazy. blurred by the severity of the injuries and the toll they’d taken on your body. You’d barely clung to consciousness as the Mandalorian worked on the burns, the debrieding sprays and burn gels doing their job, but feeling as though your skin had caught light once more. Strained “I’m sorry’s” and “I know it hurts” had echoed through the Mandalorian’s modulator until you’d finally passed out from the pain.

It was three days until you’d opened your eyes again. And when you did, you were still in and out of consciousness, unable to keep them open for more than a few seconds at a time.

Once though, when you could manage the strength to blink through the haze, you could have sworn you’d caught a glimpse of dark hair and tan skin passing through the corridor. Your vision had been hazy with sleep and the lights dimmed. You still don’t know if that had been a dream.

On day eight you’d regained full consciousness, You awoke to find bandages soaked in some stinking salve coating the right side of your chest and shoulder, winding across your torso and down your arms. A loose sheet covered the rest of your exposed body, though someone had put a pair of loose linen trousers on you. You attempted to clench your right fist and hissed as the charred skin beneath the bandages immediately protested the movement.

You attempted to sit up and very quickly realized that was an equally stupid thing to try to do.

“Woah, stop!” instructed a modulated voice.

Your eyes flicked up toward the door, where the Mandalorian rushed in. “Take it easy,” he said, calmer this time. “Your body has been through a lot.”

“How long has it been?” You asked, disregarding the concern in his voice.

“Listen, you need to stay down and—“

“How long has it been?”

A mumbled curse hissed through the modulator before he spoke up. “Eight days.”

Your eyes flew open, “Eight?” You cried. Using your left hand to hold the sheet over your exposed chest, you forced yourself into a sitting position despite the stiff flesh under the bandages begging you to stop. “That’s unacceptable. I need to leave. I have to help my people. I need—“

“To heal,” the Mandalorian stated, a command. He took the two pillows that you’d disregarded and propped them up against the metal wall at the back of the cot and gently lowered you back onto them. “My people are on it. The black market has been eradicated. Things are being rebuilt as we speak.”

“I,” you started, but weren’t sure what to say. “I don’t understand. Why are you doing all of this? You have no allegiance to us.”

“My allegiance is to doing the right thing.”

“I don’t often find people care about what’s right or wrong,” you said bitterly, “just what will serve their own selfish agenda.” Your eyes found what you were imaging to be his behind the black T of his helmet.

He tilted his head, regarding you. After two minutes of insufferable silence, his Beskar rattled as he bent at the knees to sit on a flipped over crate near the bedside. You’d not even noticed it before he sat down. Had he sat there before during these last eight days? Watching you?

“Listen,” he began. “I’ve learned a thing or two about being selfish and constantly seeking that which would reap the greatest reward. Recently, I’ve found there are things far, far greater than just going through the motions of what you’ve been told is right and what is wrong because someone says so. I want to see the things that I do in this world actually make a difference, not just for me, but for everyone; and to do that I have to do it on my own terms. So, when I tell you I’m just trying to help,” he sighed through the modulator and leaned back against the wall, his armor clanging against it with a dull thud, “I mean it.”

His words sounded genuine enough, but you weren’t altogether sold. Though, he didn’t have to agree to help take down the pirates nor take you in. He could’ve dumped you at the local med bay and been off planet doing gods know what by now, but he stayed. Not only did he stay for you, but for your people.

“Why did you help me?” The words left your mouth before you could think them through.

His answer came fast. “You’re alone here.” He stood and reached for an overhead shelf where he withdrew a med pack. He knelt at your side and released the locks, the pack snapping open with a satisfactory click.

You watched his leather clad fingers withdraw equipment and arrange them neatly along the edge of the bed.

He snapped the med pack shut and turned his masked face in your direction. “I know what it’s like to be in pain alone, to suffer alone. I did not want that for you.”

“Begging your pardon, Mando, but why would you care what I want?”

Your eyes flickered back and forth in the dim light, searching for him behind the mask. You wished you could read his expression.

He picked up a pair of scissors, though his gloved fingers quickly posed a problem as their thick padding didn’t allow him to hold them properly.

“This was a lot easier when you were knocked out,” he muttered through the modulator. He cursed and dropped the scissors, snapping his hand free from the glove. “And my name’s not Mando,” he added, now able to comfortably pick up the scissors with his long pointer finger and thumb. “It’s Din. Din Djarin.”

You're surprised when your breath catches in your throat; not at how he’d revealed his name, but that he’d revealed any amount of skin to you; deep tan skin pebbled with scars and calluses.

“Are you allowed to do that?” You asked, voice incredulous.

The scissors slid under the bandages, stinging the burnt skin as they gently glided across. You hissed and he apologized, making sure to lift them higher as he cut away the bandages.

After a long moment, he answered. “I don’t know.” He snapped out of the other glove and made deft work of the bandages, apologizing as they stuck to your mottled flesh. “I don’t know a lot of things anymore.” This he’d spoken more so to himself.

Once the sullied bandages had been pulled away and discarded, you glanced down at your flesh, and sucked a sharp breary in through your teeth at the sight of it. No wonder you’d been out cold for over a week. The entire right side of your upper body was unrecognizable to you the way that the flames had licked and curled around your limbs. Tears stung at your eyes and you forced yourself to look away

“I know it looks bad now,” he said calmly, placing a comforting hand over your uninjured one. You're surprised by how soft it is despite its rough appearance. The gesture placated you and you find your body relaxing. “Over time it will fade and eventually look like nothing happened at all. Trust me.”

“Do what you have to do then,” you consented, knowing the treatment was probably less than pleasant.

He squeezed your hand and when he withdrew it you found yourself longing for its warmth. You brushed the thought aside as quickly as it came and braced yourself for pain as Din coated your wounds in a numbing spray; the effects of which caused your eyes to well with tears.

Flesh numbed, he spent the next hour debriding the wounds of dead flesh and applying a gel that encouraged skin cell regeneration. He then applied bandages that were soaked in a stronger version of the gel in thick layers against and around the burns.

By the time he finished you were barely able to keep your eyes open. This was the longest you’d been awake since the date of the explosion and the treatment had exhausted what little energy you had to give.

“You should sleep,” he recommended as he pulled his gloves back on, and a part of you is sad to see his hands hidden away once more. “When you next wake, we’ll try to get some solid food and water in you.”

He pulled the sheet up higher over your body, his gloved fingers lingering against your neck. Your eyes trailed up the length of his arm before reaching what you were sure to be his gaze behind the mask. He held your stare, only for a moment before he quickly withdrew his hand and stepped away toward the door.

“Get some rest.”

“Thank you,” you said softly. And as he stepped through the door you added, “Din.”

Your eyes fell shut, but not before you noticed how he paused in his tracks to take one last look at you over his shoulder before continuing on his way.

•

“Dank farrick!” Din cursed and threw his hand of cards down on your dining room table as you laughed and pulled in the ever growing pile of credits toward yourself, now easier with the improvement in mobility in your arm over the last few weeks as the burns continued to heal thanks to the Mandalorian.

“Come on, Mando!” You laughed, still not completely comfortable using his given name freely. “You wanna make it triple or nothing?”

He pointed a gloved finger directly at your face, “No.”

“Oh come on,” you begged. “I didn’t peg the Mandlorians as sore losers.”

“We should turn in,” he said, gathering the cards together. “I’ve got a run scheduled with Greef Carga and I’d like to take off before sunrise.” Greef Carga had been one of the Mandalorian’s allies who had helped them level the base. What weapons and spice caches hadn’t been destroyed, Mando had been delivering to Carga’s city where they had the proper means of destroying it. His was a city far more well equipped than yours.

“It should take two trips, right?” you asked, already concerned with the amount loaded onto the Razor Crest. If word had gotten out about the market’s destruction here, roving sects of the cartel or other pirates could be out for blood; especially if they knew the Mandalorian had been responsible. If they caught the Razor Crest with that many illegal arms and substances loaded inside of it, they would do their damndest to get it back.

He nodded. “I should be back by nightfall.”

He gathered all the cards together into a neat pile and held them out for you to take. As your fingers slid over them, the leather of his gloves glided over your skin eliciting goosebumps across your flesh that you wished you could hide better from him.

He dropped his hand. “I should get back to the ship.”

He turned to leave and before you could process what you were doing, you lunged forward and wrapped your fingers around his wrist.

“Or you could stay.”

A long breath escaped the modulator as your name fell from his lips, and you immediately wanted to kick yourself for acting this way. Did you sound as needy as you felt? Weeks now, you’d spent in such close quarters with Mando, working side by side to draw up plans to rebuild the city and renew that which has been lost alongside the very close contact shared with him with the daily burn treatments. With each passing day, you’d found yourself watching the curve of his hips as he sauntered around so confidently with each step; the way his muscles flexed beneath his armor as he hammered reinforced steel into the damaged buildings around town.

Beyond the physical, his gentle demeanor behind the rough and tumble exterior pulled you in with its own gravitational force. Each day, he’d opened up a little more to you, sharing more and more about his life as a bounty hunter and his journey with the Child. You laughed harder than you had in years over the ways in which he recounted the mischievous and naughty behavior of the little green guy. And though you couldn’t see his face, even through the modulator, you could hear the longing in his voice for the Child. Despite having done the right thing in reuniting him with his own kind, you knew that that had torn away a piece of Din’s heart, even if he didn’t say it out right.

“Don’t read too deeply into it,” you chastised before the silence could become even more deafening in the moments since he’d whispered your name. “I’ve got a spare bedroom. You don’t need to sleep cramped up on that cot in the Razor Crest. Gods knows it’s not comfortable.”

He chuckled in response. “Sorry if it didn’t meet your standards, princess. I think it served you just fine, did it not?”

You waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m still working the kinks out of my back from that whole experience. Come on,” you said and inclined your chin down the hall. “Stay, Get a good night’s rest, With the way you’ll be traveling tomorrow, you’ll need it.”

Ultimately, he relented and followed you down the hall.

“My room is the last door on the right at the opposite end of the hallway if you need anything. Fresher is the door on the left. Goodnight, Mando.”

“Din,” he reminded you.

You turn toward your room and walk down the hall, calling over your shoulder. “Goodnight Din.”

•

There was no sleep to be found tonight. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as you wondered what Din was doing just down the short length of hallway from you.

Was he asleep? Behind the safety of a locked bedroom door, did he remove his helmet and armor and actually let himself rest his body? Or did he still sleep in the same armored, crunched up position, arms folded over chest, masked chin tucked in on itself?

Your eyes burned from lack of sleep and you cursed yourself for letting these thoughts drive you mad. Using your good arm to push yourself into a sitting position, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and pulled a satin robe over your shoulders. Tying it loosely around your waist, you silently opened the door and padded across the stone floor to the kitchen intent on making tea. Maybe after a hot cup, sleep would finally find you. You filled the kettle at the small durasteel sink and before you placed it on the stove, the sound of a faucet turning off set the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

“Mando?” you whisper shouted.

No response.

You took a few steps toward the fresher door and tried again. The floor to ceiling metal doors in your home betrayed no light to escape so there was no way of telling if he was in there.

You hesitantly reached forward to press the button to open the door. You tried one more time. “Din?”

No answer. You cursed yourself for being so stupid. He was probably fast asleep and here you were, shouting at your empty fresher in the middle of the night. For peace of mind, you decide to slap the open button before returning to finish making your tea.

You immediately regretted your decision to do so as the door cracked open and a shaft of light filled the hall.

Your eyes fell to the floor, landing on a pair of tan, bare feet. Feet that move faster than lighting as a pair of strong arms wheeled you around and pressed your face into the wall.

“Close your eyes.” His voice was dark and you felt as though you had no choice but to oblige.

“I’m sorry,” your chest heaved, though constricted against the wall slick with steam from the shower. “I’m sorry, Din. I didn’t see your face. I didn’t—“

His grip relaxed suddenly, his touch becoming gentle; more responsive and less reactive. The rough palms of his hands flattened against where he grabbed you and rubbed the skin beneath, easing the sting of his tight grip from moments earlier. “No,” he breathed and for the first time you felt his breath against your skin. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to react like that, you just—I thought you were asleep.”

“I couldn’t,” you stated.

A few moments of silence and then he answered, “Neither could I.”

His hands slowly slid down the length of your arms, the one on your right much softer than the left, minding the still healing burns. You couldn’t help your body’s natural response to arch into his touch.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” you asked, breath bated already.

You felt his presence draw nearer to your ear before the air reverberated around the sound of his voice. “I couldn’t stop thinking of what you might be wearing to bed”

His hands slipped off of your elbows and onto your waist. He stepped forward so that his body was flush against you and a small gasp escaped your lips as you felt his erection pressed up against the curve of your ass through the towel around his waist. He reached one arm around you and easily pulled the tie securing the robe around your waist loose, exposing your naked body. He tugged at one end until he’d pulled it free from its loops.

Your breath hitched in your throat as the satin material covered your eyes and he secured a knot tightly, but not uncomfortably, behind your head.

“There,” he said softly, turning you around and holding your face in his wide hands.

Hesitantly, you raised your hands to wrap around both of his wrists, leaning into his touch.

After a moment you reached out in front of you, hand landing on his chest. He was soft beneath your fingertips; muscular, but soft.

He dropped his hands from either side of your face as your other hand found his chest and you began to slowly explore the planes of his body.

Your heartbeat hammered in your chest as your hands traveled up the length of his torso, to the wide V of his shoulders. He was tense beneath your touch and you hesitantly withdrew your fingers to hover above his skin. “I can stop,” you said gently.

His hands wrapped around yours, placing them back on his chest. “No,” he said. “It’s ok. I want you to touch me.” As your hands found his neck, you cautiously continued to his jawline, a soft gasp escaping your lips as your fingers splayed against the sharp lines there.

Your thumb brushed lightly against his lips and he shuddered beneath your touch. You’re shocked to find he’s got facial hair lining the top of his lip and a gentle laugh tumbled out of your lips.

And as your fingers came to hold his face in your hands, you drew him down to you so that his forehead was touching yours.

“Mando,” you breathed.

“Call me by my name,” he said, his words gentle, yet firm.

You didn’t hesitate. “Din.”

His lips rained down on yours with an energy so blindingly hot that stars dotted the corners of your limited vision.

You parted your lips to grant him greater access to your mouth and his tongue slid over yours as his hands fisted into your hair.

Your arm snaked around his neck and when his hands cupped your ass beneath the satin of your robe, you pushed off your feet to jump and latch your legs around his waist.

He bore your weight easily, as if you weighed no more than an infant, and pushed you back into the wall. You hissed into his mouth as pain stung your shoulder blades but your whole body was a live wire at the moment and you didn’t care.

He started to walk, carrying you still, as your lips crashed together over and over; devouring one another as if this was the only taste you might ever get.

The hiss of a metal door opening sent a blast of cool air over the two of you, causing your taut nipples to harden even more against the skin of his chest.

He lowered you onto the mattress and the springs creaked under your combined weight. As he crawled over you and straddled your waist, you could feel his erection firm against your thigh.

Blindly, you reached for it with your good arm and as your fingers barely skim the smooth skin of his cock, your hand is pinned above your hand.

“Not yet,” he growled into your ear and your middle turned to liquid.

He released your hand and began trailing his over your body; the tips of his fingers tracing the outline of your calves, then your hips, your stomach, until he’s got both of your nipples pinched between his fingertips.

A cry slipped past your lips as he rolled the peaks of your breasts between his fingers. When he took one into his mouth and began to tease you, flicking the sensitive skin with his tongue and toying at it with his teeth, you bucked your hips up into his erection.

You could feel the slickness between your thighs spreading with each kiss and pass over your body, though you craved more of him. Your pussy throbbed with a need to be touched by him, filled by him.

“Din,” you whimpered. “Please.” And you swore you heard him chuckle deeply in his throat.

He took his hands and placed them on the insides of your knees. Slowly, he pushed them apart and you knew he was gazing into your core.

“Fuck,” he groaned and murmured your name. Your thighs quivered as his fingers slowly dragged up your thighs. Using his thumb, he ran it up the slick length of your folds, pausing at your clit to rub painfully slow circles and you squirmed beneath his touch. “So wet,” he murmured, “so wet for me.”

He adjusted the position of his thumb so that he could continue his torturously slow massage. His name tumbled from your lips as he, at an equally slow pace, thrust his pointer and middle fingers into your center; in and out, in and out, toying with the spongey soft cleft within you that caused your belly to clench in response.

You writhed beneath his touch, needing more, begging for more.

“Are you ready for me?” he purred, and you nodded vigorously.

“You feel ready,” he said, and you could sense the smile on his lips. He dragged his fingers, slick with you, up the length of your folds once more before pulling them away completely and touching them to your lips. He traced the outline of your mouth before gently pushing them in between your lips, “Taste how ready you are for me.”

You sucked and swiveled your tongue around the length of his two long fingers, tasting the tang of yourself on them and wanting more.

He withdrew his fingers and cupped your chin in his large hand, “Good girl.”

You bucked and cried out as he thrust his fingers back into you; once, two more times, and on the third, withdrew his fingers and slammed into you with his cock.

You cried out from the shock and pleasure of it all, gasping for air as his width stretched and filled you. He’d hit hard and fast only to slow down to a torturous rhythm. He slipped a hand under your right leg and lifted it onto his shoulder, holding you there as an anchor point as he continued to plunge himself in and out of you. His name spilled from your lips as with this new leverage, his cock struck your g-spot with every thrust.

“Yes,” his voice was low in his throat. “Say my name, darling. Say my name.”

He increased his speed and returned his thumb to your throbbing clit where he teased circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves there in a tortuously sweet rhythm with the speed of his thrusts.

Stars dotted your limited vision. Your chest rose and fell heavily as you tried to meet him thrust for thrust, but you lost track of the rhythm as you felt everything inside your lower abdomen start to collapse in on itself until the pleasure was blinding and you exploded around him.

He continued to thrust into you as your orgasm drove through your body in waves. After a few more thrusts his own release spilled out into you and he cried out your name; collapsing on top of you and wrapping his arms around your body, both of you slick with sweat and panting.

You stayed there for a minute, joined together physically, chests heaving against one another.

You both groaned as he slid out of you. Slowly, he maneuvered your arms out of the satin robe that you’d both forgotten about. Gently, he used it to clean you up, before discarding it onto the ground where it fell with a soft whoosh of fabric.

He then collapsed onto the bed next to you and minding the burns to your right side, pulled you nearer to him.

He kissed you softly on the lips and then your temple before stretching an arm behind his head.

Your head rested upon his chest and you could feel his heart beating steadily beneath his skin, the dull thump-thump enough of a rhythm to sing you to sleep, but you didn’t want to. Not now. Not after everything with him had just changed.

His hand lazily dragged through your hair, smoothing it back over your shoulders.

“Sleep,” he murmured against your ear. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

The Mandalorian was nowhere to be found come dawn; he’d disappeared without a trace and you were left behind feeling like an absolute idiot for ever having opened yourself up to him.

In the weeks that followed, stray pirates that had barely escaped with their lives began to trickle back in when they’d learned the Mandalorian had disappeared and rumors of the spice and weapons supply you’d still had confiscated reached those still alive and hoping to rebuild the black market.

You’d been able to hold them back, killing them in a shootout in front of your offices.

There was nowhere to safely hide or destroy the spice or weapons. Burying it wouldn’t destroy them, so those hoping to retrieve it could still attain it. Burning them would release a smoke so toxic, it would kill anyone within five clicks of the pyre with the amount they had in tow.

So, there was no choice but to stand and fight. Stand and fight until your deputy was dead and you’d suffered a blast to the shoulder.

With no one left to defend the supply, they’d moved in quickly, raiding your office and burning it down in the aftermath as a warning to leave the market alone. You still don’t know why they didn’t kill you.

Weeks turned to months and they were right back where they’d started; black market and all successfully up and running as your people suffered for it. Heads turned away as you passed through town. You’d let your people down.

And that was why you sat in a bar, alone at two in the morning, going over crime logs and wondering how things had fallen apart so quickly.

So, when that distinct tinkle of metal armor echoed in your ears, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You froze, heart hammering in your chest so hard you swore it would shatter your rib cage. As each heavy, booted footfall drew nearer, your fingers inched toward the blaster holstered at your side.

When you were confident he’d drawn near enough, you leapt from your seat, kicking it out and whirling around as it knocked his legs out from under him.

The Mandalorian hit the floor with a loud metallic thud and something tumbled from his hands across the floor.

He rolled out of the way as you aimed your blaster at him; knocking it from your hands in the process.

No matter; you slipped the knife from your waistband out and slashed at him. He expertly dodged each swing, but when you raised your leg and kicked him square in the stomach; he flew backwards over a table, shattering it on impact.

You leapt upon him, knife raised, and he knocked it from your hand.

Immediately, you raised your opposite fist and when you moved to bring it down, he caught your hand in his gloved one.

“Don’t punch Beskar,” his modulated voice advised. “You’ll break your hand.”

You sat there, frozen, as he held your fist in his hand. You stared at the black T of his visor, knowing he was staring right back at you. Tears burned your vision, but you would not let them fall for him.

Grunting and cursing, you kicked off of him; dusting off your pants and moving toward the bar.

“Get the hell out of here, Mandalorian.” You spat before returning to your seat at the bar. not minding the destruction you’d just left in your wake.

Tears burned your vision as you tossed back the second shot of liquor you’d left behind. The burn offered no relief from the pain of his return.

Your body stiffened as you heard his armor clanging as he stood and collected himself; but as you braced yourself to hear his steps withdraw, they only drew nearer to you.

He slammed a bag down on the table next to you.

You scoffed, ignoring it. “We don’t want your money, Mandalorian.” As if that could undo the damage he’d caused in his absence.

“Open it,” was all he said.

You swiveled in your seat, eyeing him dangerously before pulling the bag to you. You pulled the strings holding it shut and gasped upon finding the severed head.

Your eyes snapped toward his, or at least where you imagined they were behind his visor. “What is this supposed to—“

He tossed a puck on the table. Your mouth fell shut as a hologram appeared; stunned to see your face in the hazy blue light emanating from it.

You turned back to the Mandalorian, “I don’t understand.”

“He put this hit out on you,” he gestured toward the head. “On the day I left to dispose of the spice and arms with Greef Karga, I was attacked by spice runners. Spice runners who had your face in their hands. I couldn’t let them get to you.”

Blood pounded in your ears. He’d not come back to protect you, to keep you safe. It didn’t stop the damage done in his absence.

“You could’ve made contact,” you bit, venom sharp on your tongue.

Mando used his forearm to push the bag aside and lowered himself down into the seat beside you.

“If I’d pinged you, they could’ve pulled your location. There were already enough trickling back into the city and the hit wasn’t widespread news amongst local crime networks. Gods knows I did my best to hunt down anyone with this puck in hand; and in doing so, it lead me to the leader.”

Your mind whirled; both from the sudden realization of what had actually transpired and the liquor burning a hole in your empty stomach. The fight with Mando had stirred up things both physically and mentally and you suddenly felt sick.

Leather clad fingers brushed your shoulder and you hated how it both set your flesh alight with desire and caused your body to relax. The anger you felt was so raw and biting, but the way your body remembered his gentle touch had your tight shoulders sagging beneath it.

The pad of his thumb circled the thick pink scar tissue from the blaster strike; the shoulder still ached from time to time but overall had healed well.

As his thumb gently probed the tissue, you closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath you’d not realized you’d been holding in.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he said after a long while.

You swallowed the growing lump in your throat. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” You turned your body to look at him straight on. “You lied to me.” Thick, hot tears welled along your lower eyelids. Your voice wavered as you continued, “I felt like a whore, Din. Like a plaything that you used once and got bored of.” Tears leaked over your lashes and you cursed yourself for being so vulnerable in front of him. “Damnit!” you slammed your first down on the table and raked a hand through your hair.

“You could’ve left me at the med bay. You barely knew me. You had no obligation to stay. But you, Din, you took me back to your ship and literally nursed me back to health.” You stood to leave then, not bothering to look at him as you did so as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. “You were the one to stay behind long after you were clear to leave, yet you stayed. You treated me like I was a fucking royal and then left me like a womp rat stuck in a trap that you couldn’t bare to put out if it’s misery.”

As you reached the exit door, a leather clad hand wrapped around your wrist and an unfamiliar hiss caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up. You stood there for a moment, frozen, unsure of what to do.

“What are you doing?” you choked out, refusing to turn around.

“I don’t know what I could say,” his voice was smooth, unmodulated. “That this gesture can’t prove.”

His grip tightend around your wrist, not painfully, desperately.

You closed your eyes and bit your quivering lip. He said your name and it came out of his lips a plea.

Turning around, you didn’t open your eyes. Instead, you loosed yourself from his grip and felt for his other hand which clutched his helmet.

You circled your fingers around the lip of the opening and took it from him, surprised he allowed you to take it from his hand. With your other one, you felt up the breast plate of his armor until you reached the sharp line of his jaw, rough with a few days worth of stubble.

Raising the helmet, you used both hands to lower it down over his face until it hissed and clicked back into place. Only then did you open your eyes, finding them reflected back at you in the inky black of his visor.

“I would never ask you to forsake your Creed, Mando, surely you must understand that.”

He took a daring step toward you, inclining his head as he did so. “That’s not my name,”

“Din,” you breathed, sighing his name out. “Surely you know I’d never ask you to do that.”

His leather clad fingers slipped between yours. “I couldn’t risk them hurting you, I’ve only just found you.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time since he’d stepped foot inside the tavern. “That’s a bit romantic for a Mandalorian, don’t you think?”

You felt the cool steel of his Beskar vambrace through the fabric of his shirt as he drew you near to his body for an embrace.

“I keep finding ways in which I’m not a normal Mandalorian.”

“Good,” you responded as you wrapped your arms around his pauldrons. squeezing and hoping he felt the warmth in your embrace. “I’ve never liked normal.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fic #din djarin x y/n #fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic

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lincolndjarin · 3 months ago

Text

hollow star ⊹₊⟡⋆ ch. one

chapter one : when flesh meets steal

ao3 kofi main masterlist (series masterlist coming soon )

pairing: din djarin x scientist!reader

rating: 18+ mdni - check chapter tags for cws

word count : 6.1k

summary: Din agrees to help you when he's sees the credits you're offering in exchange for protection, after all, it's a simple mission. Artifact retrieval and data collection.

That's what you told him.

And why wouldn't he believe you?

tags: strangers to lovers, horror, non-consensual voyeurism, slowburn, psycological horror, fear

70,000 CREDITS - PRIVATE ESCORT DETAIL : FREELANCE OPERATIVES ONLY

SERVICE TYPE: Discreet Escort / Protection Detail

DURATION: 2 weeks (approximately)

LOCATION: Classified - Outer Rim, unregistered planet (coordinates provided upon meeting)

COMPENSATION: 140,000 credits, 70,000 upfront, and the remainder upon completion of the job. (an additional 10,000 credits will be provided for every day of service required after the initial 2 weeks.)

BONUS: Hazard pay negotiable based on situational escalation.

REQUIREMENTS: Combat experience, (soldier or soldier adjacent is preferable) must be familiar with navigation and willing to travel through hostile terrain. Preferably a ship that does not require a crew and has a solo operator. (negotiable) Must not be affiliated with the New Republic, or any Jedi-aligned factions.

Private client requiring an armed escort for the purpose of a personal research trip. The objective being artifact retrieval and/or data extraction. No combat is anticipated but the client requests protection against potential scavengers or environmental threats. Client will not be armed. No questions asked, no answers expected, discretion is non-negotiable.

There’s several blocked lines of text at the bottom of his monitor, encrypted information about the client that makes him furrow his brow. The black screen flickers a bit, his thoughts accompanied by the quiet hum of the space that surrounds the Razor Crest. 140,000 credits is nothing to scoff at, it’s the type of payment he’d expect on a high risk job, or something far more sinister than this. That kind of money is often offered up for jobs that most people wouldn’t choose because of its morality. Hit’s put out on children, or the defenseless. Or at the very least something that would take well over a few months.

Not this, not a simple in and out escort job.

The redacted information is concerning. Too concerning, even with the payout promised. His fingers type into the system for a few moments, trying to push through what he knows to be simple defenses put up by the guild before the screen blinks and the text is easily revealed to him. With a pleased sigh he sits back in his chair and reads.

Client shows signs of previous Imperial affiliation, though not flagged for war crimes. Known history with a classified archives division. Linguist, no combat personnel history. Last known activity listed as an unexplained incident with a vault located at Station Mourna 2. (now sealed.) Was assigned to the Imperial Historical Recovery Taskforce, or I-HRT, division 12. No last known location. No existing warrants or bounties on head.

The Imperial affiliation stands out to him but it reads like they had very little to do with anything more than their history department. Which seems benign enough and would explain the exorbitant fee. They can simply afford it.

But there’s just something off about the listing.

It should be so simple, it’s a clean cut job, a bit clinical, but nothing of the sort would be required of him. It’s the top left corner of the screen that makes him the most hesitant.

36 applications received, 0 accepted.

The client clearly requires someone experienced, it can’t even be seen by anyone without a certain guild clearance level but 0 acceptances out of 36? It’s unheard of, even with the pickiest clients. Anyone who would have applied at this point would have been more than qualified.

Maybe the client is particular about certain things, or maybe they already found someone and forgot to remove the listing. Either way it’s simply too tempting to resist any longer. He needs the money, or at the very least he needs the distance.

He can’t just keep waiting here, burning through fuel, for something that is never going to happen.

He enters his guild code, fingers lingering above the send button before finally clicking it. Rocking back in the pilot's seat he lets his head fall back. Accepting the fact that he won’t be receiving a response before the message has even been fully sent out.

So the immediate chime made by the ship's notification system is more than a shock as he sits back up.

Congratulations! Your application has been accepted! The client will be waiting for you on : CORUSCANT

Attached you will find the message provided by the client, best of luck!

I would like to be retrieved as quickly as possible from the Kaelen Memorial Travel Port. Payment will be exchanged immediately after boarding. Your haste is appreciated.

Dr. Thorne

The response makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He can’t place the sense of dread this all fills him with but unfortunately his mind is made up. A lot of things fill him with dread these days, so he might as well make a little money.

It’s not like he has anything left to lose.

⊹₊⟡⋆

Sleep doesn’t come easy to him.

It never has, but especially not these last few months. Almost always it’s just simple restlessness, a refusal to turn off the hunters instincts and relax. Waking up in a sweat after a dream of just barely snagging a bounty, or finding himself at the end of a blaster being wielded by one of the many nameless faces he’s turned in over the years.

Tonight is different though. Tonight he sinks into sleep slowly, but deeply.

When he wakes up he’s met with a feeling he hasn’t felt in decades.

The wind.

Cold, and sharp against his face as he cautiously gets to his feet. He’s standing in a field of ash, no visible sky above, only more grey and smoke.

He manages to pull himself together enough to realize he’s dreaming but it doesn’t make him any less disoriented. His hands find his face, scratching at the unfamiliar sting of air on his flesh. Looking around and trying to take in his surroundings proves fruitless until something slowly slips through the smoke above him. Swaying back and forth in the breeze until it gingerly lands in his open hands.

A feather.

A dainty, black feather.

When he shifts his gaze upwards to find the source he finally finds something else in the endless expanse of space around him. A star.

Although it’s barely that at all.

Hanging from a mess of wires is a poorly made steel outline of a star, desperately trying to stay together as a few sparks twitch out of the exposed cables within. It tries to flicker, to turn on but all it manages is a pathetic glow from the hollow space within. It isn’t a normal light it emits either, he immediately recognizes it as the same glow made by the darksaber, instinctively he reaches for his hip to find it but only grabs air. Looking down in search of it forcefully makes him drop down a foot into the ash.

Before he can find his footing he sinks again, another jolt down so that he’s up to his knees in ash. Frantically, he tries to hold onto something, anything, but there’s only more grainy ash, he finds no purchase as he sinks, quicker, and quicker, unable to hold on any longer he takes a deep breath, preparing for the punishing lack of oxygen he’s about to be faced with.

And then he wakes up.

Gasping, and clawing at the single sheet that lines the mattress in his bunk.

It’s a tight squeeze when he leverages himself out, falling to his knees in the cargo hold of the ship, wildly ripping his helmet off before the air can properly depressurize, giving himself a sharp pain in his temples. He’s too desperate for air to care about the headache he’s gonna have for the rest of the day.

⊹₊⟡⋆

It’s late.

The port you’ve requested boarding at isn’t one he’s familiar with. Coruscant is a large planet though, and there’s plenty of places in the galaxy that he’s never been to. As he approaches the first thing he notes is how dark it is. The entire planet is lit up, especially from a distance. The mass of cities and the vibrant nightlife keep the planet well lit. Unfortunately for him, it seems you’ve chosen the only dark patch on the entire planet. It isn’t easy to calibrate the landing because of the lack of light, he can’t see anything clearly but it appears to be completely empty so he picks a random spot and prepares himself.

The ship hovers above the crumbling refueling station, slowly descending before landing with a hiss of air. For the price attached to the job he certainly wasn’t expecting to dock in such a shitty spot. Unsure of what to expect he makes his way to the loading dock and lowers the ramp, before it even reaches the stone pathway a pair of boots land on the edge.

Instinctively his hand twitches to his blaster as he assesses the figure.

Alone, cloaked, and calm. Before him stands who he is certain must be his client. He was expecting a stony faced doctor, someone older, someone that looked like they’d spent plenty of time out in the field.

Which is why he’s taken aback by the sight of you.

Doe-eyed, looking out of place in the dark robes that adorn your body, the only out of place thing about you is the small pale scar along your jaw. In one swift motion you drag a large suitcase up onto the platform behind you.

“Worn, but efficient.” Are the first words out of your mouth as you take in the sights of the ship, as if he isn’t standing directly in front of you. “I suppose this will do.” Nodding to yourself you finally let your gaze settle in him, a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes adorns your face. “Hello, Mandalorian.” It’s almost posed as a question, you want confirmation that you’re in the right place despite the fact that he’s standing before you in full beskar armour.

He isn’t sure how to respond. The client information section of the listing flashes through his mind as he stares.

Imperial affiliation.

Your outfit surely suggests that but the rest of you screams inexperienced. He hasn’t ever seen someone who looks so unprepared for a field job. And he finds himself experiencing a feeling he’s only ever felt a handful of times in his life.

Surprised.

But you can’t know that.

He’s supposed to be the seasoned bounty hunter who can handle anything thrown his direction. At least that’s what you’re paying for. Convinced his voice will betray him, he only nods at you.

“Good, I’m Dr. Thorne, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Stepping further up onto the ship you hold your hand out towards him. With robotic movements he gives you a quick and firm handshake before immediately withdrawing. Even through his gloves he can feel just how cold you are.

With every passing second he’s regretting this decision more and more.

“I appreciate your punctuality.” You rock slowly, back and forth on your heels as you size him up, making no attempts at being subtle. “And you’re taller than I expected. Not an issue, just something of note.” You force a laugh but he still doesn’t speak. Partly because he isn’t the chatty type but also because he just doesn’t know what to say. Your tone is too clinical, like he’s a patient and you’re his doctor. “And you haven’t interrupted me once, which is… polite, I suppose.” He can’t decide if you’re joking so he continues to nod.

Everything about you is odd, it gives him a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. This is why he doesn’t usually take escort jobs. They require too much talking, it’s been so long since he’s had someone aboard that wasn’t a bounty he can’t even discern if this is typical conversation. You’re too clinical, too detached from your words, if it weren’t for your constant twitching and unpredictable muscle spasms he’d have thought you were a droid. He has to remind himself that you’re just a person, and he’s met plenty of people, some over twice your size, and never once felt intimidated.

With an indiscernible shiver he shakes off the feeling, after all there is no direct threat here, just discomfort, and he’s more than well equipped to handle a little discomfort.

“Would you mind directing me to my chambers so that I might deposit my belongings before we proceed?” The naivety of your statement makes him scoff, and briefly his walls break down. You’re about to be in for a rude awakening as he tilts his head to the left, the airlock doors open on a small storage compartment. Clearly a space used to store weapons or fuel, that has been cleaned and haphazardly refurbished with a cot, a steel dresser, and a storage trunk.

But you are completely unshaken.

Despite your neatly kept robes and hair pulled back is a strict tie you show no signs of distress at the tiny living space.

“Well this is easy enough.” You grunt a little, dragging your large bag forward, tossing it into the compartment before turning to face him once more, riffling around in your robe pockets and presenting him with a large satchel that jingles with the sound of credits as you hold it out politely towards him.

“You don’t seem up for conversation so I suppose we should just get on with it then.” You click your tongue, softly, it doesn’t seem like you even realized that you did it. “Perhaps I should try speaking your language. My plans are as follows; I would like safe and comfortable transportation to my desired location. When we arrive I would like you to accompany me as I conduct my research. It is nothing of great importance, more of a personal project of mine, I’d like to retrieve an artifact for my personal collection. It isn’t considered particularly valuable by any means, it’s just something significant to the niche of research that I’ve devoted my life to. While I am willing to share more information on it I’d rather not and I’d be willing to bet that you don’t want to hear it anyway so I think it would be for the best to keep it that way. I am not anticipating a need for protection, the site was condemned ages ago, but I find that preparing for the worst case scenario is best. You will accompany me. I will examine the ruins, collect samples and data, and when I’m done, we will board the ship and you will bring me back here.”

Your eyes dart down to the credits and then back up to his visor.

“70,000 credits, as promised upon arrival. With another 70,000 to be transferred electronically automatically at the end of the two week period along with a bonus for your discretion.” The end of your sentence drifts off to a whisper as you wait for him to accept.

You barely breathed during your ramblings and his brain is fighting to process everything at the same speed as your voice.

A moment of eerie silence swallows the space around them, something of significance that he can’t quite place, nor can he discern if you feel it too. A sour taste in his mouth and the feeling of bile rising in his throat, a feeling of being watched, all eyes on him. Waiting for him to make the choice, the right choice.

And as he thinks it over you react with enough tiny tells to finally let him know that you’re just as nervous.

You’re in a constant state of motion, even when you appear to be still, as if there’s something under your skin keeping you going.

But it was foolish of you to even think you could hide from him, he was trained to do this, to read a situation like this with deadly precision, despite how low stakes it might look to an outsider he can feel the weight of the situation, heavy on his chest as his eyes roam the oncoming storm that is you.

The way your jaw ticks, the subtle flex of the muscles in your cheek as you fight the urge to grind your teeth. Your nails chewed down to the quick, and the skin around them red and angry from nervous scratching and picking. The color of your undereyes is just a little too bright, you’re covering up something with makeup, almost certainly dark under eyes. The scar that runs along the bottom of your jaw is barely visible when you’re facing forward but he can tell it’s old, it healed long ago but everytime you look in the mirror you’re reminded of whatever it was that gave it to you. Oddly enough, the culmination of all of this is enough to finally relax him a bit. It’s what finally makes you human in his eyes.

You put on a good show.

At first glance he was entirely convinced that you were this mysterious, calculating Imperial doctor, but he can see through all of that with a closer look. You’re a survivor. You’re scared of whatever mission it is that you’re about to embark on, but you’re not the threat you try to discreetly present yourself as.

“Trust is expensive out here.” The stare of wide eyed innocence you give him makes up his mind as he holds his own hand out and accepts the credits. You visibly exhale when he does. “I just hope that with this, I’ve earned yours.”

The nod he gives you provides no promises, you’d be stupid to think that he trusts you, but at the very least you’re putting some trust in him.

And that’s enough to make him speak his first words to you. The question that’s been on his mind since he saw your listing.

“Where are we going?” He can immediately tell that how ragged his voice is from disuse is startling. He can’t seem to recall the last time he had to speak.

Politely, and anticipating this question you reach into your robes once more before producing a small slip of paper with coordinates neatly written on them.

“I don’t know the name of the planet, it’s old and I haven’t been able to find many records of an official title.” He’s quickly realizing that you speak like you rehearsed this all, it’s an odd, robotic, tone. It makes him want to ask more but he knows that he probably wouldn’t like any answer you gave him, the way you speak unsettles him. Instead of dwelling he tries to map out in his mind how long the trip will be from here to this mystery planet based on the coordinates.

“Should be about two days of travel, is there anything else you need before we leave?” He has rations set aside for the two of you but with the possible end date of this job being ambiguous it’s troubling to think that all you have is one bag. “I have enough rations stored away for four weeks worth of travel, with four days total in round trip travel time I’d advise you to make sure you’re properly equipped.” You aren’t looking at him anymore, instead your eyes wander and begin to study the ship around you.

“I have everything we’ll need.” He watches as your temperature rises, just a degree or two, wondering if it’s your nerves that are causing this reaction. “I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

There’s no reason to draw this out any longer than necessary, with his pockets weighed down with his payment he makes a beeline for the bay door panel, with a deafening groan the steel doors slide shut. Ignoring the feeling of your eyes on him he pushes a series of buttons, ensuring a proper seal on the airlock. No going back now.

“Shall I join you in the cockpit? Perhaps I could properly brief you on the mission and we could exchange pleasantries.” You give him a polite smile but he shakes his head. The last thing he wants right now is more conversation with you.

“Get some sleep, it’s gonna be a long trip.” He tries to control his tone, attempting a cordial manner of speaking.

He can’t get to the cockpit quickly enough. Careful to lock the hatch behind him he starts to set the course. It’s a fifty hour trip there, fifty hours until the unknown. Setting the ship for an auto pilot trip he leans back in his chair, taking deep breaths until the blinking light on the control panel breaks him out of his silent meditation.

The ship's motion detectors.

He’s never used the security system, he’d had it installed as a sort of baby monitor for the kid but he’d never needed it. He so rarely has anyone on the ship to monitor.

He fiddles with the controls briefly until the monitor to his left hums to life with the grainy image of you, standing alone right where he left you.

As you look around the room, taking your time to note everything around you he finds himself fascinated by the sight of you. Being able to watch you from the outside makes you much more interesting.

When you finally move it isn’t too rushed to your chambers.

Instead you move slowly, drinking in the space. You lift your hand and your robe flows like water around you, and you touch the closest wall. Pacing, circling the room you brush your hand up against everything, not searching or scheming, just feeling. Mapping out the space. You pause in front of one of the many supply lockers crammed in against the interior wiring of the ship, tilting your head as if you’re listening for something. A small, private smile tugging at the corners of your mouth before you move on.

His gloved hands flip through the switches, cycling through the different feeds until you’re back on the screen, stepping lightly into a cargo hold.

You’re so careful. You don’t pry or rummage through his things, instead you just do a lap around the room, fingertips dragging along the seams of the walls that conceal panels, the cold steel of storage crates.

You linger over things like the emergency oxygen masks and the first aid kits, like you’re memorizing their placements. Everything in the room feels your featherlight touch as you slowly trace every edge and curve. He feels like he watches you move from room to room for hours until you finally make your way into your quarters. Instinctively he changes the feed again only to be met with static. A frown forming on his face until he realizes why.

When he’d purchased the ship he had to calibrate the system to his liking, and he’d marked any rooms used as sleeping quarters as private. He didn’t normally have guests on the ship but he wasn’t a creep. His thumb hovers over the manual toggle anyway, and a thought crosses his mind.

He shouldn’t be watching you, you clearly have no ill intentions. It would be wrong to keep watching.

But you’re wearing all those layered robes.

A concealed weapon isn’t just a possibility, it’s smart. And with your intelligence it should be expected.

And of course he hadn’t searched you upon boarding, you’re a paying customer, it would have been rude and might have lost him the job.

He flexes his hand.

Something about you was off, even the listing had been strange. The wise decision here would be to make sure that everything appears typical. His mind argues back and forth with itself as he tries to justify this, eventually his curiosity gets the best of him.

Just until you’re done changing, he tells himself. Just to be sure.

The feed cuts to an unblurred view of your room.

For a moment you just dig through your bag, and his jaw tightens. You pull out a few notebooks and pens, tossing them onto the cot. Your movements are so much more fluid now, without rush, more natural looking than you’d been in front of him.

Standing with your back to the camera your fingers find the ties at your waist, loosening them, the fabric falls off your shoulders. Slowly and methodically you slip off each layer, catching them before they hit the floor, and folding them neatly. It’s a long and arduous process as you go layer by layer until you’ve got a stack on your dresser and you clasp your hands together, finished.

Now revealed is a thin underlayer, a close fitted tunic and pants that end just above your knees. Clothes meant for sleeping, nothing else. Tight enough to make it obvious that you’re concealing nothing.

He tells himself again that this is all just a precaution

His throat feels terribly dry.

He should turn it off. But he can’t.

Reaching up, you undo your hair, arching yourself back in a stretch that makes his entire justification for watching you suddenly feel twisted and dirty.

There are no weapons. Nothing hidden.

Nothing but you.

And then, you froze in place.

Halfway through a groan of relief as you stretch, you turn towards the wall.

Head tilting up until your gaze is facing the camera.

Not just towards it, right at it.

Your eyes are calm, not accusatory, not shocked.

That somehow makes him feel worse. A bead of sweat sliding down his forehead and over the bridge of his nose.

And you tilt your head to the side, just a smidge. Like you’re staring right at him. Like you’re the one observing him.

He cuts the feed.

Turning the monitor off entirely as the cockpit goes silent and he’s staring at his own reflection in the now blank screen. Helmeted, emotionless, guiltless.

He certainly doesn’t feel that way, as shame is starting to set in like cement in his chest.

Leaning back in his chair he exhales slowly.

He certainly isn’t going to sleep soundly tonight.

⊹₊⟡⋆

The familiar scent of the motel room fills your head as you rush back in, slamming the door shut behind you with a panicked breath, scrambling for the lock before relaxing.

It’s a shitty place to stay, with even shittier neighbors. Your research is too important to be kept here, you know that, but you don’t have any other choice. This was and continues to be the cheapest option. Just as you’re setting your bag down your tablet across the room chimes. For the last three months you’ve felt your heart race at the sound of that notification dozens of times, only to immediately be disappointed. Tonight is no different. Your breath quickens immediately, almost to the point of hyperventilation as you dart across the room, kneeling in front of the bed as you type your password into the device.

[ YOU HAVE : 1 NEW APPLICATION - WOULD YOU LIKE TO REVIEW IT? ]

Out of habit you’re tapping the space where the “yes” icon is going to appear before it’s even there. The screen changes to the applicants guild code, but that’s not the information you’re after, your eyes skip over it the redacted information portion, you’ve already put a system in place that reveals it and you desperately search for the one word you’ve been waiting for.

And for the first time since you put out this damn listing, you find it.

Mandalorian

It feels like your heart stops, you know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but this could be the one.

Male, 40 years of age, (estimate) combat capable, well experienced, specialties in location and extraction of bounties, Mandalorian, solo operation.

He fits all the parameters, even if they’re vague. It isn’t a guarantee that he’s the one you’ve been waiting for but you don’t even think about it as you type in your response, signing it with the name you were given during your time serving the Empire.

Dr. Thorne

You hurriedly pack everything you can into your bag before laying down, heart racing, the moment you get a response you’ll be checking out of this hell hole. If the guild member arrives and isn’t the Mandalorian in full silver with a mudhorn signet on his pauldron you’ll just turn around and try again.

…

In the morning you have an estimated arrival time and it’s all finally coming together. You tell yourself over and over again to not get ahead of yourself. It’s more than likely that you’ll be checking back into hotel hell tonight.

There’s nothing left to do at this point but wait. So that’s exactly what you do, you sit by the small window and wait for the sun to set, your eyes locked onto the clock on your tablet. Until finally, a little after ten o’clock there’s another notification chime and you know he’ll be landing soon.

You dress yourself in the only nice clothes you have left, your robes, and travel to what you know to be an abandoned space port. Pulling your cloak more tightly around yourself as the cold settles into your bones. You aren’t standing in the dark for long, soon enough there's a rush of hot air as a ship materializes out of the darkness, landing directly in front of you. You’re absolutely wired at this point. It feels like there’s an electric current running under your skin as a loud hiss fills the quiet air around you and a large ramp lowers itself to the ground and you can see the soft golden light within.

You’re too fired up to wait for it to hit the ground, careful not to lose your balance you hoist yourself up. Taking in the sights of the ship, forcing a smile, preparing yourself for the wave of defeat that will wash over you when you see him.

And then you do.

And he sees you.

And the weight of the world is lifted off your shoulders.

Your brain stops working but thankfully your mouth doesn’t, you’re on auto-pilot, introducing yourself, shaking his hand, greeting him.

Him.

Standing before you just as you’d dreamed. In a full suit of silver armour, the signature Mandalorian helmet adorns his head. He’s taller than you thought he’d be, more menacing. You aren’t scared of him though, you couldn’t be. Your eyes drift to his shoulder, the mughorn symbol visible from where you’re standing.

You finally manage to shake off the sense of awe and ask him where your chambers are and he scoffs, how odd. He nods to an open room to your left and you drag the bag carrying your entire life over, tossing it in. It’s a palace compared to the types of places you’ve been living in. It’s clean. It’s safe.

He doesn’t seem to want to talk to you yet, that’s fine, he needs to warm up to you. You just need to get him to accept the payment and then there’s no going back. You grab the credits, the precious compensation that’s going to be your salvation and hold it out towards him. When he doesn’t react, panic starts to rise like bile in your throat.

He’s just staring at you.

Suddenly you’re terrified.

Terrified that he’s changed his mind.

Terrified that he’ll want to negotiate for more money, something that you can’t afford.

Terrified that you’ve said something that’s convinced him that this isn’t going to work.

And most of all, you're terrified that he sees right through you.

That he can see this facade you’re putting on solely for his benefit, this image of a weak and helpless girl, desperately in need of help. You’ve worked too hard to look broken, like a damsel in distress, you’ll be damned if this crumbles now.

“Trust is expensive out here.” The words tumble out of you before you can stop them. Stupid! He just needs a little time, if you keep pushing him you risk losing everything before you’ve even begun.

Your heart flutters as he closes his hand around the bag.

Of course he accepted. He’s going to protect you now, you knew he was the one.

“I just hope that with this, I’ve earned yours.” You give him a much more relaxed smile. Of course he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s perfect. None of this would work if he trusted you immediately. It needs to be slow, gradual, and earned. It needs to be real. And with what likely awaits you at the station you know you will need that trust soon.

You know you shouldn’t push it, you should go to bed now and leave him to his work but you want him to trust you now, you want him to be everything you know he can be.

But he doesn’t want that.

He isn’t ready.

He tells you to get some sleep but you aren’t tired, how can you be expected to sleep at a time like this? You don’t argue though, and you don’t follow him when he retires to the cockpit. You know you likely won’t see him until you land so you familiarize yourself with the ship.

Taking deep breaths to ground yourself.

You can’t remember the last time you felt at ease like you do now.

You’ve spent the last decade in and out of highly hazardous working conditions, and then for a few years after that, you were in and out of the worst hotels in Coruscant. Always running from the thing that just won’t leave you be.

It’s a breath of fresh air to enter your chambers and know that you can sleep soundly tonight.

Careful not to wrinkle your only presentable clothing, you fold it all neatly, setting it aside for the days to follow. You’re ready to get into bed when the hair on the back of your neck stands up mid stretch. The all too familiar feeling of being watched.

That can’t be right, not here, not now.

Nothing should have been able to follow you here, turning and scanning the walls of your room you don’t see any obvious signs of danger.

A patch of discolored paint in the corner catches your eye. It vaguely resembles a shadow and your blood runs cold, ever so slowly you tilt your head, trying to see if it’s a trick of the light. Slowly, the feeling of being surveilled eases. It’s just paint, dark patches of paint.

It’s normal to be nervous. That’s what you tell yourself.

Good things don’t happen to you.

They never have.

You deserve to enjoy this fleeting sense of peace, for however long it lasts.

After messing around with the buttons near the door you manage to turn the lights off. Leaving you in complete and total darkness as you slide under the wool blanket that’s been left on your cot.

You have no control over the smile that creeps across your face as you deeply inhale the air on the ship, allowing yourself to savor it.

Oil, iron, gunpowder, sweat.

With the lights off and your vision completely obscured, your other senses are enhanced. You don’t just smell his sweat, you taste it. The distinct and metallic tang. Him.

A combination of flesh, and leather, and something deeper, something so uniquely him. So familiar.

Something that lit up that sharp and all consuming fire inside you. It started as a quiet hunger but has been growing for days, for weeks, for years.

You feel your pulse quicken and fight to keep your breathing steady. How are you supposed to maintain your composure when you aren’t afraid? When was the last time you didn’t feel a constant underlying sense of dread? Unable to contain yourself any longer, you whisper into the silence of your cabin. The name that you’ve been repeating in your head for ages.

“Din Djarin.”

The name that has lived only in your mind reverberates around the small space, as if the galaxy itself was whispering it to you. You’d never spoken it aloud before now. You’d been saving it for a special occasion, it had taken time to learn it, patience, a deep dive into records, and rumors. It had taken quite some time but it hadn’t been hard. Not for someone who knew where to look, not for someone who was meant to know it, not for you.

You’ve spent nearly a year on his trail, your studies, your life's work, they'd all lead to this moment. To him.

You don’t have to be afraid anymore.

He’s real, he’s here. You can feel his presence here, taste him, smell him, feel him. All of him, as he fills the space, you bury your face in the blanket and deeply inhale. The stress and the panic that have been building in your chest for Maker knows how long, starts to melt away bit by tortuous bit.

You found him.

And he’s going to save you.

a/n : I'm super super rusty so if this is bad let's blame it on that and hope it gets better lol, love y'all and thank you for reading if you made it this far <3

follow @lincolndjarinnotifs for updates!!

#lincolndjarin #hollow star fic #the mandalorian #the mandaloria/reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin #slowish burn #eventual smut #strangers to lovers

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lucatielle · 3 months ago

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Ezra Bridger Practice | Scene Redraws (Star Wars Rebels)

Since I've been drawing Ezra quite often lately (and definitely will continue to), I've tried redrawing some scenes directly from the show (Star Wars: Rebels) in my art style to get a better feel for him. So I decided to turn those sketches into a more or less proper character reference sheet.

It still needs a bit more practice, but I think I'm slowly getting there.

PS: Chapter 6 of A Sith Out of Time has been up on AO3 since yesterday 👉 Link here

In this chapter, tensions rise as Nix struggles to find her place among the Ghost crew, and Ezra starts to feel the weight of expectations—and his own frustration. As they both face questions about trust, power, and belonging, their connection quietly deepens. Nixelle (Nix) is young Sith Lord from the Old Republic era, awakens in Ezra’s time after thousands of years frozen in carbonite.

#art #illustration #fanart #fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanart #artists on tumblr #star wars rebels #ezra bridger #sw fanart #star wars rebels fanart #star wars rebels fanfic #star wars art #ao3 fanfic #fanfic

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observingfantasy · 4 months ago

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The Price of Deceit

~ Shadow Milk Cookie redemption fic

Okay sooooo, ever since I saw this fanart from @frenchiefieart the brainworms refused to let me be. Questions like 'How did it come to this?' and 'What might happen after?' kept me from sleeping, so I wrote a one-shot. Which then kinda escalated...

I'm unsure about publishing my work in general, but I put far too much effort into that first chapter, and it still kinda works as a one-shot, so... here we go.🤷🏻‍♀️

Please go look at frienchiefie's absolutely gorgeous piece of art before reading. The first three lines of dialog are entirely stolen from her artwork, and the visual context really helps with the immersion. (@frenchiefieart if this kind of usage is not okay with you, please let me know and I'll change it. I never wanted to steel your ideas in any way.)

Chapter 1: Desparation

Summary: Shadow Milk learns what happens when you push the most kind-hearted cookie too far.

Read on AO3

"Nilly, please, don't let them do this."

No reaction.

"You love all cookies, right? A-and we spent some time together. It wasn't all bad… was it?"

Still nothing.

"Pure Vanilla, please, look at me. I-I can't go back there. I'm not ready to disappear."

Shadow Milk was just straight-up begging at this point—he had no other options left. He was aching all over, bleeding from multiple wounds—the worst of which was unfortunately on his head, dripping blood into his eyes and making thinking more difficult than it really had to be.

"How dare you speak to him like that! Like he hasn’t already given you more chances than you ever deserved! Like you didn’t spit in his face again and again! Like you didn’t twist his kindness just to break his heart!"

Ohh, she was furious—the Guardian of the Silver Tree. Protective of her best friend and still mad at him for killing Elder Fairy. Time had done nothing to dull her fury, not through the long, chaotic years of war that followed.

Shadow Milk would be embarrassed later—about the way he flinched at every word, how he scrambled backward despite the sharp ache in his limbs. But right now, all that mattered was putting as much space as possible between himself and the cookie he probably feared the most.

He couldn't go back into that tree. He couldn't.

He would survive it—he always did. The Beasts were immortal, their magic living on even when their bodies perished. But what would be left of his mind after another century in isolation? After a millennium? An eternity?

He didn't want to find out.

But the choice wasn’t his to make. The heroes were closing in, their weapons still raised, their expressions grim.

"Please, I..."

He was still looking at his counterpart, still trying to get the other to just look at him. With his own eyes or with his staff, Shadow Milk would take whatever he could get at this point. But Pure Vanilla kept his eyes resolutely closed, both his staff and his body half-turned away from his beaten foe. Yet as long as he didn't turn away fully, there still was a chance. There had to be.

Despite what everyone might think now, Shadow Milk was well aware that he didn't deserve mercy. Or another chance. And especially not forgiveness. But Pure Vanilla knew that—and had offered him a hand over and over anyway.

Once, Shadow Milk had taken it. He had pretended, smiled, played along—a game of keeping just enough truth in his words to make his lies believable. And all the while, he had spread his influence in the shadows. With the help of his faithful minions, he had worked to crumble the very foundation of the Vanilla Republic, his counterpart had built atop the ruins of his kingdom.

And Pure Vanilla had known.

Not everything. Not the full extent. But he had seen the cracks forming, had watched as trust faltered. Had looked at Shadow Milk and saw all the lies tangled between the truths.

And still, he had reached out. Had tried to show Shadow Milk there was another way.

And the jester, oblivious to just how much Pure Vanilla really knew, had kept going. Let the rumors fester, let small wounds deepen into permanent scars. Had whispered into uncertain ears, let doubt take root where it hurt the most—between friends, between families, between those who had always stood side by side. And by the time Pure Vanilla finally acted, the damage had already been done. Friendships shattered. Councils divided. Some wounds only emotional—some far worse.

And when Pure Vanilla finally confronted him about all that, and Shadow Milk learned that the other had known but waited—had held onto the hope that there could be a peaceful solution—the jester had laughed. At his own stupidity and Vanilla's alike. Until he saw the look in his counterpart's eyes.

Betrayal, disappointment, and hurt, morphing into something harder. A determination so cold he never would have thought the compassionate healer capable of it.

That look had never left Shadow Milk’s mind since. Even now, after years of war, it surfaced in the quiet moments, in every retreat that followed, in the hollow ache he refused to name. Because that had been the last time Pure Vanilla had reached out his hand.

And now, as Shadow Milk cowered before him once more, he knew there would be no hand this time. No warmth. No kindness. Only that cold determination and resentment, where once had been hope.

"Nilla… Nilla, please... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry…"

He choked out between sobs he couldn't hold back any longer, as Pure Vanilla showed no signs of hearing him at all, while the other heroes were slowly closing in.

"White Lily, let's get this over with," Dark Cacao said with a finality that made his heart race.

He was running out of time. He couldn't stop himself from slowly scrambling away further, nor could he repress the absolutely pathetic whimper that tore from his throat. He was hyperventilating so badly he couldn't even form the words to try and convince them to stop. To give him another chance. To do anything but this...

Not that they would listen anyway. That was always the problem of the liars—no one believed them when they were telling the truth. But right now he just had to make them believe—somehow.

With his back against a wall and no escape, his desperate gaze fell onto Pure Vanilla once again. And when the ancient Light of Truth slightly turned his staff to look at him one last time, the former Virtue of Knowledge had one last, absolutely desperate idea.

"Wait! Please!"

When everyone paused for a heartbeat, Shadow Milk seized the moment to tear the Soul Jam of Deceit from his chest and extend it towards his other half.

Everyone froze. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard in the giant arena—where the fight between the last Beast and the heroes had taken place—was Shadow Milk Cookie's heavy breathing.

Well, at least he still knew how to capture an audience.

Shadow definitely had Vanilla’s attention now.

"What…?"

The question was soft, incredulous. Shadow Milk couldn’t blame him. He could barely believe it himself. His hand trembled, the weight of his Soul Jam unbearable in his palm.

"T-Take it."

His voice was shaking even worse than his hand. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, but his throat felt tight and his breathing was labored.

"Do…" He hesitated, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat. "Do w-whatever you need to… do with it."

Crack it, break it, disintegrate it—anything but this.

"But please, don’t…" He choked on his own horror again, but forced himself to finish the damn sentence before it swallowed him whole.

"Don’t seal me away again. Please."

Silent tears were uncontrollably falling down his face at this point, as he waited for Pure Vanilla to please just accept his offer. It was the only thing he had left.

The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain. And Shadow Milk realized he wasn’t the only one waiting. None of the other heroes moved to take the Soul Jam. Instead, they stood frozen, their gazes shifting between him and Pure Vanilla—some uncertain, some shocked, others expectant.

Finally, Pure Vanilla’s hesitation hardened into something like grim resolve. His jaw tightened. His shoulders squared. Then, without a word, he stepped forward and took the Soul Jam from Shadow Milk’s trembling hands.

It took every ounce of willpower not to recoil, not to clutch his most precious possession to his chest like a lifeline.

There was something dark in Pure Vanilla’s gaze—something final. Whatever fleeting hope Shadow Milk might have clung to shattered the moment their eyes met. And yet… behind the cold determination, there was regret. An apology. For what?

"I'm sorry. I wish it wouldn't have had to come to this."

Then, without another moment for Shadow to comprehend what the hero was going to do, bright shards of light pierced his Soul Jam of Deceit and Darkness, shattering it in an instant.

It was pain unlike anything Shadow Milk had ever known. Worse than when the witches had originally split his Soul Jam in two. Back then, they had cleanly sliced away the part that he had been rejecting anyway. Now, Pure Vanilla's light mercilessly carved into the deepest, darkest part of his soul and watched his everything shatter into a million pieces.

The pain was blinding, suffocating, all-consuming. He hoped desperately that he had been mistaken—that he wouldn’t survive this. That maybe his soul was so inextricably bound to that gem that its shattering meant true annihilation. Death would be mercy. No matter what kind of punishment awaited him in the afterlife, it couldn't be worse than this.

When the light finally retreated, the pain faded—slowly, agonizingly. Which probably meant that he was still alive. That was the only realization Shadow Milk could grasp right now. His body still ached all over—worse than before. His very essence had been ripped apart. Shredded. He couldn’t feel anything but pain. Couldn't hear, see, or smell anything at all.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. Maybe he was? He couldn’t tell.

Then, there were hands. Touching him. It hurt. Moving him. That hurt even worse.

Wasn't he suffering enough? (No.) Did they really have to keep hurting him? (Yes. He deserved it. He would finally get what he deserved.)

His body had nothing left to give.

The last thing Shadow Milk felt was a hand on his forehead before everything dissolved into sweet oblivion, and he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.

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strawberrykidneystone · 2 months ago

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oh baby

din djarin x babysitter!fem!reader

summary: when you were recommended as a babysitter by peli, you had no idea that your old military skills would come in handy

a/n: just found out kylo ren has the side vents on his lightsaber bc he didn't bleed his kyber crystal correctly what a loser

tags: canon violence, fluff, comfort, yearning, mutual pining, tension over helping a wound, keldabe kiss, sleeping together, cuddling

ao3 version

grogu had been in your care while the mandalorian went on his missions for a few months now.

he was very cute, very food-driven, and was actually pretty quiet for a child his cognitive age, at least compared to a human one. thankfully, very easy to please as well.

you smiled fondly at the little green alien and handed him another blue cookie as part of his dessert for the night. din hadn’t returned yet, but you weren’t too worried as he said this particular mission could take all day.

then your comm sprang to life.

“i’m coming in hot, lower the bridge,” din said in a slightly hurried voice that wasn’t his usual vibrato, slightly gravely over the long-distance comm.

you scrambled up and grabbed your transponder, holding it up to your mouth to respond, “heard, i’ll make the preparations.”

turning to grogu, who looked up at you curiously from his seat next to the pilot chair, “stay there, don’t move.” he cooed in response and you nodded in affirmation, knowing to keep an eye out since he would probably wander down the razor crest anyway.

pressing the button that lowered the bridge, you grabbed the missle launcher that was stashed near the opening for scenarios just like this.

you walked down the bridge and took a knee with the heavy gun perched on your shoulder, looking through the scope in front of you. din was on a speeder with two stormtroopers on his flank, very closely gaining on him. as he saw you, he pressed forward even further, trying to create as much space between himself and the enemy as he could.

once the trackers had locked onto the troopers, you braced yourself for the kickback from the gun as you fired the missiles off. the two spiraled through the air and parted at the last minute, directly hitting the two speeders that were trailing din.

ah, this brought you back to your old military academy days. basically firing anything you could get your hands on, making you extremely versatile, but the missile launcher has always been a favorite of yours. shortly after graduating, you had been drafted into the empire and dodged it by hiding out in tattoine. in the next year, the death star was destroyed and the republic took over the galaxy again. even though you had only been drafted, you would still have to go through all the anti-imperialist training that you didn’t feel like doing, so you had just been a freelancer for a while, which is how you eventually ended up with mando thanks to a recommendation by peli.

it wasn’t exactly how you expected your life to go, but hey at least it wasn’t boring.

din swerved the speeder to a stop at the entrance of the razor crest just as you got up for your kneeling position, blowing the smoke off the top of the gun for good measure.

“nice shot,” din praised with a familiar hint of fondness in his voice that you could barely make out through his speaker.

“i always am,” you quipped with a smirk as you rested the missile launched across the back of your shoulders while you walked back up the bridge.

normally, he would’ve complained about your use of the missile launcher since a sniper would’ve worked far better, not to mention not having him near an explosion; but seeing you so happy to use it, and use it well, made him bite his tongue.

din abandoned the stolen speeder at the base of the ship without another thought, distracted by the sway of your hips as you sauntered up the incline. he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t keep his eye off of you which made him more grateful than ever for his shielded visor.

grogu was waiting to the two of you at the top of the ramp, cooing nonsensically with yet another cookie in his hand. you tutted in disapproval, setting the launcher back in its case before putting your hands on your hips while you looked down at the little foundling, “what have i said not about too much sugar before bed my little womprat?”

grogu looked up at you innocently, but babbled something in defense as you picked him up in your arms and walked back into the ship. little did you know, he used the force to get yet another cookie as you held him against your chest.

din couldn’t help the soft smile on his lips as he watched the two of you interact, a warm feeling tugging at his heartstrings. ever since you joined their little crew, things have felt substantially lighter. you were reliable and it was clear you truly cared about grogu as more than just a job. something about you was grounding to him and it gave him something to look forward to come back to, gave him another reason to keep going along with the little one.

there was also something in the quiet moments you had together: the two of you chatting in the cockpit during the long days of traveling, how you respected his religion and left the room whenever it was time to eat, when he would fall asleep in his captain’s chair and would find a blanket over his shoulders, your hands brushing against each other as you passed grogu between you two, the way you looked into his visor like you were looking straight into his soul. he didn’t need to take his helmet off to feel completely naked under your gaze.

he was pulled out of his thoughts as you told him you were putting grogu to bed, which he acknowledged with a silent nod. you took grogu down to the deck and tucked him into his little hammock, singing him a sweet lullaby as his big eyes shut for the day while din went to the cockpit.

din’s leg bounced impatiently as he waited for you to put the child to bed, you always came up for a debrief after he had been away. you were just as antsy to talk to him, but still took your time to properly lull grogu into a deep sleep. once his eyes were closed and he let out little snores, you glanced over din’s bed. whenever you woke up early, you’d find the two of them sleeping with grogu tucked under his chin. you couldn’t help but envy the little child, but quickly shook the thought out of your head. you tidied up his bed and tucked his blankets into their proper place before closing the door for the night.

climbing back up, you opened the door to the cockpit and took your place in the copilot chair. din’s leg stopped bouncing as soon as you opened the door, the bright lights of hyperspace reflected off of this polished helmet.

“so, what was it this time din?”

he grunted and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he went over the day in his mind.

“thought i was doing a regular supply run, but the boxes were filled with spice. turns out the client was a valuable asset to the empire they didn’t like losing.”

you knew he was being intentionally vague, all that really mattered at the end of the day was that he got the job done. he spared you as many of the details as possible, but you knew what he was truly capable of and it didn’t take an expert to read between the lines. he was good at what he did and he was efficient at it, point blank period. plus, you didn’t mind taking out a few bucket heads every now and then.

“any injuries?” you asked softly, looking him over as much as you could from your obstructed view.

he didn’t say anything and instead turned his chair to you, a blaster fire injury on the inside of his left bicep. you furrowed your brows, looking at the irritated wound and the rip in his sleeve. scooting forward until your knees were almost touching, you took his bicep in your hands and inspected the gash.

“doesn’t look too deep, superficial at best. i’ll get the banta spray, but you need to take your shirt off so i can clean it and mend your clothes.”

he nodded silently, trying to ignore how safe your touch made him feel. you quickly exited the room to give him ample time to remove everything he needed to.

you couldn’t help the flush of your cheeks at the thought of seeing him shirtless as you looked for the first aid kit. it wouldn’t be the first time and you prayed it wouldn’t be the last time either.

was it wrong to hope someone got hurt to have the rare chance of skin-to-skin contact with them?

maker, you sounded demented.

finally finding the spray and the disinfectant wipes, you made your way back to the door to the cockpit. you paused and waited a bit longer, knocking at the door to make sure he was ready.

“come in,” his still distorted voice responded. you took a deep breath to steady yourself and opened the door.

din sat at the captain’s chair with his legs slightly spread, his upper body bare to you with his helmet still covering his head. his chest was covered with wirey hair that was surprisingly neatly trimmed. his skin was littered with scars that all had their own stories that you hoped to hear about one day, not just the vague details. you walked over to the side of his injured arm and took a knee, taking one of the wipes out of its container.

“this may sting a bit, sorry in advance,” you said softly, looking up at him to make sure he was prepared. he nodded to you and slightly winced when the wipe made contact, but didn’t move otherwise. once the laceration was clean, you blew air on the wound to try and quell the sting you knew he was feeling, even if he didn’t show it.

his whole body was tense, but not from the string of the disinfectant. he wasn’t used to you being this close, or anyone for that matter, being this close to him. sure, he held grogu every one in a while, but that was different from this. it was different because it was you. and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know what the kriff to do. it’s like when you touch him, his brain just went blank.

you could feel his eyes on you even if you couldn’t see them, observing every move you made. it was sweet really, how he watched you as if he was always waiting for the right time to say something, but never finding it.

once the gash was dry, you shook the bacta spray a few times for good measure. you sprayed the wound with a thick layer of bacta, covering the area with a cushiony bandage. when your hands left his skin he couldn’t help but miss the warmth of your touch, an ache for you to hold him as you did with the foundling.

each passing day the ache seemed to grow, only getting relief in your presence with the fire burning brighter in his chest with your absence.

din knew what this feeling was, even if he could barely admit it to himself. he was in love with you. everything about you. your witty banter, your beautiful smile, the way your eyes gleamed when the sun hit them just right, your kindness and perseverance in the face of adversity.

but he couldn’t subject you to that, even if his day dreams consisted of the three of you settled down on a bantha farm.

oblivious to his inter turmoil behind his helmet, you made sure that all sides of the bandage were stuck securely onto his skin with no stay air bubbles by pressing your fingers gently along the edges.

din caught your wrist before you pulled it away, confusion clear on your face as you looked into the shaded vision that hid his deep brown eyes. he guided your hand away from his arm and placed it over his heart. you looked at where your hand rested, suddenly aware that you could feel his heart racing against his chest similarly to your own.

that’s when it dawned on you.

a bashful smile tugged on your lips as your cheeks warmed. you took his other hand in yours and pressed his hand over your heart, climbing into the copilot chair to sit across from him without removing his hand from from skin. surely he could feel your heart practically leaping out of your chest as the simple touch of his bare skin.

din gathered up your hands in his and cupped them in their warmth. you could feel his eyes looking into yours as he softly squeezed your hands, tentatively leaning his head forward. your breath hitched as the cold metal of his helmet made contact with your warm forehead. shutting your eyes, you tilted your head at an angle to match his and settled into the closeness the two of you shared with only the hum of hyperspace in the background.

breathing in deeply, you pulled your head back from his with an amused smile as you saw the warmth from your skin had caused his visor to slightly fogged up. when the haze in his visor cleared, your hands brought his knuckles up to your mouth where you softly pressed your lips against the calloused bumps.

at that moment, din had never been more grateful for his helmet as his cheeks turned a bright red at the simple gesture that both of you knew deep down meant more than was said aloud.

you had done your fair share of research on mandalorians since joining his crew and you knew the significance of him pressing his forehead against yours, along with your return of affection.

"will you join me in my bed tonight cyare?" he asked in a soft voice that thankfully you could hear the tone of through his direct speaker.

you quietly nodded in response and let him lead you by his hand to his bunk, the two of you naturally climbing into the cramped space and fitting in together like two puzzle pieces.

once the lights were turned off and darkness swallowed up the room along with your vision, you heard the hiss of the pressure of his helmet release. you heard a clunk behind you as din set the headgear onto the shelf, followed by him tucking your head into the crook of his neck with his chin resting on top of your scalp. relaxing in his hold, you couldn't remember the last time you had ever fell asleep so quickly, a sense of safety in his arms. din wasn't far behind, soothingly running a hand up and down your back as he let himself drift off to the sound of your slowed breaths.

there were so many questions left unanswered between the two of you, but for now, you rested in the sanctity of each others presence.

a/n: me writing this⬇️

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x fem reader #din djarin x babysitter reader #grogu #I LOVE GROGU #din djarin fluff #keldabe kiss #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fan fiction #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin comfort #strawberrykidneystone #strawberrykidneystonewrites #din djarin x female reader

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