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iron-strangers · 7 months ago

Text

Aliit

Summary: Din is raising a strong Mandalorian clan, so naturally, he's encouraging his aliit to have a Nerf war at six in the morning.

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Kid Fic, Good Parent Din Djarin, Domestic Fluff, Mand’alor Din Djarin

CW: Breastfeeding, No use of Y/N

Length: 1.3k

A/N: I'm trying to cross-post my fic from AO3 to tumblr. This fic is a part of an ongoing series, posted on AO3.

Read this on AO3 : Aliit

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

There's a flurry of little feet running across the wooden floor, pulling you out from your meditation, followed by a thrill of little laughter. The force feels oh so light, the force feels giddy. You crack one eye open, smiling when you see a tiny head behind a wall, immediately sneaking back when he is spotted.

“Buir, we've been covered!” Aranar gasps loudly, then he claps his hand on his lips when his buir shushes him.

“Go, go, attack!” Din rushes him, pushing his son from behind. The boy runs, shooting you and Grogu with a toy blaster, a model Galar 15 Carbine. Yellow plasti bullets flew across the room, hitting Grogu's little arm, distracting the child from his meditation with a shriek. Din smirks, loading his rotary blaster model and shoots a round of toy bullets, hitting you on your arm. Your riduur is unhelmeted and you can see the boyish grin on his face, looking younger as all the stress from ruling a system melts when he's surrounded by his clan.

“Ouch- hey, watch it, no hitting the kid!” You hiss, pick the child up, moving him to your lap. Grogu thrills happily, holding the rain of toy bullets in the air and sending them back to his buir. “Good job, ad'ika!” You beam, kissing his green forehead.

Aranar laughs, ducking behind Din's leg for cover, loading the yellow bullets back to his blaster. He aims from behind his buir and the wind from the bolt blows your hair.

“Excellent aim, Ar'ika!” Din praises, offering the boy a high five. Aranar happily claps his buir's hand and Din loads his blaster, charging it with a few leftover toy bullets before shooting at you with precision, setting an example to his son. “Try deflecting this, cyar’ika!”

You yelp, huddling with Grogu, putting a little toy whistling bird around his fist and shielding him until the plasti bullet rain stops, then you stand up, carrying Grogu on your hip while pulling another plasti blaster that you know they stashed under the couch with the force. The model Westar blaster flies to your hand and you shoot your riduur right on his unarmored tummy twice and to his bicep and chest. Grogu sends his toy ammo towards his vod'ika, hitting Aranar's little calf and thighs, sending another flurry of bullets flying across the room.

“Ow, fall back, Ar'ika, fall back!” Din grabs his son by his middle, carrying him back into hiding. “I will get you back, momma!” Aranar shrieks with laughter, going limp on his buir's arm. Din carries him all the way to the kids’ bedroom, hiding with the boy behind his blanket fort, both are stalking you while loading their blasters back with toy bullets.

“Where's ner Ar'ika?” You pretend to search him, ignoring the wriggly lump underneath the blanket, trying your hardest to not laugh whenever you hear a rustle from behind the blanket. “Oh no, Grogu, your vod'ika is missing! If he's not here then we can eat all the barnaban mist-pudding and add broccoli to our bantha steak tonight-”

“Ew, momma no!! No broccoli, never ever!” Aranar cries from the pillow fort, giving away his location.

“Ar'ika, attack!” Din yells, followed by his son's giggles. Two heads pop out from behind the mountain of pillows, both sporting the same brown, unruly curls, two sets of brilliant brown eyes, and dimpled smiles. The resemblance (and the plasti bolts) knock the wind out of you. You pretend to fall onto the carpeted floor, clutching your chest and groaning.

“Momma yield?” Aranar giggles, running to sit on your tummy and you let out a soft oof, catching him with one hand by his small hips to stabilise him.

“I yield, Ven'alor,” you throw your blaster away, holding both your hands up.

“Buir, I win!” Aranar cheers, giving his buir a toothy smile. You smirk to your riduur before flipping the boy to the plush floor and starting tickling him.

“But can The Ven'alor win against the tickle monster?”

Aranar yells with laughter, clutching his tummy and smiling so widely. Din lifts a cackling Grogu to his chest, rubbing on his ear, making the child purr as his other son tries his best to wriggle free from the tickles. “Buiiiir, help me!”

“Now, Ar'ika, what's the word we use whenever we ask for something?” Din teases, making no move to help the boy from your tickles.

“Please!”

Din is about to scoop his firstborn up when he hears a piercing cry from the nursery. You stop tickling Aranar and look at your riduur sheepishly. “We woke Mirshka up,” you laugh, lifting Aranar to his feet and brushing the curls away from his eyes, kissing his chubby cheeks. You look at him with pure adoration, watching him call his little mudhorn doll with the force and go back to hugging your neck, leaning to your chest, mumbling about giving his toy to his baby sister.

“You two wanna say hi to your vod'ika?” Din asks, answered by both of his sons with a nod, taking his buir's hand and leaving for the nursery along with Grogu. You shake your head, basking in the warmth that is your little family's voice. You lift all the stray plasti bullets with the force and deposit them in their box before getting up to go join your aliit.

“Momma, Mir'ika hungry?” Aranar asks, your three-year-old son is so in tune with the force already. He can feel Grogu’s and his two-month-old baby sister’s emotions in the force and he can recognize his buir's presence even with his armor. “I gave her my mudhorn, she won't stop crying.”

You mouth a little aww to your riduur, who's currently cradling his wailing baby girl on his strong arm, his other hand holding Aranar's doll to her crying face, almost as big as her swaddle. You caress her cheek and press a soft kiss before sitting on the little feeding chair in the corner of the nursery, covering yourself with a baby blanket. Din hands Mirshka to you, helping you maneuver her into a comfortable position. You push your robes aside to let Mirshka latch to your nipple. As soon as she finds you, she begins suckling happily and her little curious hand holds onto your forefinger tight. Her big brown eyes blink owlishly, smiling up towards you.

Din helps both Aranar and Grogu to climb into the chair, squishing themself on each of your sides, cuddling close to you as you feed the baby. They lean against you and sigh, giving away both their comfort and exhaustion, letting your force presence lull them to sleep. Beaming to your riduur, you offer him your free hand, holding his hand with your free hand.

“Vor’e, cyar'ika,” Din mumbles, caressing your hand with his thumb. You hum, tilting your head to your riduur curiously. “Whatever for, my love? Shooting practice at six-thirty in the morning?”

Din still gets whiplash from the weight of your love, but as always, he holds onto you tighter and leans forward, pressing a loving, lingering kiss to your lips before bumping his head against yours in a keldabe. “For giving me this,” he gestures, an aliit, he means. The one he never thought he could have. “I'll start breakfast and I'll call you in thirty minutes?”

“You're so dreamy,” you sigh, nodding and leaning to rest your head on Aranar's curls, pressing kisses to the top of his head. Din laughs, giving you one of his rare full-body laughs where he throws his head back, his facial feature relaxes, and the corner of his eyes crinkle. You sigh again, smiling adoringly at him as he backs away, cracking the door a little bit so he can still watch his aliit from the kitchen.

His responsibility will come knocking in the form of an irate Bo-Katan Kryze in give or take two hours, demanding him to please, come and lead the court, but now he has his aliit close, happily snuggling against his riduur and Din is content.

Mando'a translation

aliit: clan

ad'ika: little one

buir: parents (gender neutral)

cyar'ika: beloved

ori'vod: older sibling

riduur: spouse

ven'alor: crown prince/princess

vor'e: thanks

vod'ika: younger sibling

kids' names meaning:

Aranar: to defend

Mirshka: Originated from the mando'a word 'Mirshko' means Courage

#expanding clan mudhorn #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x you #star wars #star wars fanfiction

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luminoustarlight · 1 year ago

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On The Edge | Din Djarin

A bounty takes you and The Mandalorian to Batuu and he reveals his true desires.

rating: explicit | pairing: din djarin x afab!reader | wc: 7.1k | read on ao3 warnings: canonical type violence, fluff, SMUT [vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, praise kink, blind folds], mutual pining

this is a repost from old blogs of mine but it is my writing <3

Wild space fascinates you. The Unknown Regions of the galaxy are just that— unknown. Black holes, supernovas, and strange phenomena are largely unexplored and still remain a mystery to most space travelers. You’ve dreamt about what it might be like to witness a burst of colorful energy, no longer wishing to be a star, but rather a spectacle to be seen.

You’ve loved the many parts of the galaxy you’ve seen, planets you often frequented, but the stars always look the same no matter where you are. Inner, Mid, or Outer Rim.

As Mando lands the Crest at one of the ports on Batuu, you know this is the closest you’ll get to being in Wild Space. You’ve read stories and heard tales of travelers who stopped on Batuu before making their journey into the unknown. You are at the edge of the galaxy and you want to explore.

Thankfully, Mando said you can take Grogu with you to the Black Spire Outpost while he is off tracking his bounty… or bounties. Batuu has largely become a backwater world full of smugglers, gamblers, and those who want to stay off the grid. Since travelers no longer need to make a stop on the planet before venturing further into space thanks to advancements in hyperspace technology, it’s been the perfect hideout. It’s a haven for those who prefer life in the shadows.

Still, trading outposts thrive with shops and popular eateries. You can’t wait to get Grogu out of the ship and stretch your legs.

You are definitely in need of some new clothes thanks to a run-in with a couple of testy loth-cats going after the Child. Speaking of Grogu, he’s in need of some actual toys. And maybe you’ll get something for The Mandalorian to remember you by if you ever met an untimely fate.

Hey, running around with a bounty hunter and a child is a dangerous business. Not to mention the bounty that was once on your head, too. Nevertheless, after nearly a year with the gruff Mandalorian and curious child, you would trade your life for theirs without an ounce of hesitance.

You like Mando more than you like to admit. He broody, you’re bubbly. He’s quiet, you’re talkative. He’s realistic, you’re a dreamer. Sometimes you feel like you’re chipping away at his Beskar wall, discovering parts of Mando he’s forgotten about himself. You never pry, you always let him lead the conversation. And actual conversations with The Mandalorian are few and far between. But when you have them, they matter more to you than he knows.

Mando stands from his chair and heads for the armory. You follow close behind, Grogu nestled in your arms. You’ve gotten quite good at descending the ladder with one hand from the amount of time you hold the Child.

“Here.” Mando shoves your WESTAR-35 pistol against you. You grab it with your free hand before he releases it to gather more weapons for his trek. You are about to say that you don’t want it, but he speaks before you do. “It’s seedy out there. And you’re taking the Kid. Just to be safe. Do you have your knife?”

You roll your eyes. If there’s anything you’ve learned about Mando that’s surprised you, it’s that he worries. A lot.

“ It’s not paranoia if you encounter untrustworthy people every day. It’s being proactive.” You remember him telling you many months ago. You think it’s sweet he wants you to be protected. Or maybe it’s more for the Kid.

“Maker, Mando. We’re just going to the shops and getting something to eat.”

“I just want you to be prepared. You’re very—” Mando stops abruptly, catching himself before he says something he wants to keep to himself. “I don’t want… someone might try to take advantage of you.”

“You know I’m too keen to let that happen. I have my wits, my weapons, and my good looks.” You place Grogu on his feet so you can conceal your pistol beneath your shirt. You check your side pocket, ensuring you have the knife Mando crafted for you. It’s a more thoughtful gift than you initially realized, but you cherish it now.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Mando mumbles, turning away from you.

What does that mean? Before you can ask, he turns back around with a pouch of credits. “This is yours to spend.” And then he hands you another. “This is for food. For you and Grogu. Save your credits.”

Your eyebrows crease together. He is being awfully generous today… perhaps it’s because he knows how long you’ve dreamt of visiting the Black Spire Outpost. Or perhaps it’s because he’s tracking three bounties and knows he’s in for a big payday when he gets all of them back to Karga.

He stares at you while you think of the reason why he’s given you so much. Then your face relaxes. Just be thankful.

“Thank you, Mando. Bright Eyes and I are gonna get a feast at Ronto Roasters, aren’t we, buddy?”

The Child quirks up at you, cooing at the thought of something carnivorous to eat.

“Just be careful,” Mando warns while the three of you descend the ramp with the Kid’s pram beside you.

“I know.”

“I’ll be gone for at least a few days. I might not return until I have acquired all three bounties.”

“Okay,” you say contentedly. It’s routine for Mando to leave for extended periods of time. Sometimes you’d go a couple of days without communication and that used to worry you, but it doesn’t anymore. After about two months of traveling with him, you two decided that if you hadn’t heard anything from him: a hello, an update, or anything after seven days, you would contact him. He also said if you ever needed anything, you could turn on the comms. Every time Mando leaves, he hopes you need something. Hopes you want to hear his voice just as much as he wants to hear yours. You never do, though.

“Mando?”

The bounty hunter twists his head in your direction. He’d been looking towards the outpost, silent and brooding. “What?”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” He bends down to pick up the Kid. “Behave, okay? Listen to your mother.”

Your heart squeezes. He can’t go around saying things like “your mother” because that would imply Mando is “his father” and that would imply that the three of you are a family. And you’re not a family. Right? What constitutes a family, anyway? Certainly not a bounty hunter and his two ex-bounties he’s decided to keep for the long haul. Now you’re the one staring at the outpost.

“I’ll…” Mando places your shared child in the pram. “Don’t have too much fun without me.”

Grogu’s ears drop, a tell-tale sign of his sadness or disappointment. He knows Mando is leaving. He looks over at you with big, sorrowful eyes.

“How could we? You’re the life of the party, Mando,” you say lightly. You get a little chuckle out of him because you both know that you’re the entertaining one. Still, you wish you could walk around the outpost together, have a meal together, and share the experience of being at the edge of the galaxy together.

But off you go in different directions, Mando’s cape whipping in the wind. You look back at him several times and he looks back at you until you and Grogu disappear into the crowd.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“What do you think about this?” You hold up a light brown shawl with a hood. The fabric is light and drapey, and it would be ideal for cooler nights on temperate planets. You’ve already purchased a heavier jacket, made with stiffer and thicker material equipped with many practical pockets from another merchant. You also got new pants to replace the ones the loth-cats tore through, as well as some flowy and airy pants for warmer weather. Mando gave you the money to spend, right? Might as well get a new wardrobe with it.

Grogu coos in approval at the shawl you are showing him and you decide to pay for this last piece of clothing and then head to the Toydarian Toymaker. Although you know Grogu will still play with anything but an actual toy, you still feel bad all he has is the metal ball from the lever in the cockpit.

“What an interesting looking child you have there,” the Trandoshan clerk comments as he takes your credits. You glance at Grogu in the pram, unsuspecting of the tone the Trandoshan spoke in. You take your shawl from the counter and take the Kid out of the egg. You hold onto him tightly as the worker stares at him. His thin tongue slips out of his mouth and licks his scales.

Not good.

“Thank you. Goodbye,” you grab the rest of your purchases and walk calmly but swiftly out of the shop. Not good, not good, not good. The pram only moves so fast, so you know it’s best to keep the Child in your arms. Your bags of new clothing weigh heavily on your shoulder as you try not to obviously run away from the Trandoshan. You look behind you to see if he’s trailing you.

Grogu giggles wildly against you, rather enjoying his excursion. “Now’s not the time, Kid. I think we’ve got trouble.”

You pass by unassuming patrons, many of them walking leisurely from store to store. “Sorry! Sorry!” You apologize to a mother when you bumped into her son. She curses at you in her native language but you’re already gone. As you round the corner to the port where the Crest is, a loud croak emerges behind you. You immediately drop your bag and whip out your pistol from behind your back.

The shopkeeper is nearing you with his blaster pointed at your face. His yellow eyes bore into you, trying to determine what your next move is. Your arm is aimed steadily at the reptilian creature, your controlled and intentional breathing calming you. There is no one else around the port and you’re not sure if that comforts or concerns you. No witnesses. No helpers, either. Not that anyone would help, anyway.

“Hand over the kid,” he sneers while stepping closer. You walk backward as he does so, not once taking your eyes off of him. Grogu’s soft ear brushes against your arm as he looks up at you.

“Over my dead body.”

“If that is what you wish…”

Blast!

Unfaltering, you fire your pistol, dead center in the Trandoshan’s chest. He drops to the ground with a heavy thud and wisps of smoke trail into the air. A wave of relief washes over you and you kiss the top of Grogu’s fuzzy head.

But then you realize it shouldn’t have been so easy. Trandoshans relish in the thrill of the hunt. That was hardly a fight and there didn’t seem to be any real sense of urgency for acquiring your child. Was he hunting Grogu as a bounty or as a snack? Both thoughts make you shiver. You place him back in his pram and close it. You cautiously walk towards the Trandoshan, still lying on the ground. You know that they are quick to heal but don’t know the full extent of their abilities. You kick his blaster out of arm's reach before standing over him and shooting him in the head. And then the chest again…

You need to be sure he’s dead and you’ve never killed a Trandoshan before. If it was overkill, so be it. You’ll do anything to protect your child.

Now you just need to figure out what to do with the body…

You grab your bag full of new clothing and open Grogu’s egg. There he is, bright-eyed and smiling at you. You feel bad you didn’t get around to buying him anything, but perhaps you’ll go back out. Or maybe that’s a bad idea. You need to talk to Mando. But you also know he’d likely come back to make sure everything was okay. And you have everything under control.

Safe in the ship, you hike up to the cockpit to get on the comms. You hope it doesn’t freak him out, since you’ve never contacted him before. What if he’s tailing his bounty? What if he is fighting them and you distract him and he ends up killed?

No, your Mandalorian is too good for that to happen. You sit down in Mando’s seat and hover your finger over the intercom button. Here it goes.

Static crackles before the airway goes clear. “M-Mando?”

“Sarad?” Mando says immediately. You let out a sigh of relief when you hear your nickname. A nickname you still don’t know the meaning of. “Are you okay? Grogu?”

You swallow. Why are you so nervous? You killed the guy, Grogu is safe, and you feel… fine? “We’re both fine. Well, I mean… not fine. We’re not hurt. It’s just that—”

“What is it,” Mando pressed, adding your name at the end.

“We were at a shop. Everything was fine until it wasn’t. A Trandoshan was taking the money and he made a comment about Grogu and it was just off. He was so creepy and his eyes looked hungry. I just grabbed my things and took off. I made it to the ship but he was already there. He said to hand over the Kid and I said ‘over my dead body,’ and I shot him. And then I shot him again. And then again. I had to make sure he was dead, you know? I don’t know if he had a fob, I didn’t hear it at all. I feel so guilty because I shopped so much and I didn’t get anything for Grogu so I thought maybe we’d go back out but is that a bad idea? It’s probably a bad idea. But we’re so far out and we just got here so maybe that guy just wanted to eat him? I-”

“Sarad, take a breath,” Mando says calmly. He can just imagine you in a frazzled state with unfocused eyes when telling him a story.

You do as he says, breathing in deeply. Oh, that feels good. Your lungs appreciated the taste of air. Have you not taken a breath that whole time?

“Where is the Trandoshan now?”

“Right where I killed him. Outside of the ship. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Is there anyone else at the port?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Local patrol will eventually find him. If they try to make contact with you on the ship, ignore it. They’ll think no one is on board and they have no rights to search it.” He sounds so sure of himself, but you can’t help but imagine patrol boarding the ship and arresting you.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Do you want me to come back?”

How are you supposed to answer that? Of course, you want him to come back. You always want him to come back the minute he leaves. You want to go back to the Black Spire and shop with him, have him help you find something for Grogu. But he has a job to do. And stealing your heart was not one of them.

“No, we’ll be fine,” you sigh.

“We’ll talk later,” Mando says gently, promisingly. Hopefully.

A couple of hours later, local patrol indeed picks up the Trandoshan you killed and makes no effort in contacting you on the ship.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Crest is quiet and still. Grogu is taking a nap and you’re doing a deep clean of the weapons. Mando has been gone for three days and you’ve talked every day. Usually, he is the one who gets on, asking if you are around. Of course, you’re around. Where else would you go? You can’t tell him you’re too scared to go back to the outpost, so you told him you would use this time to clean the ship and make any repairs that you’d been putting off.

Every barrel, chamber, handle, and trigger of the blasters are as good as new. You disassembled each of them and meticulously put them back together. Mando, of course, has his pulse rifle and several other weapons, so you won’t be able to clean them until he comes back.

You miss him. You miss him more than you ever have and you don’t know why. You’re used to being away from him and not talking for extended lengths of time. Now you’re talking to him every day, throughout the day, and you long to have him next to you. To have his broad figure taking up half of the space in the cockpit and his modulated breathing as a comforting sound to help you sleep.

There’s only so much you can do to entertain Grogu. You tell him the same tales of travelers venturing into the unknown frontier of Wild Space, helping him practice the Force magic with the metal ball and other objects around the ship, coming up with songs while you tinker with repairs. You love him, but you’re getting a little stir-crazy. You want to go back to the Outpost and you want Mando.

You close up the armory and decide to join Grogu for a nap when you hear Mando say your name over the comms. “You there?”

“I’m here,” you say into your portable communicator. You fixed it on the second day so you don’t have to stay in the cockpit or race up whenever Mando reaches out.

“Good. I- I just wanted to hear your voice.”

Thump, thump. You place your hand over your heart. Cool it. “Oh. well, hi. How are you?”

“Good,” he replies, unconvincingly. He’s tired. You know he is.“I’ve got two of the bounties. I’m on my way back.”

Your heart hammers harder. Depending on where he is, he could be back before or by nightfall. You could see him tonight, tomorrow morning at the very latest. He’d be stinky and probably grumpy like he always is when he comes back from a long hunt, but he’d be home.

And you can figure out what the stars is going on with your emotions. Maybe. Hopefully. Or they’ll get worse.

“That’s good. I, um… we miss you.”

You feel like you can hear Mando smile. “I miss you, too,” he says quietly, unsure if he wants you to hear him say it. “Both of you,” he follows up. “I’ll be back soon.”

I miss you, too. You think that’s the closest you’ll get to knowing how Mando feels about you. He misses you. He’s given you gifts. He trusts you with the Child. It may not be a proclamation of love or anything, but it’s enough. For now.

“Blech.” An unfamiliar voice on Mando’s end grouches. “ Who is that? Your girlfriend or something?”

“Shut it,” Mando warns sternly. “Sorry,” he says more gently, directed at you, you presume.

“It’s okay.”

Several whines come from behind the storage door Mando uses as a sleeping bunk. Grogu has just woken up from his nap. “Hold on, the Kid’s waking up. I’m sure he’d love to hear your voice.”

“Alright.”

You press the control panel and the door slides open quickly. Grogu smiles when his bright inky eyes land on you. He babbles happily and raises his arms out toward you. “Hey buddy,” you lift him out of the hammock. “Say ‘hi’ to Dad.”

Grogu coos into your communicator.

“Hey, Kid,” Mando says. “Has your buir been taking good care of you?”

“No, we’ve been eating nothing but junk food and killing more Trandoshans,” you reply on behalf of Grogu.

Mando lets himself chuckle at your comment. “I’m sure you have been.”

“I think I’m going to hurl. I’d rather be dead than listen to this conversation.” The same mysterious voice interjects again. The bounty can’t even hear what you’re saying. They must be filling in your replies with their imagination.

“I gave you the option,” your bounty hunter calls back to his infamous one-liner.

“Hey,” you offer gently. “Just worry about getting back safely. We’ll see you when you get back.”

“Can’t wait, sarad. ”

The comm goes silent. Your heart is hammering, your tummy is bubbling and your head is reeling. Mando wanted to hear your voice. He said he can’t wait to see you. You look at Grogu and ask, “Do you have any idea what’s going on between me and your dad?”

Your child replies back with a curious coo. You’re in love with him, you assume he says. Can it be? Are you in love with The Mandalorian?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It feels like hours had gone by since you last spoke with Mando. You thought every sound you heard was the ramp lowering. You paced the hull of the ship, climbed up and down the ladder, and played with Grogu until you grew impossibly antsy. Those bounties must be slowing him down.

When Mando finally comes back, you’re using the kriffing vacc tube!

A clamoring erupts from the other side of the door, much of it sounding like resistance from the two bounties. Just as you emerge from the vacc tube, Mando is pushing one of the bounties into the carbonite freezer. The other, a tall, blonde, human male is looking directly at you. His wrists are bound in front of him and he knows what his near future is looking like, but that doesn’t stop him from smirking at you. “Hey there, pretty thing.”

“Mando, you’re back,” you smile lightly, ignoring the bounty’s comment. It’s the same voice you heard over the comms. As you begin to walk towards them, the bounty frowns at you, extending his shackled arms forward, trying to catch the fabric of your shirt between his fingers.

“Now, that’s no way to treat a guest. You just gonna let her ignore me like that?”

You roll your eyes and punch him firmly in the gut. You (and Mando) watch with contentment as he doubles over in pain. You know how to land a good blow, which is just part of why Mando keeps you around. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you taunt. “Was that the kind of attention you wanted?”

You kick him into the freezer and let Mando hit the control. The man’s slender face grimaces, temporarily immortalizing his expression until he’s defrosted.

“Hi,” Mando finally says. “Did he touch you? Are you alright?”

You shrug. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m really just… I’m happy to see you.”

Mando sighs and steps closer to you. As you let him into your space, you breathe him in. He doesn’t smell as bad as you thought he might. Granted, the weather on Batuu is pretty mild. No extreme heat to cause excessive sweating beneath his armorweave and Beskar. Still, he’s gone four days without a shower. It doesn’t matter. You want to hug him. You want to be all around him, swallowed in his scent. You’ve missed him so kriffing much, you don’t even realize he’s brought his gloved hand up to your forehead. Your skin prickles and your breath catches in your throat. He traces a line down your face to your chin. He angles your head towards his and Maker, nothing is normal about this.

“What are you thinking about?”

I’m thinking about how much I’ve missed you and how I want to get on my knees and–

“Hey, Grogu,” Mando notices your child tugging at the hem of his pants. He lifts him in his arms. Grogu clings onto Mando’s cowl and babbles happily. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“A-are you going back out? For the third bounty?”

Mando shakes his head. “The third bounty isn’t here anymore.”

Oh. That means you’re leaving Batuu. You didn’t even have a chance to get anything for Grogu or Mando. He can tell you’re disappointed by the way your face falls. “We can stay another day. If you wanted to go back to the Outpost together.”

Can he read minds now?

“Yeah, that sounds nice. Are you hungry? We don’t have any food left, but we can go back to Ronto Roasters and bring it back here. Or I can go out and let you spend some time with Grogu and freshen up.” You can tell how exhausted he is. You don’t even have to see his face to know that. His shoulders reveal a multitude of traits— they adopt a heaviness when he’s tired. They roll back when he’s intimidating a bounty. And when he’s with you and Grogu, you feel as though he finally lets himself relax.

“You sure you want to go out alone?” Mando’s voice is tentative. He knows you were worried about going back out with Grogu, but he isn’t sure how you feel about going out alone. He knows you’re capable of it. You have your pistol, your knife, and your solid fists.

“I’m good. Is that what you want me to do?”

Not really, he thinks. He wants you to stay on the ship. He wants to hear about everything you and Grogu got up to while he was gone. He wants to see what you got for yourself at the outpost, but most of all, he just doesn’t want you to leave. He wants to be with you. But then his stomach rumbles. Dank ferrik. He hasn’t eaten anything substantial in days. As much as it displeases him, he agrees to let you go back out.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The Mandalorian is taking a nap when you return with the food. You half expected him to be asleep with the Child in his arms and you are right. Grogu is anything but tired, having already taken four naps during the day. He’s nestled against Mando’s side, nice and safe from the monsters lurking in the shadows.

You set the food down at the foot of the closet and tap on the wall. Mando lifts his head and smiles beneath his helmet. “Food’s hot, if you want it,” you inform. You turn to make your way up the ladder but stop when you hear scuffling and feel a gloved hand on your wrist.

“Stay?” Mando wonders.

He wants you to stay? While he eats? You were only going to do what you always do. If Mando’s eating below deck, you go up top, and vice versa. “You don’t want to eat?”

“I- I do. I was wondering… if you might want to eat together. Back to back,” he quickly adds. “I trust you,” he emphasizes those last three words, reiterating the bond you two have built over the past eleven months.

“I’d love nothing more than to have dinner with you, Mando.”

You begin taking out the food, arranging it in a line on the floor of the Crest. You gather three plates while Mando opens the containers of meat, vegetables, and starch.

With piles of food on each of your plates, you and Mando sit back to back, with Grogu on your lap. He isn’t moving and neither are you. He might have suggested the idea, but if he’s having second thoughts, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable. “We don’t have to do this,” you say.

“No,” Mando quickly replies. “I want to. Just… do you promise not to look, sarad ?”

“I promise on all the stars of the known and unknown galaxies. I would never betray your trust.” You try to comprehend the gravity of this action for him. It’s forbidden for him to show his face to any living thing. And although you’re not going to see his face, here he is, removing his helmet in your presence. Because he trusts you.

With a click, hiss, and a clunk, his helmet was off. You glance behind you, to see the glimmer of his helmet on the ground. You snap your head back and look straight. You tell yourself to focus on Grogu getting grease on your new pants, to focus on the inviting food on your plate, to focus on anything but your helmetless Mandalorian. You begin shoving your face with Solanum. Grogu offers you a piece of meat with a coo.

“You with me, sarad ?”

You almost choke on the food in your mouth. His voice rings through your ears and your spine shivers. Clear and unmodulated, raspy and gruff, but gentle all the same. You want to hear him again. You swallow. “Here. I’m here.”

“Got nervous for a second. You were so quiet. It’s unlike you.”

“Ha,” you deadpan. You can’t very well say you were silent because the only thoughts in your head are of him. What his face looks like, why he waited until now to do this, why he wanted to do this. “Do you like the food?” You ask instead.

“Yes. It’s very good. Does Grogu like it?” Mando already knows the answer to the question, both of you knowing that the Kid likes everything, especially if it’s meat.

“He’s almost done,” you laugh. You wonder how such a little thing can eat so much and so quickly. A large meal always tuckers him out, though.

Mando hums in acknowledgment.

You finish dinner in comfortable silence. Grogu is sacked out in your arms by the time you two are done. “Gonna put him in the hammock. Don’t turn around, okay?” You’re already facing the bunk from the dinner so at least you don’t have to pass him.

“Okay,” he replies.

“Good night, little one.” You run your hand over the top of Grogu’s fuzzy head. You close the door and warn Mando that you’re turning around. “Wait,” you shut your eyes. “Am I allowed to see the color of your hair? I’m closing my eyes, my eyes are shut.”

The Mandalorian rises from the floor and takes long strides over to where you’re standing. Right next to the vacc tube and sleeping bunk. How romantic. “Keep them closed,” he whispers close to you.

You jump reactively, placing your hand over your heart. You instinctively want to open your eyes, but you squeeze them tight, scrunching your nose along with them. “Maker, Mando. You scared me.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and brings it down to your sides. He slides his hand into yours. You can feel his breath on your face, all warm and savory from your meal.

“It’s okay,” you answer softly. You let the tension in your face fall while still keeping your eyes closed. The tension in your chest, however, is a different story. It’s growing and stretching and clenching.

“You’re so beautiful, sarad.” Mando threads his fingers between yours. “I’ve always thought so but seeing you through my own eyes, it’s so clear. Mesh’la.”

“What does that mean?”

“Beautiful,” he answers. You’re half surprised, seeing as he hasn’t told you what sarad means.

“I-I’m sure you’re beautiful, too.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“I mean it, Mando.” That name feels wrong now that he’s taken off his helmet. Doesn’t his helmet make him a Mandalorian? Now he’s just a man in armor, his face exposed to you, and Mando isn’t his name. He has a real name that goes with his face. The name his parents gave him when he was born. You wish so deeply to know who he really is. “You have a kindness to you. I don’t know if you know that you possess it, but you do. You’ve taken me and Grogu under your wing, you care for us and worry about us… it all makes you beautiful.”

“ Sarad. My sweet sarad. You see things in me that I don’t. You’re kinder than me, more thoughtful than me. You’re selfless and generous. You take care of me and the Kid. You make me want to be a better person. I want…”

You feel his forehead rest against yours. Your legs are going to buckle beneath you, your heart is about to escape and leap into Mando’s chest. You can have it!

“I want you,” Mando finally admits. And just like that, your heart is no longer yours. It is his and his to do what he wants with it. He can break it, he can cherish it, he can keep it forever. Because the culmination of everything you two have been through has led to this moment in the Crest.

You don’t even think. You tilt your head up blindly and press your lips against his. They are soft, but the scruff above his lip is coarse. He doesn’t hesitate, either. He moves against you, putting his hands on either side of your cheeks. He brings you impossibly closer to him, afraid that if he lets you go he’ll never get you back. The deep scent of leather from his gloves invades your senses as his tongue slips into your mouth. Your own hands find themselves in his hair.

“Is this okay?” you mumble against him.

“M-more than okay. Want…” he kisses harder before pulling away to look at you. Your eyes are still closed but your mouth is agape. You lean forward, wishing to fill the void Mando created.

“What?” you furrow your brows.

“I want more. If you’ll let me.”

You tug on the hairs at the nape of his neck. His hair is soft and you can tell he keeps it well-trimmed. “You mean you want to have sex with me?”

Mando— you wish you knew his name— almost snickers. At least, that’s what it sort of sounds like. “Among other things, mesh’la .”

“Like what?” You gulp.

“Like hearing you say my name.”

First, he takes off his helmet and now he wants you to say his name? Did he hit his head out there? “Wh-what?”

He pushes your hair away from your forehead and trails his hands down your exposed arms before landing at your hands. He grasps them firmly, then brings them to your chest. “My name is Din Djarin. And I’d like to hear you say it.”

Din Djarin. Din Djarin. You know your Mandalorian’s name. How wizard is that? “Din Djarin,” you say tenderly. “Din Djarin. A beautiful name for a beautiful man.”

Din just gave you his heart, and then some. Who he is under the armor and helmet. Who his parents made him to be. He’s just a man. A brave man, a complicated man. A man you wish to know everything about. You’ve known him for eleven months and you’ve only just learned his name. You can’t help but think you’ve got a long way to go.

“Will you let me take care of you, mesh’la ? Will you let me have you?”

You nod promptly. Your center is already pooling with arousal, aching with anticipation. “Please, Din. Let you do anything.”

Something is stirring deep within Din when he hears his name roll off your tongue. Like you were made to say his name. You and only you. “Good. Stay here, sweet girl. Keep your eyes closed.”

You do as he says, soon hearing him rummage through the storage bins against the wall. You aren’t waiting long before he comes back to you. “Turn around.”

“Would it kill you to say please?”

Maker, you’re insufferable sometimes. “Please.”

“Thank you.” You turn on your heels. Din places a light piece of fabric over your eyes and you immediately know why he’s blindfolding you. Din turns you back around and his lips return to yours, sending surprise tingles through your body. His hands can’t decide where they want to be– first your face, then your hair, then down to your waist before settling on your hips. He digs his fingers into your backside, pulling you closer to his body. He nudges his thigh between your legs, briefly brushing the spot that desperately needs attention. You groan, rolling your head back and allowing Din perfect access to your neck.

He places light kisses down the expanse of your neck, peppering them from your collarbone, up to the corner of your jaw. You lower yourself onto his cold Beskar cuisse, hoping to create some friction against your center.

Unsuccessful.

“Need you,” you breathe, struggling to find purchase on his armored body. Maker, there is barely anything for you to cling to, save for his cowl and cape.

“What do you need, mesh’la ?”

“F-fingers, mouth, anything. Just more. Please,” you lean your head down on Din’s pauldron, steadying yourself with his shoulders when he removes his thigh from between your legs. He picks you up in one fell swoop, making you yelp in surprise. He walks two paces over to your bedroll and gently lays you down.

“How about both?” Din slides your flowy pants and underwear down your legs. His cock twitches with each inch of skin that is revealed. He kisses over your navel, down to your center where you’re glistening for him. He removes his gloves and places them in the pile with your pants. “Perfect,” he breathes. “Just perfect.”

Din drags two fingers up your folds and presses on your clit. You shudder beneath him, overwhelmed by what you cannot see. His face mere inches from your pussy, the lust in his eyes for you and all that you have to offer. He pushes your legs open, leaving one hand holding down your thigh. He plays with the slick between your folds, teasing your entrance with two fingertips. He waits for you to beg again, to say his name with fervor before pushing into you with thick digits. “ Maker, Din!”

His fingers alone fill you well, stretching you and preparing you for his cock. At the same time, he brings his lips down to your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Your hands finally found something to grasp onto in the form of his hair. His fingers work quickly against your walls and it’s not long before you’re squirming against your bed. His hands are rough but his mouth is soft and warm. He hums and groans against you as his cock is becoming too painful to ignore. He fiddles with his zipper with one hand while continuing to pleasure you with the other. And with his mouth still on your cunt, he’s proving to be quite the multitasker.

“Din, I don’t wanna… don’t wanna cum yet,” you dig your head into your mattress when he sucks harshly on your clit.

“You’ll cum as many times as I want you to.” Din kisses the soft flesh of the inside of your thigh. He does the same on the other. “So if I want you to cum on my fingers and my mouth, you’re going to do just that.”

At this, Din inserts a third finger and you yelp, arching your back and fingers fisting your sheets. “Fuck! Feels good, Din. Feels so good.”

He rubs his hand over the head of his cock, spreading his precum down the rest of his length. He groans into you and begins pumping himself at the same pace of his fingers fucking you. “Cum, mesh’la. I want you to cum before you take my cock.”

You feel the sensation creep into your system. Din’s fingers and mouth overwhelm you and take away all control you had over your body. The coil begins to unravel, and your clit pulses as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs quake and your breath staggers. Din laps all of you up, allowing you to ride out your high against his mouth. “Good girl, mesh’la. Such a good girl.”

Din brings his lips up to yours as he aligns himself with your entrance. “Can I?”

“Please,” you nod.

Immediately, Din rolls his hips into you. Stretching you wide and filling you high, you’re thankful Din took the time to prepare you. He is still, perhaps waiting for you to adjust. He kisses you tenderly and releases a heavy sigh as he revels in the feel of you around him. It’s far better than he imagined. He never thought he’d feel so complete. There’s no place in the galaxy he’d rather be.

“M-move, Din. Please,” you breathe into him, finding yourself, yet again, drawn to the textured locks on his head. He slowly begins to thrust into you, setting a page that allows him to take his time. He’s weighed down by all of his clothing and armor, breaking more of a sweat with keeping himself from putting all of his weight on you. “Let me ride you, Din. Please, just lay down and rest.”

You’ve always known how to take control of a situation and he isn’t going to argue with you. Din halts his movements, removes himself from you, and lays beside you on your bedroll. You blindly swing your thigh over him, grabbed the base of his cock, and lowered yourself onto him. His hands grip either side of your hips, guiding you up and down. You rip your shirt over your head, exposing the dusty blush bralette you have on. Din groans upon seeing the mounds of your breast, the way the lacy and sheer fabric looks against your skin. So kriffing perfect, he thinks. You lean down, wrapping your arms around Din’s back.

Din juts his hips up into you, eliciting another yelp from your perfect mouth. It won’t be long before you cum again. You two work together, creating a rhythm that flows beautifully. Your moans and his grunts compose the melody. A sweet and harmonious sound. He sucks and kisses your collar, while you do the same on his neck and jawline. You learn his scruff isn’t just around his mouth. He has the makings of a beard.

“Gonna cum soon, sarad, ” Din pants.

“Me too,” you moan. Din slips his hand between you, finding your clit with ease. “Maker! Fuck!”

With the additional friction of his fingers against your swollen bud, you’re done for. Your body falls limp against Din and he holds you tightly while he spills his thick seed inside of you. His cock twitches while you clench around him. “ Nngh,” he groans weakly. You stay wrapped in his arms for a moment, savoring this first time with Din.

“Thank you, mesh’la,” Din whispers. “I need to wash up. I’m sorry. I should’ve before we… but I fell asleep…”

“It’s okay,” you smile gently. You imagine what he must look like. Flustered, flushed, and sweaty. You roll off of him and tell him you’ll wait for him in the bunk with the lights off.

“Okay,” he kisses you. He gets up from the bedroll and climbs up the ladder to the ‘fresher. You take off your blindfold when it was safe to do so. You have to blink a couple of times to adjust to the light. You tidy your clothes into a pile near your bed, use the vacc tube, and change into your sleeping clothes. You crawl into the sleeping bunk, shimmying under the covers that smell so strongly of Din.

As you wait for him to finish washing up, you can only think of one thing.

Forget about Wild Space. You want to discover anything and everything there is to know about Din Djarin.

ugh i'm still so proud of this piece

◂ din masterlist ▸ main masterlist

#din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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hapan-in-exile · 10 months ago

Text

Volume 3 - Post #10: Good old-fashioned shootout

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem! Reader

Total word count: 2.6K (of 45K total in Volume 3)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

__________________________________________

X. Unlike the exclusive mooring of Vos’s yacht with HK sentinels, security lights, cameras, and sensors everywhere, the hangar bays in this section of Daiyu Spaceport, where Gwellis Bagnoro’s ship is located, are unnervingly deserted. And you definitely get the impression people are being paid to make themselves scarce. There is no legitimate reason why the corridors need to be this dark.

You’re glad for the silence, but it feels almost too quiet after the noise and chaos of the city streets.

You arrive at the hangar expecting to see the Onodone waiting for you, but there’s no one in sight. In fact, it’s eerily still without the usual maintenance crew droids.

The grim surroundings did not prepare you for the caliber of this forger’s ride. Apparently, Gwellis Bagnoro can find enough suckers like you to pay his outrageous prices because his corvette is in pristine condition. No mismatched parts for this ship.

Poor Nito usually salvaged everything needed to sustain the Razor Crest through its continual state of repair.

With containers stacked high on either side of the ship, you’d think the Onodone would need help loading all this cargo. They create a sort of labyrinth around the hangar bay. How did he expect to fit this inside a gunship?

Something feels off.

Maybe he’s just waiting for you on board? Even as the thought occurs to you, your boot catches on something soft yet solid, and you stumble forward.

Looking down to see what you’ve tripped over in the dim haze of the hangar’s overhead lights, you see a station agent crumpled on the flight deck with a knife stuck in his gut.

“Mando!” you shout.

But it’s too late. You hear a ting of blaster fire right before the fueling tank next to the ship explodes, knocking you off your feet and showering the hangar in flaming debris. You get slammed hard into the side of a cargo container from the force of the blast. Your ears are ringing, your vision is blurring at the edges, but you can still see the onslaught of blaster fire breaking out around you.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the Mandalorian, who’d managed to stay on his feet. He’s crouched, taking cover behind a diagnostic panel directly in your line of sight, loading his rifle from the bandolier across his chest.

“Is this Vos?”

“They’re Guild,” he calls out in response.

“The Crest?!”

You’re terrified about what might be waiting for you back at the ship. Mando’s precaution of leaving it docked on a nearby moon didn’t seem so paranoid after all.

“If they knew where it was, they wouldn’t be waiting for us here.”

He’s got the rifle up, adjusting the scope.

“Thermal imaging, you said?”

“What?!”

“In the visor?” he stills the muscles in his shoulders, taking aim. “You said your visor has—”

“Yes,” instantly recognizing what he’s planning. “And night vision. I can adjust the settings.”

“It impact your aim? Still good?”

“Fuck, yes. I have a laser sight,” you’re already screwing the barrel attachment onto one of the Westars.

Mando nods his approval.

With one shot, he takes out the electrical in the hangar bay so it all shuts down. The lights go out, the doors fall closed, and the docking clamps thud onto the deck. Through your visor, you can see they’ve got the high ground, hoping to pin you in place until their crew on the deck can flush you out.

If they were hunting the Child, they wouldn’t shoot to kill. They needed you alive for questioning.

Well, one of you, at least.

The Mandalorian crouches around the diagnostic panel to take aim at one of the snipers firing down on you from the catwalk overhead. You’re able to hit another gunman positioned above the cockpit. But there’s at least three more of them—two of whom are situated on top of the corvette.

Should you scale the cargo containers to get a better shot and risk exposing yourself?

“I’m going to—” you call out before you see the Gand bounty hunter launch himself over a stack of containers to bear down on the Mandalorian with a raised halberd.

Mando’s able to block it with his rifle, but his opponent continues swinging relentlessly. He catches another blow with his vambrace and kicks the legs out from under his attacker.

But the other hunters have flanked him. And there’s more blaster fire coming at him from above.

You can’t remain here, paralyzed with indecision, so you take a deep breath, sink low, and slip out from behind the container in a lunge, blaster held out in front of you.

The gods are kind. Several more hunters charge towards Mando, their backs unguarded as they pass your position. You quickly take them down before they can reach him, still grappling with his other attacker.

Unable to get off another clear shot, you begin climbing the cargo containers. It’s fucking terrifying how readily your brain reverts to autopilot—letting the adrenaline push you forward despite the threat of exposing yourself to sniper fire. You try to retain as much cover as you can, scrambling around the ship’s intake vents.

Then, you hear the ping-ping-ping of blaster bolts hitting the Beskar armor and forsake all caution, climbing with whatever handhold you can find, fingernails cracked and bleeding.

There’s a gap between the wing where you can see an opening up to one of the bounty hunters splayed across the exhaust turbine. But you’ll have to step into it to fire. If they look down at you, they’ll have a straight shot, same as you.

Your heart is pounding against your eardrums, but you have to drown out the panic and concentrate.

All you can do is prepare your grip, make sure you’re ready on the trigger, and pray they can’t see your movement in the darkness.

With your first shot, you merely clip the sniper's helmet. Shit! You can't see their body armor with thermal imaging. And you've revealed your position.

They respond by shooting wildly, a spray of bolts that erupts in every direction. Your second shot gets them in the chest, but not before their own blaster fire takes out another sniper posted on top of the ship’s sensor array.

Which meant there was only one shooter left.

You look around to check on Mando. He’s dispatched the rest of his attackers in a pile of bodies strewn across the flight deck.

That’s when a sharp, lancing pain burns across your scalp. Your hand claps over the side of your head, just above your ear, and you groan as raw, wet tissue squelches under your fingers.

That’s how close you came to dying today. You can heal from almost any wound, but not if your brain is splattered across the hangar bay.

Hot blood starts to trickle over your cheek and down your neck. You’ve gotta nail this fucker before you get too dizzy to see straight.

At the moment, you don’t feel dizzy at all. On the contrary, the pain brought everything into crisp focus.

You launch yourself off the ship and start running in sporadic bursts and turns as soon as you collide with the ground. Serpentine! You can almost hear your drill sergeant yelling it at you.

The last shooter is hiding somewhere on the other side of the hangar. You can’t be sure—but you think they’re embedded in a tangle of suspended cables and tubing. No way to climb up there without getting gunned down.

Here goes nothing.

You shoot at the ballasts holding the whole mess together, and a section of the braided cables collapses to the floor. To the credit of this bounty hunter’s strength and determination, they continue firing at you while dangling from a metal coil one-handed.

But you’ve got the advantage. All you have to do is wait for your shot from behind the safety of a cargo container. You line up the little red dot, and—there’s a nasty thud when their limp body falls to the deck.

Behind you, Mando’s whipcord fires, and hand over fist, he drags a sobbing Trandoshan hunter into his waiting blade.

“You take care of the others?” he says, wiping the knife on his boot.

“Yeah. We’ll be long gone before they regain consciousness,” you reply, clicking the safety back on and holstering your blasters.

He tilts his helmet from side to side, and an irritated sigh erupts from the modulator.

“Do no harm? I feel like you, of all people, Mando, should support the sanctity of my oath.”

“There’s a time and a place—Thulani!”

He cries out in horror when his headlamp falls over the gash sliced across the side of your head. Which stung like hell.

“Is it bad?”

“I—” his voice chokes in his throat, reaching for your chin. “I can see your skull.”

And immediately, you vomit up all five glasses of Spice liquor onto his boots.

Fortunately, he’s pretty tough—a hardcore Mandalorian, right?—and despite how disgusting you must look with sick clinging to your lips, he catches you in his arms when you stagger forward.

“Tell me what to do.”

The sound of his voice is so soothing—deep and strong. His muscular arms cradle you, one wrapped around your shoulders while the other surrounds your waist. Solid as iron but gentle, holding you tightly against his chest.

“This feels pretty good,” you sigh. “I think the adrenaline crash is just—hitting me hard. Will you, um, hold me like this until I finish healing?”

“Whatever you need. Anything.”

“I’m sorry I got vomit on you.” Ugh, so embarrassing. He would probably not be in the mood to fuck you after this. “It hasn’t even been a whole day, and I’ve already ruined the mystique.”

“Fuck the mystique. You’re alive. That’s what matters.”

You shift in his arms to find a perfect little nook for yourself. “I’m definitely seeing the advantage of a helmet now.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, “I’ve got some expertise in that area if you’re in the market.”

“Could—could you tell me how it’s going with the—”

“The gigantic gash in your scalp?” Mando scoffs, delicately tugging the visor from your face to get a better look. “I can’t see the bone anymore, but…there’s some burnt flesh...hanging…open.”

“Am I at least earning some warrior cred with this?”

“I told you you didn’t have anything to prove to me,” he says earnestly. “There’s got to be something I can do?”

“Just hold me.”

His arms tighten around you, and it feels like the only safety you have ever known.

“It’s gonna look like I’m gone for a minute,” you whisper. “But I promise I’ll still be here with you. Okay?”

He nods.

You let your head rest against his neck, then close your eyes, take a deep breath, and call upon that feeling of surety. When the "you" that was you disappeared and was subsumed by the infinite. That pulse of power surging through every fiber of your being.

Don’t let yourself get distracted by the throbbing shock of the wound as it seals shut. Or the searing heat as the tissue reconnects. Or just how thick Mando's biceps are...

All those tiny nerve endings that had to be repaired. You can’t make the hair regrow, but vanity is the least of your worries at the moment.

Okay. Yes. There. That should do it.

Now, what you really need is a fuck ton of electrolytes.

“You can let me go,” you open your eyes and smile up at the Mandalorian through your visor.

“No,” he says, pulling you closer.

“Mando, we can’t flee the scene glued together.”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs from somewhere in your thicket of blood smattered, vomit crusted hair. Aww, is the Mandalorian going soft on you?

Suddenly, the whoosh of the corvette’s boarding ramp echoes throughout the hangar, causing you both to turn and draw.

“Don’t shoot!” the Onodone inches his way down the ramp with his hands extended, the vocodor swinging from his neck. “They got here right before you did. There was nothing I could do!”

“That’s as may be,” you march up the ramp with your blaster not exactly aimed at Gwellis, though not precisely lowered either. “But I tell you what. I’m willing to let you make it up to me.”

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

“I didn’t expect you’d be such a tough negotiator.”

“After he sold us out? Like hell, I was going to pay fifty-thousand fucking credits.”

“Alright, but making him hold the mirror while you stuck that needle in your eye? That’s cold-blooded.”

Without the reflective tissue, your eyes no longer glow with a violet sheen. To all the galaxy, you would appear to be an unremarkable human woman.

But Mando had been right. As you removed the guanine from your cells, it felt like stripping away your identity piece by piece. The last remaining connection to your homeworld.

The Mandalorian might have chosen to forsake that little boy, the man he would have been—but you found you couldn’t. So you’d left some tissue under the lenses in the hopes that you might be able to coax it back to regrowth. If anyone asked, you could claim the faint remaining glimmers resulted from some kind of chemical exposure.

Would Mando think you’re a fool for holding on to the past? How had he—

But he hadn’t let go of the past either.

You wouldn’t be able to see those memories if he’d really let go of who and what he was before, like he claimed. And while it might not be conscious, intentional resistance to his Creed, it proved that oaths and tenets can’t change what’s in your heart.

“Whatever,” you jeer. “He can go cry into his money.”

“We don’t know it was Gwellis,” the Mandalorian shook his head. “It could have been any one of Vos’s henchmen. Someone who recognized me at the club. Or Bril, for that matter.”

“I like Bril!” You raise an eyebrow at him. “You need more people in your life who aren't afraid to make a joke at your expense.”

His helmet turns to look at you, and you can just sense his indignation.

“If you’re rolling your eyes at me, Mando, I can’t see,” you smirk. “Besides, you had the entire populace of Daiyu City buzzing the moment you set foot planetside. You knew we would catch heat before we even made it to the club.”

And nothing has changed. Making your way back through the concourse, his gleaming armor draws the same stares and excited whispers. “Gwellis is right. Subterfuge is not ‘the Way’ of a Mandalorian. I’m beginning to think you welcome everything ending in a shootout.”

“It’s a lot more straightforward than spending the next two weeks pretending to be...” he grabs the newly made ID from your hands. “Kasya Hawat?”

“Something tells me Mandalorians don’t engage in a lot of intelligence gathering either.” You pull off the wig you wore for the ID photos and toss it in a nearby bin.

“That’s why I pay informants.”

“Touché,” you concede. “It’ll be worth it, though. We need someone on the inside, and we don’t know Ubaa Dir’s people. That could change. But for now, my circle of trust doesn’t extend past Team Razor Crest.”

This last part, you say more to yourself than the bounty hunter. You’re not exactly thrilled about the prospect of working as an exploited minion for the Tagge Corporation, living in some squatter’s settlement attached to a refinery in the middle of nowhere.

“Worth pulling out those gems embedded in your teeth?” he asks wryly.

“I’m thinking Kasya’s backstory includes working in a Zeltron pleasure house during her prodigal wanderings.” You wink at him, “I might even be able to keep the moondust hair.”

**********************

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vercopaanir · 4 years ago

Text

Keeping Warm

The Lovely Moons Series, Chapter 27

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is unsuccessful in capturing his quarry.

Words: 5.5k

Rating/Warnings: M for mildly graphic depictions of injuries and wounds (burns).

Notes: BET YOU THOUGHT I FORGOT! Well, I didn’t. I have been very mentally tired from this new job, so I’m sorry for the delay. I hope this...well, if it’s not worth the wait, I hope it sustains us a little bit. I’ve already begun work on the next chapter, so fingers crossed it won’t be long!

AO3

You don’t know how long you sit and stare at the closed ramp of the ship, listening for the sounds of distant gunfire or voices. Your heart continues to pump blood angrily through your ears, throbbing at the thin veins threading your neck until your stomach curls into a thorny bramble of anxious sickness. You release a breath you didn’t realize you held, and you feel the gentle pressure on your arm draw your pale eyes away, down to the tiny child peering up at you with the sadness of a lost and worried little one in need of comfort.

It is natural to pick the baby up, to cradle him against your shoulder and kiss his head, sniffling against the fuzzy down that’s dusted between his ears. You both clutch each other, listening and waiting.

The ship is freezing, and it feels as if it continues to get colder by the second. You tug your cloak tighter around the two of you, the fabric clinging to your limbs where it’s been wet with snow. The heating system is old and unreliable, and you have to fumble with the panel to adjust the temperature, hoping it will actually pour warmth into the recycled air. You share a worried glance with the child when there comes a great, juddering sound from beneath the belly of the ship, and you sigh.

No noise, save the wind, continues to whistle through the cracks of the ship from outside.

Din hadn’t shared the details of his bounty with you. He had once said that it’s Guild protocol not to ask questions, not to get too deep into the quarry’s life beyond the necessary information it would take to capture and deliver. He had not spoken of any quarries to you, not since the Avalice brothers, and you think that the less you know, perhaps the better.

You still vividly recall the strikes to your face and head, the tightness of your bindings in the fathier stables, and you wonder if ignorance would be enough to comfort you. Not knowing the truth didn’t guarantee you wouldn’t be hurt again, and as you go through the motions of preparing dinner for your little one, you decide that not knowing what Din faces is worse than risking your own involvement. You try to bring back to mind the blurry image of what you had seen in the snowy field, the small smear of red against white, how violently Din had changed from a gentle and loving man to a deadly, unfeeling hunter, and you shiver harder than before.

You and the child usually share meals, but you can’t find an appetite. Your stomach is still tight with worry, hands shaking if left idle, so you sniffle against the cold and draw your cloak around the baby while he drinks soup from his favorite cup. The two of you are curled as close to the air vent as possible, the pitifully warm air doing little to chase away the chill.

When he has finished eating two helpings, you close the two of you in the refresher and run hot water into the sink until it steams the mirror and fills the small cubicle with humidity. The hot water is a precious commodity, but as the sun dips lower in the sky and darkness overcomes the world outside, the ship is practically icy. You don’t know where Din is, how long it will take him, or what, if any, trouble he may encounter, so drawing a small bath in the sink for your little child takes your mind off of those terrible ideas for a short time.

The soap is a gentle, milky emulsion of honey and herbs, and it makes the water froth with bubbles as you draw it through your hands to gently wash the baby, taking special care to clean his ears, hands, and feet. The steam curls the hair around your face, and when the child giggles and smacks the bubbles, they catch in your hair like the snow Din had dropped on you.

Wrapping him into a towel, you dry and dress him in the thickest garments you have, bundling him in his favorite blue blanket that smells of his father from how often he rocks the little one to sleep.

No amount of rocking soothes him this night. The closer he gets to slipping into dreams, the more he fights it, fussing against your breast and clutching at your dress. You avoid your shared quarters with Din, knowing it is too cold, and you don’t open the doors of the cockpit, too scared that someone outside might see the movement through the observation windows. Though, you desperately wish that you could see through them, wish you could look for any movement outside.

When the baby finally settles, you tuck him into the pram with yet another blanket and his stuffed bantha, hoping the insulation will retain the warmth better than your own body heat can. You push the pram into the medical bunk and close the door, hoping to block the cold air, and you lay a hand against the smooth steel. You yearn to climb into the uncomfortable medical cot, curling your entire body around the little one and drifting off to sleep with him, but your fears won’t let your mind settle. You can only think of the Mandalorian outside in the dark, and the gnawing sensation of something horrible won’t leave you.

You begin pacing the length of the hull again, rubbing your eyes, your brow, your face until it feels raw and pinched. You pass a short amount of time practicing movements with your walking aid, familiarizing yourself with its reach and the sounds it makes against the different spots against the walls and floors. When you grow weary, you retrieve the thick fur and blankets from the bed of the captain’s quarters and bring them back down into the hull, making a small cocoon near the air vent and settling down. You tug your gloves back on your fingers, admiring what you can make out of the soft leather. Your staff remains at your side, fully extended and gleaming in the low light.

Sleep is on the edge of your mind, just out of reach, and you focus on your breathing, letting whatever idle thoughts topple through come and go. You consider how much this ship, as cold and dark as it can be, has become your home. Once, it was an overarching shadow that made you tremble, but now it feels like a sanctuary, a respite from the outside world. As much as you miss the covert and yearn for that communal kinship, the desire to move, to wander, has planted itself in your breast. You can only hope that once this is over, you might wrap your arms around Din’s neck as he pilots, resting your temple against his helm and savoring the freedom of greedy men.

It’s unclear to you when you fall asleep, because suddenly the harsh knell of a fist against the hull’s door wakes you. It is slow, solemn, heavy.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Whoever it is wears armor upon their hands, not the soft leather gloves you are accustomed to. It is not a weapon or object being hurled against the hull either, and you suck in a breath upon the realization that someone is standing on the other side of the door. And it is not Din.

You are terrified to move, your back against the wall near the air vent. Your breath trembles with clouds in the cold air, and you bite on your lip to keep yourself quiet. The heating system has shut off, and you remember Din once mentioned that the systems would automatically expire after a period of inactivity-some kind of energy saving program to help conserve fuel.

The wind is howling outside, rushing against the metal siding, and you know if you don’t get the heat on soon, you’re likely to lose the feeling of your fingers and toes. You push yourself up, slowly and carefully, pressing your palms flat against the wall behind you. Blood rushes through your limbs, waking them from rest, and you don’t hear any retreating footsteps from the door.

If it was Din, he wouldn't knock.

If it was Din, he’d call out for you.

If it was Din, you wouldn’t be afraid.

Your eyesight is poor in the dim lighting of the hull, and you don’t feel safe enough to try and turn on the overheads. You don’t need light, however, to find the release to open the Mandalorian’s weapon locker, nor do you need to look for the shined and oiled WESTAR-34 gifted to you by Rhalaz and Briinx. Your hands shake as you hold the weapon with both hands, bracing your back against the wall across from the door, and you draw your breath from deep in your stomach. You close your eyes and focus all your attention on the sounds.

You hear the howling wind, the icy creaks of the ship shifting and settling, and then, you hear something else. Metal upon metal, as if that armored glove is dragging across the outside of the hull, feeling for an opening, for a way to get in.

Braced against the wall with the blaster drawn between both your hands, bones shaking and muscles aching from the cold, you don’t know how long you stand in the dark. Thoughts shuffle through your mind at such a speed it leaves you dizzy. Will a blaster bolt stop someone who is armored? If you cannot protect them from getting in, what will you do? You don’t know of a way to contact Din, uneducated in the communication software the Razor Crest is equipped with. And even if you were, is it safe to use when others are nearby?

But you become aware of a release in pressure, after a long time of listening and dreading, and you’re not sure how you know that the presence outside has retreated, but you do.

It’s as if the entire galaxy is focused upon you and your child for an agonizing stretch of the night, until suddenly it recedes, stars settling and moons turning back into their orbits once again.

Your breath continues to cloud the air in front of you, and your teeth begin to chatter now. When the engines are running, the air recycling system keeps the ship warm in deep space, insulating from within, but you are unsure how long it’s been turned off.

You don’t set the blaster down, shutting the weapons locker as an afterthought and crossing the hull with stunted steps. You leave your staff behind, climbing into the upper deck of the ship and opening the cockpit. You can’t be sure it’s safe to do, but the unknown-the lost, floating uncertainty of everything is too much to bear.

When the doors slide open, you squint in the blue tinted pre-dawn light, feeling your way to the pilot’s chair and settling in it, running your gloved fingers through the motions. You make a mental list of the pre-flight checks, knowing you will be spending precious amounts of fuel to burn the engines this way, but you are unsure now if you fall asleep that you will wake up again.

The engines are a soothing sound, the quiet flare of power beneath the ship reminding you of the earth growing organic life, a familiar and safe sensation as the gentle hum vibrates imperceptibly beneath your feet. The threat of an intruder seems like a far off nightmare now, only on the edge of your periphery, and you wonder if it is because you haven’t truly slept. Your instinct is to retrieve the baby, to crack open his pram and scoop him up into your arms, but you know what little heat he has is precious. You risk it if you expose him now.

So you curl into the pilot’s chair, tugging your cloak as tight around you as possible and wait for the heating system to begin chasing the chill away. You let your eyes focus and unfocus on the distant horizon through the observation windows, admiring the hues of blue and purple and gold. It reminds you of the flowers on Quanera, of the first time Din trusted you completely with his son, and salt gathers in your eyes against the powerful memories.

When the first tear pearls big enough to slip down your cheek, it releases a torrent of things you remember-the way he held you after he killed Toro Calican, the sound of the child breathing and sleeping upon his chest in the dark of the cockpit, the quiet, reserved motions of slipping into bed beside you every night with all the respect of a saint for their deity.

You wonder if your mother loved your father with such a depth, such a wrenching ache that you can hardly breathe to think of it. It hurts, a pressure bearing down upon your chest, and when you part your lips it tears a gasp from your throat. You press your head back against the chair, a small smile teasing the edges of your lips, and more tears slip down the sides of your face.

You haven’t truly considered the feelings you’ve harbored and nurtured until now, and it all unleashes with happy tear trails. It feels as if you have an answer for every question, somehow. A piece of a puzzle that has finally locked into place, you turn your face against the pilot’s chair and smell clean, cold woods.

It is when you start to doze before the lavender fingered dawn that you feel the shuddering of the ship beneath you, and your eyes fly open at the familiar sound of the ramp lowering. In your haste to throw yourself out of the chair, your legs tangle in the cloak and you nearly drop your blaster, but you brandish it between both hands as you approach the port of the ladder that descends into the belly of the ship.

Suddenly beading with a cold sweat, you hold your breath, listening intently to the sounds of a muted shuffling across the metal floors, soft grunts and harsh breathing, and then the ramp is closing just as soon as it nearly lowered completely. The ship seems to settle once more, and there’s nothing you can hear over the wind outside.

Then, you hear a sudden, heavy thud, and it might as well be your heart.

Scrambling down the ladder, your boot slips when it catches the hem of your dress, and you fall the rest of the way to land on your ankles. You feel a painful jolt from the impact up your legs, but it is a passing thought when you whirl around in the dimly lit space. There is a darkened mass quivering near the carbonite freezer, and at first you think it to be an animal of some kind until you hear the quiet static of the modulator catching on a painful drag of air.

“Din?” you whisper, slipping the blaster in the back of your sash, approaching the freezer with caution. You tilt your head downward, hoping to make out anything as you slowly kneel down and take off your gloves. “Are you hurt?”

It is so difficult for you to see, but the light catches his beskar well enough. You move to take his helmet with one trembling hand, but his own shoots out and latches onto your wrist so tightly you yelp.

“D-Don’t,” he hisses, letting you go with shaking fingers. He’s slumped against the wall, uses one hand to grapple with the hidden release of his helm before tearing it off. It hits the floor with a solid crunch, ice chipping off the steel and rolling along the corrugated grooves of the floor. You watch it roll until it comes to a stop somewhere down near the exit ramp, and you turn your eyes back to him, his hair matted with sweat and sticking to the blurry edges of his face.

He’s pale, you see immediately, almost as pale as the snow coating his clothes. You try to reach and help him take the armor off, but he bats your hand away again, growling as he rips off a pauldron, fumbling with his chest plate, peeling off the cuisse of his legs. “F-Frozen,” he whispers from between teeth. “It’ll b-burn.”

You suck in a breath, watching as each heavy piece of steel hits the ground with a slicing ring, not unlike some great beast losing its scales. You push yourself up on shaking legs, locating the crate you had been organizing a few days prior and retrieve a medkit. Once he’s torn his vambraces from his arms, you kneel back down, reaching out to remove his gloves and going still when you feel holes eating through the leather.

“W-What is this?” you ask, turning your face up to him. His eyes are like black holes against his ashen face, and you realize he’s trembling so hard, so violently that he can’t speak. You yank the glove off and jump when he yells in pain. It’s not apparent to you what’s happened until he bends over his newly naked hand, and you can see the shoulders of his woven undershirt and how they are also splattered with holes.

No. No, in fact, his shirt is barely hanging onto his frame at all.

Your eyes widen, and you can’t stop the automatic reaction of shuffling forward on your knees, quick to grab his arm when he tries to pull away from you.

At first, you don’t understand what you’re looking at because the lack of light is so watery in the hull that it seems his shirt has been worn away in places, wet in other spots until it shines beneath the light. When he lays his hand upon your knee, you look down and see it better.

His back is burned, lashes of brutal red welts becoming discolored from the extreme temperatures outside. There are blisters forming through the holes, and what you thought appeared to be melted snow is actually blood.

“L-Lay down,” you whisper, your voice cracking as your heart begins to beat out of rhythm in a terrible, frantic tune. You have to help him, his body clumsy and heavy. Din slips the rest of the way and coughs when his cheek meets the floor, his entire body juddering like the engines of the Razor Crest when they stall.

You might pass out, you think, staring in horror at his back. Perhaps be sick.

Once, you’d seen a servant burn their hand by taking a cast iron skillet from a fire, and it had not left any skin behind. Now, looking at the man beneath you, fear almost swallows you whole.

He is going to die, if not from his wounds, than an infection.

It’s only when his hand reaches out, trembling and weak to touch the hem of your skirt that you ignite. You throw yourself forward, grabbing at his boot and finding the blade he used to once cut your own dress from your body. You move carefully, kneeling beside his hip and finding the ruined lip of his shirt near his collar, and you are thankful he keeps his blades so well-oiled once more. It cuts the fabric like butter, and you go slow so that you don’t accidentally pierce his skin, cutting the shirt from his arms first and then the top of his shoulders.

The heat has finally circulated through the ship enough to chase off the worst of the chill, so when he begins to shiver even harder, you know it is not from the cold.

“Din,” you whisper, setting the knife down and bending towards his face. You lay your fingers to his cheek, your stomach falling when you find his eyes closed. “Din, you have to stay awake.”

His breath comes out in a grunt, his face twisting in pain. He whispers through his teeth again, “‘m awake.”

Turning, you throw the medkit open, finding electrolyte tablets by their bright yellow pouch and tear it open. You had read an old medical book as a teenager, finding every braille book you could get your hands on in the Moff’s extensive library. Braille is often only found in the driest and most rudimentary genres, but now you are thankful. You are by no means a healer, but you know enough that he is going into shock. You force his lips apart and shove the electrolyte tablets between his teeth, making a noise when he doesn’t respond.

“Chew them!” You yell, your voice becoming shrill in your panic. He needed water, too, but you didn’t want to leave him so you cup his chin and give his head a tiny shake. “Din!”

He grunts, and it takes him too long for your liking, but you can hear the soft clicking of the tablets breaking between his teeth. You turn back to the medkit and find several small glass bottles. You can’t read the print on them, and you struggle to find anything your eyes can make out aside from a syringe.

If you could fly the ship to a port, to a medical center, you would, but you can’t. There’s no way you can make it with your limitations beyond getting off the planet, and that wouldn’t be of any more help than being stuck here. You squeeze your fingers around the bottles before leaning back towards his face, tapping his cheek with your fingers.

“Din, open your eyes,” you say, soft and gently prodding. “Please, my love, I need your help. You have to tell me which of these is the anesthetic. I can’t see it.”

It’s good, you think, when he makes a heroic effort to lift his lashes, that you can keep him awake this way. If he falls asleep now, you know he will never wake up again.

“Is it this one?” You hold it up. He is too weak to shake his head, so he simply closes his eyes, and you want to cry. You truly do, but instead you hold another bottle in his line of sight. “This one?”

You do this for several turns before he grunts, lips pressed firmly and jerking his head in affirmation. You stab the syringe into the bottle, drawing the anesthetic as much as you dare and look back down at his back.

It will hurt, no matter how much you can give him, you realize, but removing the rest of his shirt will be the hardest part for both of you. You lay one hand on the back of his head to both steady and comfort him, and you slip the needle beneath his skin, biting your lip as you release the plunger. Once you’ve set those tools aside, you pick the knife back up and shift forward again.

“A-Alright,” you whisper, sniffling against the cold and your nerves. There is a tight, painful knot in your throat, but talking seems to ease the discomfort. You hope it might be of some comfort to him, too, might keep him awake. “I-I have to remove the rest.”

He says nothing, only seems to be focusing on breathing, so you take that as the only bit of encouragement you’ll get, and you use the knife’s tip to fold the top of the shirt backward. You aren’t sure if it’s your eyesight, the light, or the fact the burns are so spread out, but the shirt does not cling to the skin as terribly as you suspected. His gloves must be giving him more pain, you think, as you peel away the ruined, bloodied tunic and he does not move, save for a twitch of his boot.

The pattern against the golden skin of his back reminds you of fingers, licks of blood and blisters that gleam wetly under the faint yellow light. For a moment, looking upon the wounds, you feel as if you’re choking, a surge of terror rising in your throat.

It’s too much, you can’t do this, how are you supposed to do this?

Your hand grasps your throat, staring blindly at his ruined back while your other hand lays atop his own that weakly grips the hem of your dress. He is close to falling unconscious, close to never waking up, and a small voice within reminds you that if he had chosen someone else in that dirty, dusty cantina, they would know what to do.

His fingers twitch beneath your hand, a small movement that snaps your attention to the present like a hook reeling in a fish. You clamber up to your feet and cross the hull, movements muted and succinct. You take a cloth from a cupboard and dip it under a stream of cool water, sniffling and realizing you’ve been crying the whole time.

You ignore this and march like a stormtrooper back to the wounded man on the floor, rolling your sleeves up and kneeling like a supplicant before an altar.

It has been years since you read the medical book in the Moff’s library, but burns are a nasty business and are not easily forgotten. You knew better than to let the water run into the wounds themselves, nor did you disturb the blisters that could be disastrous. You cleaned the blood away, sniffling persistently as you worked. It was easy to do, uncovering the gold beneath the red.

Din grunts under your administrations, though you couldn’t be applying more pressure than a feather. The silence is suddenly too much for you, hearing his muffled noises of swallowing his pain. You want to fill the empty space before it makes you scream.

“Do you know how I knew those flowers weren’t poisonous?” you ask suddenly, thinking of Quanera and the fields of blue and purple flowers, of the baby that had babbled and happily given you and his father blooms of his choosing. “It’s all in the number of leaves. Though with all the frogs and lizards your son eats, I don’t think a flower would bother him much.”

You want to demand who did this to him, make him answer for this atrocity, but you can feel the fist he makes beside your leg, knowing how much it is costing him just to remain awake while you retrieve a bacta spray from the medkit. You pray it will be enough, pray it will flush out any chance of infection from the snow.

“Some flowers,” you go on, administering the spray from the base of his spine upward. It’s a fine mist that doesn’t make any noise, but you can see the muscle beneath the burned skin tense when he whimpers, burying his face against the unforgiving grooves of metal in the floor. “Some flowers become poisonous. Did you know that? When you make tea out of them and let them set overnight, they can become deadly.”

As if delicate things could turn dangerous, given enough time.

He will have scars, you think. Scars over the untouched planes of ocher skin you had caressed and felt when he made love to you. It breaks your heart when you reach the top of his shoulders, the back of his neck, feeling the charred ends of his curls where the fire has singed so much away. You know the burns cover the crescent moons your nails had once left, tokens of love and desire no longer bearing the evidence of the first time he put his mouth on you.

“S-Stop,” Din whispers, his voice no more than a hoarse rasp. He sounds deathly, faint and hanging onto the last vestiges of his energy. “Please, stop, Cyare, it hurts.”

“I’m almost done,” you implore, biting your lip. There is a small canister of burn salve in the medkit, meant for minor wounds from the sun or being in the kitchen. You don’t know if it will have any effect, but your limited knowledge prevents you from not trying anything. You scoop the salve out, careful to use it on the worst parts because there is so little of it.

You are halfway down his back when suddenly he begins trembling from head to foot so hard that you can hear his teeth knocking together. Your arms hang still, your eyes rolling upward to his whitened face.

“Din?”

You set the canister down, moving until you can turn his cheek upward. Sweat the size of slugthrower bullets wet his face and dampen his hair, and his eyes are squeezing tightly shut. Every word is forced, breaking in desperation. “T-Too much,” he whispers, and you think you see him bite his lip, marble teeth piercing flesh. “‘S t-too mu-much-”

You don’t know, then, if he is going to live. The tears that washed your face and the panic that you had swallowed both come back, and you grab his hand between both of yours, holding his burned fingers to your lips. “You said I wouldn’t be without you, don’t-! Please, please don’t-don’t leave me.”

But then, he does.

It’s not sudden or dramatic, like you have always imagined something like death is. In fact, it is quiet, soft, and quick, a gentle brush of air that disturbs the hem of your dress, and his entire body goes slack against the rough metal floor.

“N-No, no-” Your hands cup the back of his neck quickly, your other hand turning his face enough to pat his cheek. His eyes flutter, but no breath disturbs your fingers from beneath his nose. “Din!”

Tears the size of credits well in your eyes and begin falling, soaking your cheeks as you pat desperately at his face, his shoulder, his arm, whimpering when he continues not to move.

“Wake up-” Your lungs catch on the words, swallowing and choking on them like some kind of live creature wriggling between your ribs. Your mouth breaks open on a silent, raw sob, shaking his shoulder faster, harder, blinded by brine and panic. You draw his head into your lap, desperately trying to get him to wake, whimpering against the charred, sweat dampened black curls at the crown of his head. You rock him quickly, hoping touch will somehow bring his tattered, bloodied spirit back to you. “-You said, you promised-you said you would be here,” you choke, squeezing your eyes closed and bending over his head. “Y-You promised!”

If you just hold him tighter, you think wildly-so, so blind-he will wake up. He will.

And then, he does.

This time it is sudden, harsh and visceral like a fish breaking the surface of a choppy ocean. His arms strike out on either side of him, and he chokes on his own breath, gasping and coughing into the soft fabric of your skirt. You jerk backward, stunned and eyes widened to look down at his broken, torn body.

There, tucked near his side, you find the tiny green child pressing his two three-fingered hands against his father’s flank. Your heart will surely come up, you think, staring in awe at the little one’s ears twitching, his eyes narrowed into slits of concentration.

You are too shocked, too indignant in what you conceive to be happening to react. Din clutches at your lower half in desperation, and you watch in fearful rapture as the torn, burned flesh of his back is slowly knit together. Blisters melt away like water, the deeper slashes the fire left behind sewing themselves as if there had only been too much sun shining upon the son of Mandalore.

The child falls over abruptly, and you have to reach forward to catch him before his tiny head connects with the hard steel grating. His skin, upon closer inspection, is pale, a sickly non-color that makes you feel queasy, and he lays against your shoulder as if he is overheated, panting quietly. You cup the back of his head, turning your own ashen face down upon the Mandalorian.

He lays panting too, his entire body now drenched with sweat. His eyes are still shut tight, but the air flowing through his nose in harsh puffs gives you enough strength to stand on shaky legs. You find the medical bunk opened, the pram’s shutters parted like a well-cracked egg. You don’t know how he managed to get out of both, but you lay him inside the pram once more, pressing your hands against the steel wall and taking a deep breath.

Din’s back is smooth once again, save for a small spattering of scars you’ve felt before. His skin is heated, and you wonder if the child had to stop short, couldn’t quite draw out all of the damage. You had seen workers at the Moff’s estate with burns from the sun, spending too much time outside. You don’t know how long you sit beside him, your hand petting the middle of his back.

You do know that when he wakes, he will tell you everything that happened.

You also know that whenever you sleep, your blaster will be within your reach.

Mando’a Translations:

Cyare - Beloved

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#The Lovely Moons #The Mandalorian fanfiction #The Mandalorian x Reader #The Mandalorian x you #Mandalorian x you #Mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin x reader #my fic #my writing #oof #hope this is...ok

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razor-crests · 5 years ago

Text

Stomp and Grind

Pairing: (Mandalorian/Dyn Jarren x Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT 🛑

Words: 2.9k

Summary: Delirium[ dih-leer-ee-uh m ] - a state of violent excitement or emotion. A Mandalorian walks into a bar, and it's only a matter of time before he ruins your life.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954169/chapters/52391470

Business was booming, so to speak.

The lower city joint was what you considered to be comfortably packed from your own familiar spot behind the bar, tucked decisively away from the thunderous energy of colorful clientele. Every booth, table, and stool was spoken for, with excess patrons clamoring to huddle around large groups engaged in conversation or bravely attempt to wrassle their way toward you to gruffly request an order. Evidently, there wasn’t enough starfire ‘skee in the system to keep these thugs sated.

You couldn’t scarcely remember a time that you’d seen the cantina as packed as this. When you took the bartending job initially, Taris was no better than a ghost town, a rusted broken-down shell of what it once was pre-civil war. Truthfully, the history of the planet you called home was one muddled with class warfare and deception, but Taris proved to be prime real estate for the galaxy’s most morally ambiguous, despite remaining 70% decaying rubble and 30% ocean.

See, the thing about Taris was that it had served as the galaxy’s punching bag for thousands of years for a reason. In its heyday, over 60 billion Tarisians resided on the planet’s surface, whether they were privileged enough to afford upper city apartments or otherwise. It was an almost perfect waypoint between Hutt Space and Coruscant, two other juggernauts of industry. Skyscrapers towered hundreds of stories high, breaching the cloud cover so unremittingly that the naked eye might’ve deemed them towers to the heavens.

Only, unlike any other ecumenopolis, Taris was perfectly stationed within the Outer Rim, which naturally meant that nobody was enforcing shit.

All this made it a haven for bounty hunters and travelers alike, or really anyone who sought to make some quick currency without answering to a higher authority.

To distance yourself from that way of life would be absurd. After all, you weren’t just any run of the mill barkeep. Your status as an informant was well kept, but implied, as many of the businesses in the lower city area were not what they seemed at first glance. The man that owned the establishment had connections to smugglers, Separatists, Galactic Alliance politicians- you name it.

Live music began to blare from the stage, prompting another eruption of movement from the crowd as clusters of people began to siphon onto the dance floor, faces alight with the elation that only a back-alley watering hole could inspire.

You finish emptying out a glass of something neon green and cloudy, handing it swiftly to the worker droid for cleaning, and shift to lean forward against the counter when a silvery glint catches your eye, weaving within the crowd but out of sight in a mere flash. Craning your neck to identify it once more, your attention is forcibly yanked away by...ugh.

“It’s been too long,” drawled a familiar voice from beyond the bar, and you were instantly relieved to have said barrier in place. The speaker was a Balosar gang member that you distinctly remember from the week before, having had the privilege of cleaning up after him when he couldn’t hold his liquor. The ordeal only came after his vehement effort to coax you into a date. For three hours straight.

He was a lanky young thing, fresh off the docking bay from his homeworld. His clothes were disheveled, but only just enough that it was evident he was trying too hard to appear rugged. His eyes were glazed over this time, though, and you could tell he was barely lucid. You couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he’d last if staying in town was part of his MO.

“Not long enough, Bez,” you retort, instinctively. Funnily enough, your second instinct was to casually slide your hand underneath the glossy tabletop to grasp the handle of a blaster you kept at arm’s reach for safety reasons. You wouldn’t need it, necessarily, but perhaps you could chase him away so as to not be doomed to a shift spent babysitting. It was either that or staging a brawl, which sounded like way too much work.

“You know I couldn’t keep myself away for- hey, what the-”

While Baz was presumably gearing up to give his new and improved pitch, you were checking the barrel of your WESTAR-34 while your hip shifted to rest snugly against the nearby pillar.

“Oh, by all means, keep going,” you continue, the faint echo of a smile edging across your cheeks. You were occupying yourself with polishing the hilt using your jacket sleeve, watching the refraction of light bounce erratically from multicolored lamps overhead.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’m here to speak to a man named Jigo Delac. Is he here?”

It’s amazing how the specific cadence of someone’s voice can carry such depth and promise, especially if it’s being augmented by a modulator. It was undeniable; your attention was captured in an instant.

You expected Baz to do something idiotic and ask who the fuck this guy thought he was talking to, but he seemed to slink away almost immediately.

Once you raised your head, you understood why.

“Rough timing, friend. You just missed him,” you respond swiftly, adjusting your gaze higher to meet the stranger’s eyes but finding the distinct gleam of a t-visor instead. Of course.

Your shoulders do something funny, not quite tensing up but rather rolling back as your posture shifted. The lone figure was taller than you by a couple inches from what you could tell, seemingly armored in beskar from head to toe. Well, that was what you assumed, given that anything below his chestplate was obscured by your little firewater-filled enclosure.

“But…,” you continue melodically, drawing out the word while simultaneously leaning in his direction until your elbows brushed the tabletop, “He’ll be back soon. You can hang tight ‘till then, if you want.”

Okay, that was a lie, and a pretty big one as well, considering that your boss had left on business two cycles ago and wouldn’t return for three more. It’s just that something was telling you not to let this one walk away so easily. To see the crowd consume him once again and be devoid of alluring conversation for the rest of the night was an unbearable consequence to dwell on.

He wasn’t the first Mandalorian you had the fortune of seeing in person. Their kind was few, practically archaic, and prone to isolation, but Taris was a hub for anyone interested in mercenary work. It was along the Hydian Way as well, previously passing through what scholars referred to as the Mandalorian Road.

You motioned for him to sit with a quick nod of your head and watched the stranger, this Mandalorian, exhibit an apprehensive indication before settling down on the stool directly in front of you. His helmet, though decisively tinted, left room for some expressiveness. Even though you couldn’t perceive any facial articulation, his body language spoke for itself.

Somebody further down the line flagged you down for a drink, and so you shifted into mixology mode, grabbing bottles off the wall. The man’s presence was certainly assertive. It was also strangely serene, as the two of you sank into a comfortable silence over the next twenty minutes.

His stoicism was kind of intriguing you, though. That whole crowd wasn’t really known for their talkative nature. Still, you were growing more intent on picking his brain. A lull in drink orders prompted you to retrieve two short glasses and plunk them down between the two of you.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine,” he said, and you could sense he was looking at you. If you didn’t know better, you would say he was meeting your eyes.

“Is it uh, because of the…?,” you brought a finger up to trace the outline of your own jaw in an allusion to the helmet which remained on; this was according to religious protocol, you had heard.

“Mostly, yes.”

You nodded slowly, pouring a shot in each glass anyways.

“Guess I’ll pick up your slack,” you respond curtly, proceeding to throw back both of them.

You could’ve sworn you heard a low hint of laughter from under his breath.

______________

“I just now realized that you never told me your name.”

The roar of the late night crowd had all but died out, leaving wide open space at a nearby table. You had happily hurdled the bar as you’ve done a thousand times before, tossing a rag to KO-6D as you went. Hours had passed, and you suspected the moons to set soon enough. If he realized something was suspect, he hadn’t let on, instead choosing to trade stories for a while.

“Most people just end up calling me Mando,” he answered. He seemed relieved to see the labor droid power down fully, and reclined a little further back in his chair.

Your acquaintance, now Mando, had taken the seat opposite you once again. You drew your knees close to your chest, forever unable to sit in a chair correctly.

“Alright, short for Mandalorian. That’s what you are, but not who you are though, y’know?”

“Should I cut you off?” The tone was playful, and you matched his sarcasm with an airy giggle that trailed off with the surety that he was staring at you again.

Silence hung like a star in the sky for 10 palpable seconds before you blurted out,

“I might’ve uh...underestimated Jigo’s penchant to turn an errand into a business trip. I’m sorry if I wasted your time.”

Now you were stressing a little bit. Was he gonna be pissed? Even worse, would he leave?

Unable to cope with the uncertainty, you get up to go hop onto the bar, perched with your legs dangling off the edge in a sort of retreat.

“Yeah, I gathered that about an hour ago,” Mando said, mostly unfazed. He tilted his head inquisitively, as if he wanted you to finish a thought.

“Did I waste your time, though?” The second you say it, you want to groan at how stupid it sounds.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be, trust me.”

There was a pronounced softness to that statement, and it brought heat rising to the surface of your cheeks. You were looking very hard at the floor, but you heard a distant shifting from his chair as he went to stand before you, leaving just enough room so that you could get down if you wanted to, but you were close enough to see your own reflection in the helmet.

The courage to look back at him accrued slowly but surely, and you reached for his gloved hand first, as a test.

He allowed you to take it, but did little else.

“I don’t usually…” he trailed off a bit shakily, a surprising display of shyness from someone who spoke with such conviction. You noticed at this proximity that his shoulders, pauldrons or no, were broad as hell. You nodded faintly, finding an explanation needless. Your thumb ghosted over the material covering his palm, and you attempted to tug him closer by the arm.

“C’mere,” is what you could muster, and it worked well enough judging by the way he shifted to settle his arms at your waist. You were drawn in from the get go, but steeled yourself enough to reach for the surface of his chest plating first, letting your hands skim the expanse before landing tentatively on his shoulders.

Effects of the firewater still burned faintly within your chest, swirling around in a vortex of confusion and anticipation and more strikingly, want.

Paying attention to where the beskar plating met twiny, thick fabric, you grasped tighter as if to soothe the tension from his neck. Body heat was radiating from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and you felt the strongest urge to bury your face into it.

Just when you expected it the least, he hooked both of his hands underneath your knees, pulling you closer with ease until he was properly stood between your legs.

You had a bit of a height advantage, situated on the chilly slab of synrock. Thankfully, you’d cleared it off earlier, but broken glass wouldn’t have stopped either of you.

You were caught in a light gasp, suddenly at a much closer proximity. Both of his hands settled steadily on your clothed outer thighs. Clearly, you would be thrilled to be rid of every layer, to feel how rough his palms were from the strain of combat as they dug into your bare skin. It was increasingly apparent, though, that this type of intimacy was already pushing his boundaries. Try as he might to inhibit it, you could detect a tremor in his breaths that you couldn’t resist trying to soothe.

You leaned back briefly in order to shrug the patched bomber jacket off of your shoulders and land on the floor, neglected. All that remained was your black sleeveless top, which was already beginning to ride up on your torso, prompting goosebumps to form.

You were mindful of the blaster at his hip, as well as the blades sheathed along his thigh, but knew better than to think they posed a danger. Nobody had a bounty out on you, surely. Your boss took good care of his charges, provided protection. If you were being tracked, Jigo would be the first to know.

Slowly, you wind your arms around the Mandalorian’s neck until your forehead meets the front of his helmet with a gentle thud. Eyes lidded, you spent a moment just like that, imagining what exactly the galaxy was playing at by bringing this masked bounty hunter to your cantina.

You felt his hands hover at your waist for a beat before one came to grip your inner thigh, and you decided then that this slow burn was no good for your nerves.

“Does a girl have to beg for it?” You ask at a half-whisper, fingers skimming the contours of the helmet.

It seemed like this one was full of surprises. In an instant, he was lifting you and making short work of your pants, which you suspect ended up on the floor as well. Left feeling significantly underdressed and equally aroused, you could do nothing but hold on tight as the hand that wasn’t holding you steady brushed your inner thighs, inching ever closer to where you needed it most.

It didn’t even bother you that his gloves remained on, and you arched into his palm, muttering obscenities while he palmed you over your underclothes.

“Only if you want to,” he retorted, more than a little breathless himself. You made an instinctive reach for the sizable tent below his belt, feeling a jolt of satisfaction when he dropped his head onto your shoulder with a low groan.

You sure as hell didn’t see it happen, but Mando yanked the glove off his right hand and proceeded to continue teasing you.

Whimpering in realization, you understood that he wanted to feel for himself whether you were soaked through your panties.

The answer was yes.

Every part of you was screaming for him, eager to come apart under his hands as he busied himself parting the fabric to give you even better friction. One finger slipped in easily, and two had you keening within his grasp. He was enveloping you, and you felt yourself going mad with it, especially when you inhaled to draw in his scent.

It became apparent that this wasn’t his first rodeo, so to speak. He was crooking his fingers so precisely, kneading the heel of his wrist into your most sensitive area, avoiding any direct contact that would make you flinch or shy away. Within minutes, you were nearing your climax at breakneck speed.

“Go ahead,” he urged, voice alight with the anticipation of witnessing your peak. His hips had been canting against you with his own need, seemingly not of his own accord, and the prospect of getting him over the edge as well made a whimper bubble to the surface of your chest while you spasmed fiercely on his fingers.

All the Imperial troops in the galaxy couldn’t stop you from dropping to your knees after that. One moment, you were mouthing his clothed length, and the next, he was gripping the edge of the table and moaning words of encouragement, even as he came.

It boggled your mind to think that a brief, frankly juvenile sexual encounter could feel meaningful, dare you say...intimate? Living on the lawless side of the systems had its perks, but trustworthy confidants were in short supply; and people that you’d allow in your bed, even shorter.

The two of you spent a good while catching your breath. You threw the bounty hunter a hand towel, exchanging quips like you’d known each other for years. That fondness, the heart-wrenching ease with which he ran his fingers through your hair- that was worth something.

When you parted ways, you were leaning gingerly against the doorway, having had the pleasure of flustering your Mandalorian all over again after standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to the beskar where his cheek would be.

As you watched him take his leave under the heavy shadow of Taris’ moons, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being sentenced to a great deal of waiting. For what, you didn’t yet understand.

There were worse things than that.

#reader insert #writing in second person gave me a headache but like maybe it was that I was shitfaced as well #the mandalorian #this reader has a 🐱and uses she/her pronouns IG #cantina shenanigans #COUNTLESS hours on wookiepedia that I will never get back #but it's canon bongs exist in Star Wars #table sex #thank u if u read it #dyn jarren #baby yoda #Star Wars fanfic

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silentwhispofhope · 7 years ago

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Empyreal Adventures (Ezra x Reader) Part 4

Last Chapter <> Next Chapter

Gingerly, you picked up the food given to you by one of the rebels. Your (h/c) eyebrows furrowed at the supposed fruit in your hands. It's appearance was that of a tiny, purple watermelon. The white staggering lines almost gave off a glow. Feeling something cuddle up to you on your foot, you noticed Moirai glancing up at you. Their eyes ogled the fruit. You looked back to the boy in front of you.

"Are you sure this is okay to eat?" You asked Ezra. His expression dropped into a look of surprise.

"Do they not have these on Earth?!" He exclaimed. In response, you shook your head. "You all are missing out on so much!"

Looking back at the purple fruit in your hands, you hesitantly raised it to you mouth. You took a bite, and the flavor immediately flooded into your mouth. Quickly swallowing what you ate, you let a strong cough. Your sudden action caused the loth cat to jump and fall onto its back. Moirai scrambled behind the black haired boy.

"Oh my god! Why is it so sweet?!" You yelled between coughs. Ezra let out a snicker. "Is thing on sugar steroids?"

Suddenly, a shadow fell onto you. Tilting you head backwards, you saw a girl with short ombré hair. You immediately recognized her as Sabine. Quickly, you put on a look of fake confusion.

"Um... hello?" You questioned. Glancing back at Ezra, you raised your eyebrows to signal him to tell you who the girl was.

"That's Sabine. She's the Ghost's ammunition specialist." He replied.

You got off the crate you were using as a seat and set the jogan fruit down. Holding out your non-injured hand to the Mandalorian, you waited for her to shake it. However, you were met with nothing. The aura surrounding her made you dread what may be coming. The smile on your face quickly dropped.

"Let's make one thing clear. I don't trust you. Someone like you shouldn't be able to appear and claim about being from a planet that has never existed," Sabine stated sternly while pushing her index finger into your injured shoulder.

Shock and confusion was expressed on your face. Before she could walk away, you grabbed onto her shoulder. "What do you mean my planet doesn't exist? I was literally on it a couple of days ago!"

"I mean there are no records of any planet called Earth existing," she explained harshly. Sabine harshly pushed past you, giving your injured shoulder a hard shove. Moirai let out a loud hiss which you responded with a disapproving frown. They immediately quieted. Thank god you couldn't feel anything due to the shot you received from the amiable nurse. You turned to Ezra to see he also had a shocked expression.

"I'm so sorry. Sabine has never acted like that before!" He exclaimed. "I'll go see what's up with her."

Before Ezra could get up to move, you grabbed his jacket. In result, he stopped. Pulling your phone out of your back pocket, you handed it to him. Maybe you could gain her trust this way.

"Wait. Give her this. Tell her the password is 596230."

Ezra immediately recognized the device. Quickly nodding, he ran after the angry Mandalorian. You watched him as dust kicked up from underneath him. Turning your head back to the sight in front of you, you let out a sigh. A (H/C) strand of hair fell onto your face. You quickly fixed it back behind your eye. Grabbing the jogan fruit, you took a final bite into it. Ignoring the sweetness, you walked outside of the main base camp with the brown loth cat on your heals.

Was what she said true? Of course it was! It's Sabine we're talking about. She only lies when she needs to, but what does this mean? Is it possible for multiple dimensions to exist or has your planet just been so isolated that no one has noticed it? Never mind. That would be impossible with the people living there. Say you were in another dimension. How would you even get here? Most importantly, was there a way to get back? Would you ever be able to see your family again. You never even got to say goodbye.

You rubbed your forehead with you thumbs. You could feel a headache brewing and tears ready to spill. Sitting down with a plop, Moirai climbed into your lap letting out a small meow. As if they sensed your stress, they lifted their head. They began to rub their head under your chin and purred. Closing your eyes, you listened to the sound. What you needed was a moment of peace. Occasionally, you could feel their whiskers hit your skin. Moirai's purring eventually stopped with the fall of only several tears. The two of you were sitting in peace.

Opening one eye, you looked below you to see the creature slowly falling asleep. Whispering a quick thank you, you wrapped your good arm around them. Looking around, no one would have guessed this planet was part of an intergalactic war. The tall grass would wriggle in the wind. Everything seemed peaceful, but you knew that as you got closer to the cities, it would get more chaotic. A sudden cough disrupted your thoughts. Turning around, you saw Ezra and Sabine standing several feet away. With your sudden movement, Moirai woke. Quickly noticing who you were looking at, the loth cat jumped out of your lap hissing. Jumping onto your feet, you tried to quiet Moirai.

"Sorry! They've never acted like this before!" You exclaimed, swooping the animal up in your good arm. Immediately, Moirai silenced. The loth cat had the most proud look on their face. Rolling your eyes, you gently set them down. Giving them a shooting motion, the creature hesitantly crawled away from you to join their friends, where ever they may be. You glanced back at the duo, to see Ezra elbow Sabine in the side.

"Let's just get this over with," she sighed.

You could sense a hint of annoyance. However, you couldn't tell if it was aimed at yourself or Ezra. The Mandalorian took one of her blasters from her leather holster, and tossed it towards you. Her sudden action surprised you. Fumbling with your hands, you quickly caught it.

"Ezra, you're up," Sabine stated.

You gave the black haired boy a questioning look only for him to ignore you. He shuffled past you. Vibrations erupted from the ground causing you to almost forget about the blaster in your (S/C) hands. A small cluster of orange rocks floated up into the sky. Your eyes widen in surprise. Seeing the force performed in movies and tv shows was one thing, but seeing it in real life was amazing! You couldn't help but awe in admiration. Suddenly, a tan hand appeared in front of your face and snapped. You took a step back in surprise.

"Stop gawking. I need you to pay attention for this," Sabine sternly told you. Slowly, you nodded your head in response. She pulled the pairing blaster out of her other holster.

"This is a WESTAR-35 blaster pistol. It has a high accuracy when it comes to shooting, making it perfect for any one. It has a built in flash suppressor, so it is suitable for nighttime use," Sabine stated. Lifting her weapon with one hand, she quickly shot at several of the floating rocks with perfect accuracy. You could feel an invisible bead of sweat drip down your forehead. Remind to self: don't get on Sabine's bad side. She turned towards you, her face neutral. "Your turn."

Your face dropped. Seriously?! Just like that? Glancing between the blaster in your hands and Sabine, you could hear a sigh come from here. Glimpses of fear were evident on your face.

"Come here."

Her voice was a smidge softer than before. After shuffling towards the Mandalorian, she set her hands on the blue blaster. Sabine quickly set your non-injured hand in position to hold it. You felt as stiff as a board that was dropped into a pit of concrete. You could clearly hear your heartbeat. Sabine quickly took notice and took her hands off yours. Lowering the weapon, she set her hands onto your shoulders. You glanced back up her with nervous (E/C) orbs.

"You need to relax if you're going to be shoot. With what's happening, you have to be ready at any moment."

You barely heard the last part, and gave a timid nod. Sabine stared at you for a moment before continuing her demonstration and pointing at various parts of the weapon. Occasionally, you would give the warrior nods to show her you were paying attention.

"These parts right here are the rear and front sight. It helps you aim, and finally is the trigger. I'm sure you already know what that does," Sabine paused for a minute. You glanced up to see her looking at something out of the corner of her eye. "Ezra, can you stop that?!"

Turning your head, you could clearly see the Jedi juggling the rocks with the force. You let out a small snort of laughter. When Sabine threatened to come over to him, he immediately stopped. The rocks stopped moving and returned to their original places in the sky.

"As I was saying... That's all you should need to know," she stated.

Nodding your head, you shakily raised the blaster up. Taking a deep breath, you attempted slow your heart. Key word: attempted. Closing one eye, you looked through the rear sight and lined it up with the front.

"Relax."

With that word said, you loosened your shoulders and pressed the trigger. A loud piercing scream rocketed through the air. Instinctively, you flinched. You watched as the laser soared through the sky only for it miss a floating rock. Letting out an exasperated sigh, you lowered the weapon.

"Hey, it's only normal for that to happen on your first go. Try again," Sabine stated.

Giving a small ok in response, you lifted the weapon once more. You repeated the same steps. When you were about to pull the silver trigger, a voice shouted from across the plains.

"You can do it, (Y/N)!" Ezra yelled. His sudden actions caught you by surprise, causing you to fire the blaster away from your target.

"Dude!" You screeched back.

What felt like hours later, was really one hour. The three of you had decided that was enough weapon training. Well, it was more like you. Your arm was getting tired from having to stay lifted for such an extended amount of time. No doubt it was going to be sore tomorrow. At some point, Moirai appeared. As you all got closer to the base, Sabine got farther away from you and Ezra. A sudden cough from the boy caught your attention.

"You did well today, (Y/N)," he suddenly stated. A surprise look graced your face.

"Um... thanks? I don't think I did that well to be honest. I barely hit any of the stupid rocks," You paused, looking back him. "Wait a minute. Are you trying to flirt with me?"

Ezra quickly responded. "What?! No! Of course not! I've only know for a couple of days!"

Remembering the first time he met Sabine, you couldn't be sure. The boy was one hell of a mess around her. Letting out an uh huh, you two continued to talk.

"Anyways, Sabine helping me learn how to use a blaster that was your idea. Wasn't it?" You asked.

#ezra bridger #star wars #star wars rebels #ezra bridger x reader #jedi #sith #ezra x reader

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baileypie-writes · 5 months ago

Note

Hello, 'tis I again.

Could I humbly ask for headcanons of Westar x reader where reader remembers him from one of the various Labyrinth attacks and is really scared of him at first but slowly realizes he's a precious cinnamon roll himbo plz?

Tysm

A/N ~ Sure! I love the meme btw haha! Hope you enjoy!(btw I don’t even know what this title is. I tried😭)

~Being Scared of Westar at First Headcanons~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Precure!

Fanfic Type: Headcanons

Reader: Gender neutral

Relationship: Platonic to Romantic

Characters Included: Westar

Genre: Hurt/Comfort?, fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: None!

~Masterlist~

~Fresh Precure! Masterlist~

Guide: The orange dialogue is Westar and the uncolored dialogue is Reader.

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~ You had seen the monster attacks many times on TV. It always scared you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for when you actually encountered one. It was terrifying. There was destruction and screaming. You remember seeing a strange man, seemingly ordering the monster around. After seeing him many more times, it confirmed that he was the one responsible. But after the monster attacks stopped, you assumed that you wouldn’t see him again.

~~~~

~ Westar was so excited to ask you out. He knew quite a bit about you, but you didn’t know much about him. But he thought it was still worth a try! So imagine his surprise when your expression turns into one of pure fear when he talks to you, and you began shouting at him, telling him to get away.

“So… do you wanna go on a date sometime?”

“Wait a second. You’re that guy who summoned all the monsters, and made them attack the city! Get away from me!”

“What, what-“

~ He definitely didn’t expect that. He began fumbling over his words, desperately trying to explain that he’s not like that anymore. But the more he did, the more scared you got. So he just stopped, took a deep breath, and explained everything.

~ Eventually, he got it out that he was good now. You seemed to calm down a bit, but were still skeptical. So he explained himself further. With each sentence, you got less and less frightened. He seemed really honest.

“Okay, lemme try again. I was bad, and I did make those monsters. But I’m good now! I even teamed up with the Pretty Cure to defeat my old boss!”

“You work for the Pretty Cure?”

“Yeah! Well, no. I don’t work for them. We’re more like friends!”

“So… you’re not a bad guy anymore?”

“Nope! I promise!”

~ You believed Westar after hearing his story. So you allowed him one chance at a date. He was so happy! He took you to the amusement park, and the two of you had so much fun. You pretty much forgot about him being a villain in the past. And the more you learned about him, the more you grew to love him.

~ After the date was over, he walked you home. When you got to the door, he nervously asked if you were still scared of him. To his delight, you said no. And you even suggested going on another date! Of course, he said yes!

“That was really fun, thanks for taking me! And for walking me home.��

“No problem! I had fun too! …So… are you still scared of me?”

“Haha, no. If I were, I wouldn’t be asking you to go on another date.”

“Oh well that’s good- Wait really?! You want to?!”

~ Since then, the two of you began dating. You couldn’t believe that you used to be scared of him! He was such a sweetheart! He even still apologizes for all the fear he caused you. He feels genuinely guilty. But you always assure him that you forgive him, and that you’re not scared anymore.

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#baileypie-writes #precure #pretty cure #precure x reader #pretty cure x reader #fresh precure #fresh precure x reader #westar #westar x reader #precure westar #precure westar x reader

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baileypie-writes · 6 months ago

Note

Hello, me again, the weirdo that keeps requesting Westar

Could I kindly ask for Westar revealing to Human World!reader who he really is and where he's from? 🥺

Have a good one, drink water!

A/N ~ Welcome back! Of course I can! Hope you enjoy!(you’re not weird btw, request all the Westar fics you want!)

~Secret’s Out~

Westar x GN!Human World!Reader

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Precure!

Fanfic Type: Oneshot

Reader: Gender neutral, from Earth

Relationship: Romantic

Genre: Hurt/Comfort?

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Your boyfriend, “Hayato” isn’t good at keeping secrets. So it was only a matter of time before it slipped out that he wasn’t from Earth.

Warnings: Possibly OOC Westar?, lying(Westar), sort of abrupt ending

~Masterlists~

~Fresh Precure! Masterlist~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

A chuckle erupted from your throat when you saw the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend, Hayato, was surrounded by a big group of women, all fawning over him. Many asked for his number, or to go out with them. Some people would get jealous at this, but you thought it was funny and cute how popular he was with the ladies. What was even more funny and cute was his completely unamused face. He hates attention from random, unknown people.

After a few moments, Hayato spotted you, and his face lit up. He wasted no time pushing through the crowd to get to you.

“(name)!” He called happily. You smiled, and waved back. Once he reached you, he gave you a big, bone-crushing hug. You literally heard your back pop.

“Hey sweetie.” You said in a strangled voice. You patted his back to let him know you were struggling to breathe, and he let go. You took notice of the ladies, and how they all walked away in disappointment. Some even gave you a judging look.

“Sorry about them. I just can’t seem to get them to leave me alone!” Hayato said.

“Can you blame them though? You are super attractive, after all!” You said, lightly elbowing him.

He blushed, and cleared his throat. “Well, yeah. But don’t they have any manners?”

You laugh again. “Yeah, guess you’re right.” You took his hand, and began walking away from the scene. “You didn’t tell me you’d be in town today. You hanging out with the girls? I don’t see Shun or Setsuna.” You asked. Hayato and his friends all lived out of town. But they would often visit to hang out with Setsuna’s friends. And of course, Hayato would come to visit you.

“Oh, yeah. They already left to see them. But I wanted to see you.” He smiled.

“Aw, you’re so sweet.” You said. Hayato laughed bashfully.

“Besides, things in Labyrinth can be so much sometimes. So it’s nice to come to a place with much less tech and more color.” He said without thinking.

“Labyrinth? Oh, you mean the city you’re from! Is it really that much different from here?” You asked.

Hayato froze, and slapped a hand over his mouth. You were confused at this reaction. It was almost as if he said something he shouldn’t have.

“It’s not! It’s totally normal!” He tried to fumble something together to steer the conversation away from his hometown.

You raised a brow. “Uh, that’s not what you said earlier? You know, you never talk about your home much, and always change the subject when it’s brought up. I’m curious to what it’s like. I tried Googling it, but I didn’t find anything related to it. What’s up with that?”

Hayato felt a bead of sweat roll down his face. He really screwed up this time. He was always bad at keeping secrets, especially from you. He’s slipped up so many times, from calling his friends by their real names, to talking too much about Labyrinth.

“Hayato? You okay?” You asked, concerned about his unresponsiveness. “Your hand is sweaty and hot. Are you feeling okay?”

That was it. He gave up. He was gonna tell you. “(name) I have to tell you something!” He spat out, a bit too loudly, making few people nearby glanced your way.

“Uh okay. What is it?” You were genuinely weirded out by his behavior.

“Let’s go to your place first!” Not one second after those words left his mouth, he began sprinting in the direction of your house.

He was dragging you behind, and since he was so fast, you were concerned about your arm being ripped off. “Hayato! Slow down.” Without saying anything, he slowed a bit, but continued running.

Eventually, you arrived at your house. Hayato tried opening your door, jiggling the handle aggressively when it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked, Hayato. Lemme get my key.” You said.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” He stepped aside. He looked so nervous, it made you begin to seriously worry.

The moment the door was unlocked and opened, he practically jumped inside. You followed, and locked the door behind you. Hayato was already sitting on the couch, fiddling with his thumbs by the time you made it into the living room.

“Hayato, what the heck is going on with you?” You asked, getting frustrated now.

“It’s Westar.” He mumbled out.

“What?”

“My name is Westar.” He said louder. The look he gave you was one of pure guilt.

“What are you talking about?” You were seriously concerned.

“Labyrinth is my home. B-But it’s not on Earth. It’s a different place. That’s where me, Sestuna and Shun are from.” He was sweating profusely, and tripping over his words. He was also being uncharacteristically serious.

“What do you mean ‘not on Earth’? How could you not be from Earth?” You were getting a bit scared, and started backing away.

“Please don’t run away (name)!” He said, jumping out of his seat and reaching out to you. “I wanted to tell you, but I’m not supposed to!”

“Tell me what? Nothing you’re saying is making any sense!” You raised your voice, making Westar flinch.

He sighed sorrowfully. “I’ll try to explain better.” He sat back down.

“There’s this place called Labyrinth. It’s kind of like Earth, and the people there look like humans. But there’s a lot more technology. That’s where I live. My real name is Westar, but I change my name and what I look like to fit in here. Shun and Setsuna are the same.” He explained it all to you. You just stood there, shocked. “But I’m still me! And I still love you! I wanted to tell you, but I’m not really supposed to! I’m probably gonna get in a lot of trouble for doing this.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments. “So that’s why you were always so secretive?” You finally asked. Westar nodded. “So you’re, like, an alien?”

“A what?” He asked, confused.

“A being from another planet.”

“Umm I don’t think it’s really another planet? It’s more like just another world.” He said. Explaining was never one of his strengths.

“Oh. So what do you really look like?” You asked, curiously getting the best of you.

Westar definitely didn’t expect you to ask that, but decided to show you anyway. “Oh! Lemme show you.” With a flash, his appearance changed. Not as drastically as you expected. He turned more pale, and his hair changed from blonde to a very pale turquoise. His clothes also changed. And they certainly didn’t look like any clothes you’ve ever seen. Your jaw dropped, completely taken aback from the otherworldly transformation.

“Sorry! I should’ve given you a warning… or something.” He apologized. “So… are you mad?”

You looked him up and down, taking in his new form. “I… don’t think so.” Westar sighed in relief. “I always suspected something was going on. You were never really good at hiding it. But I was never expecting… this.” You gestured to his whole body.

He smiled big, and ran over to you. He threw himself into you, giving you another bone-crushing hug.

You wheezed from the air being squeezed out of you, then laughed. “Yeah, I guess I’m not really mad. After all, you’re still basically the same old Hayato- I mean, Westar. Besides, I understand why you had to keep it a secret.”

Westar let go. “So you still love me?” He asked, with the biggest puppy dog eyes he could make.

“Yes, sweetie. I still love you.” You giggled, then kissed him. He happily kissed back, hugging you again.

After a few moments though, he abruptly pulled away, panic written all over his face. “Oh gosh, Soular’s gonna be pissed.”

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#baileypie-writes #pretty cure #pretty cure x reader #precure #precure x reader #fresh precure #fresh precure x reader #westar #westar x reader #precure westar #precure westar x reader

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baileypie-writes · 5 months ago

Note

Can you please do a Westar x reader x soular fluff

A/N ~ Sure! Hope you enjoy!

~A Couch Not Meant For Three~

Westar x GN!Reader x Soular

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Precure!

Fanfic Type: Oneshot

Reader: Gender neutral

Relationship: Romantic, throuple, polyamorous

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Synopsis: One thing about being in a relationship with two guys, is that not everyone can fit perfectly on your couch when you all want to sit together. But you decide that it’s not exactly a bad thing.

Warnings: Cheesy, kind of uneventful but in a relaxing way, possibly OOC characters?

~Masterlists~

~Fresh Precure! Masterlist~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

You sat comfortably on your couch, searching for a specific movie to watch. You were nearly finished typing the movie title on the search bar of the TV. Your finger was beginning to tire out from pressing the buttons on the remote so much. But at last, you saw the movie you desired as a result. After letting out a sigh of relief, you clicked on it.

Now, all you had to do was wait for your boyfriends to get there. Judging by their previous trips, it wouldn’t be much longer. Which was a bit humorous, considering that they lived in an entirely different world.

Almost as if you had summoned them, a knock came from the front door. You leaped up excitedly from the couch, rushing to answer it. As expected, when you opened it, Westar and Soular were on the other side. They were holding hands, though Westar let go to give you a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey (name)!” He greeted happily.

“Hey guys.” You struggled to get out. Soular chuckled at this, and placed a hand on Westar’s shoulder.

“Westar, if you don’t loosen that hug, we may no longer have a partner.” He joked.

He quickly let go of you, stepping back to ensure that you were alright. “Sorry!” He apologized.

“It’s alright.” You laughed. You walked over to Soular, giving him a hug as well. Not usually a big hugger, he patted your back lightly as a way of reciprocating. “You guys ready? I already have the food prepared.”

“Yeah! I can’t wait to see what movies on Earth are like!” Westar said.

“Yes, I agree.” Soular chimed in.

You led them inside your house, and into the living room. The cover of the movie was displayed on the screen of the TV, and they took a moment to look at it. “Hmm. This looks like it could be interesting.” Soular stated.

“Yeah, what’s it about?” Westar asked.

“You’ll have to wait and find out! Sit down, I’ll grab the popcorn.” You motioned to the couch, and left to go to the kitchen. The men obeyed, sitting down closely next to each other.

After you returned, they looked at each other, almost speaking telepathically. They then scooted to opposite ends of the couch, leaving a space for you in between them. “Oh, you want me in the middle?” You said.

“It’s only fair. This is your house.” Soular inquired. Westar nodded in agreement.

“Alright then.” You said, and sat between them. It was not a perfect fit at all. “Huh. Looks like my couch was not meant for three people.” You laughed.

“It’s alright. Now we’re extra close!” Westar playfully nuzzled into your neck, making you laugh yet again.

“But are you sure you guys are good with this? What about you, Soular?” You asked, knowing too much physical contact can make him a bit uncomfortable.

“I’m fine. It’s not too bad.” He smiled lightly.

“Alight then.” You shrugged. You began looking around for the remote, not remembering where you set it down earlier.

“Here you go, darling.” Soular said, handing it to you.

“Oh, thanks!” You gave him a kiss on the cheek. And to make sure Westar felt loved too, you gave him one as well, to which he happily chuckled at.

“This movie is my favorite! I can’t wait to see what you think.” You said, before turning on the movie. Soular leaned back and relaxed, while Westar leaned forward in anticipation.

~~~~

All throughout the movie, you watched the boys’ reactions to certain moments. You wanted to know if they were enjoying it. It seemed like they did, as Westar laughed at all the funny parts, and Soular made his “thinking face” during important parts. Both seemed interested in the plot, so you were glad.

As the movie went on, you couldn’t help but notice the space between you and the boys getting smaller and smaller. I mean, there wasn’t much to begin with, but they seemed to be scooting closer as time went by. Eventually, all of you sat shoulder to shoulder. It felt like you were in a can of sardines. But you didn’t dislike it. In fact, being squished between your boyfriends was quite enjoyable.

Soular eventually reached for your hand, which you gladly gave. His gloved fingers interlocked with yours, and you felt his thumb rub the back of your palm. You decided to let Westar in on the affection, so you took his hand too. He chuckled, and rested his head on yours.

~~~~

Eventually, the movie was over, and the credits began rolling. You looked at the empty popcorn bowl in your lap, and sighed. “Guess I better go take care of this.”

“No, stay here a bit longer.” Westar whined, putting more of his weight on you. Soular laughed, leaning on you as well to make sure you couldn’t get up.

“Well, I guess I have to now.” You said in a false annoyed tone. You smiled, gripping the boys’ hands tighter. “I love you guys.”

“I love you guys too!” Said Westar, and gave both you and Soular a quick peck on the cheek.

“Me too.” Soular agreed.

You had no idea how you got so lucky to have two loving boyfriends, but you were thankful. And they were too. And that moment, nobody had any plans on getting up from that undersized couch anytime soon. Even though you were all squished together tightly, it wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, you all enjoyed it. And you decided right then and there that you were never getting rid of that couch.

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#baileypie-writes #precure #pretty cure #precure x reader #pretty cure x reader #fresh precure #fresh precure x reader #precure westar #westar #westar x reader #precure westar x reader #soular #precure soular #precure soular x reader #soular x reader #westar x soular #westar x reader x soular #soular x reader x westar #polyamorous x reader

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baileypie-writes · 1 month ago

Note

*crashes through the wall*

Call me Cure KoolAid!

Matt I have Westar fluff alphabet? 🥺

A/N ~ Yes, you may! Buckle up, because this is a long one! Hope you enjoy!

~Westar Fluff Alphabet~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Pretty Cure!

Fanfic Type: Alphabet

Reader: Gender neutral

Relationship: Romantic

Characters Included: Westar

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: Mentions of arguments, mentions of jealousy, Westar being an idiot, Westar being a whiny brat at times, mentions of clinginess

~Masterlists~

~Fresh Pretty Cure! Masterlist~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

A - Activities(What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?)

Westar isn’t picky when it comes to activities. He follows you around like a puppy, so anywhere you want to go, he’ll go! If it looks interesting enough, he’s sold! He does enjoy taking you on tours of Labyrinth. He’s very proud then it comes to his home.

As for how much of his free time he spends with you, all of it. Even when he’s busy, he still wants to spend time with you. Most days are spent in his company.

~~~~

B - Beauty(What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?)

Westar admires everything about you. Every skill, every unique and common feature, every quirk. He adores it.

He thinks you’re beautiful/handsome everywhere. But if he had to choose one feature to be his favorite, it would be your hands. No matter the size or shape, if they’re always sweaty or always freezing, he loves holding them. It’s a natural instinct to immediately reach for your hand when you’re out and about.

~~~~

C - Comfort(How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?)

He’s so clueless, bless his heart. He’s not that great at recognizing emotions until they’re intense. He doesn’t know a lot about comforting either. So if you’re down, he’ll just hug you, and talk you through it. He’s very warm, both in aura and body temperature, so you calm down surprisingly quick.

~~~~

D - Dreams(How do they picture their future with their s/o?)

I think we all know that Westar isn’t the type of guy to think things through. So he doesn’t really have a thought out plan for the future. He’ll do pretty much whatever you want! You wanna get married? Of course! You want kids? Sure! You want to stay child free? That’s fine!

He’s very easygoing. So you can do pretty much all the planning.

~~~~

E - Equal(Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?)

In no universe does this man wear the pants in the relationship. But the funny part is that he thinks he does.

If you’re smaller and weaker than him(which I feel most people are, because he’s very large and buff),then he automatically thinks he’s the dominant one. It all comes down to who’s the biggest and strongest to him.

You can probably picture how shocked he was when he learned that’s not how it works, and that you are in fact the one who wears the pants.

~~~~

F - Fight(Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

He gets very whiny and bratty when he doesn’t get what he wants. After a pretty big argument, he tries to give you the silent treatment. Keyword: tries.

Turns out, he can’t last an hour without talking to you. It’s even less time with him knowing you’re mad at him. Even if he thinks he’s in the right, he still apologizes to you.

~~~~

G - Gratitude(How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?)

It doesn’t cross his mind a lot. Not because he’s not grateful, but because he doesn’t really think about serious things a lot. But on the rare occasion he does, he tells you that very moment. You could be doing anything, and he’ll just give a mini speech, thanking you for all you’ve done for him.

~~~~

H - Honesty(Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

Westar couldn’t hide a secret if he tried. It took all of a few days until it slipped out that he was not from Earth. That’s the longest he can keep a secret from you.

You’ll figure out he’s hiding something before it even slips out. He knows he’s a bad liar, and that only makes it worse.

~~~~

I - Inspiration(Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

You definitely got him to try things he’s never thought of before. Most of them have to do with Earth. Even with all the time he spent here, most of it was for his past… uh… job. So you show him all the best parts of your home! And he loves it!

~~~~

J - Jealousy(Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?)

Westar only gets jealous when he has a reason to. If you’re just talking to a friend or family member, he’s totally fine. He’s only upset when you’re spending more time with them than with him. But if he’s in your company, he’s satisfied enough.

He does get jealous when others flirt with you. But that’s only when he knows they’re flirting with you. A lot of the time, he’s too dense to notice. He just thinks they’re being nice! And who wouldn’t be nice to someone like you?

In situations like those, he uses his big, intimidating appearance to his advantage. He puts himself between you and them, gets real close to the person, and states the relationship between you and him. That always does the trick.

~~~~

K - Kiss(Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?)

This man has no clue how to kiss. He’s never even thought about it before. So it’s definitely a learning process. He’s not bad, just a bit sloppy. But he gets better over time.

The first kiss was definitely by you. Again, he’s never thought about it before. He froze up when your lips touched his; his brain turning off. After he finally processed what happened, he turned bright red, and had the biggest grin on his face. He may or may not have asked you to give him another one.

~~~~

L - Love Confession(How would they confess to their s/o?)

He would not be the one to confess his feelings. And that’s simply because he didn’t realize them. Love was never something he’d thought about before you, so he didn’t know that was what he was feeling towards you.

You would be the one to confess. He would be shocked, and then things finally click in his brain. That’s when he would realize he loves you.

~~~~

M - Marriage(Do they want to get married? How do they propose?)

Again, he’d never thought about love before. So marriage is a completely unfamiliar subject. It wasn’t until Soular asked if you two were gonna tie the knot, that he finally realized that marriage was an option. And boy, was he excited. The very concept of getting married made him so happy! So it’s definitely something he wanted to do.

He would take it upon himself to be the one to propose. Like mentioned before, he’s bad at keeping secrets. So you’d know what he’s planning long before he does it. I mean, he asked for your ring size. How obvious can he be? But the proposal was still extremely sweet. It’s very simple. He kneels down, says how much he loves you, and asks you to marry him.

~~~~

N - Nicknames(What do they call their s/o?)

He mostly calls you by your name, or a shortened version of it. He loves you, so why wouldn’t he call you by the name he loves saying? He’s not great at coming up with nicknames either. But occasionally, he’ll call you “babe” or “sweetie”. That mostly happens either when he’s really happy, or really whiny.

~~~~

O - On Cloud Nine(What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

Westar is an open book. Everyone knows he’s in love. Soular and Setsuna wanna cut their ears off from how much he talks about you. There’s no way you don’t know he has a crush on you. Almost every time you look at him, his complexion is clearly more red than it normally is. And the way he looks at you is so full of adoration, you’d be stupid to not realize how he felt. Which I guess makes Westar stupid. Even more so, since they were his own feelings.

~~~~

P - PDA(Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?)

Everyone who knows you or Westar will know about your relationship. He’s so proud to be with you, he just can’t help but tell anyone he can. And yes, he brags. I mean, he somehow managed to be blessed with such an amazing person. How could he not?

When it comes to physical affection, he’s not shy to do it in public. He kind of forgets the rest of the world exists, and gives you hugs and kisses without thinking. Unless he’s doing it to show off, of course.

~~~~

Q - Quirk(Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship)

His strength is a big benefit to dating him. He’s so large and muscular, it’ll surely come in handy if you’re not. He’ll put up shelves for you, help move furniture, anything to make you happy! And getting to show off his strength to you boosts his ego by a million percent.

~~~~

R - Romance(How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?)

Westar has no clue how to be romantic. But he tries! He goes off of what he sees in movies: flowers, chocolates, etc.

So yes, he’s very cliché. But he’s doing his best!

~~~~

S - Support(Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?)

He believes in you with all his heart. As long as it’s not physically or scientifically impossible, he doesn’t see a reason not to.

He’d do anything and everything to help you achieve your goals. Even if he hates the specific activity, you won’t get more than some whining and complaining out of him.

~~~~

T - Thrill(Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?)

Westar is all for thrills! Sure, the usual stuff is great, but he gets bored easily. If he sees something he wants to try, he’ll let you know immediately.

~~~~

U - Understanding(How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

Westar only doesn’t know the things you don’t tell him. Sure, some things slip his mind, but they’re in there! He makes sure to write down the important stuff, because he’d be darned if he ever forgot it, and made you upset. He’s done that to his friends one too many times in the past to not learn from it.

Your emotions rub off on him pretty easily. So when it comes to you, he’s very empathetic. He can’t stand seeing you upset.

~~~~

V - Value(How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?)

He believes that you’re the most valuable thing in his life. He’d give up everything to be with you if he had to! Just the thought of not being able to love you makes him want to run and hug you, because he’s so happy that thought isn’t a reality. He sometimes has nightmares about that scenario, and you have to reassure him fifty times that it will never be more than a dream.

~~~~

W - Wild Card(A random fluff headcanon)

He will force himself to have at least one interest that you have. He wants to be able to understand everything you talk about. So he’ll try to get into the same things as you. Of course, there are things he just can’t force himself to like.

~~~~

X - XOXO(Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

Westar much prefers receiving affection rather than giving. He likes the attention. But he still loves giving! He’s actually pretty affectionate. Kisses are his favorite to give and get, and he’d never deny that. And when it comes to cuddles, he’d do it any chance he gets!

~~~~

Y - Yearning(How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?)

When he misses you, everyone will know. You never realized how clingy he really was until you had to go out of town, and received over a hundred messages from him. He’s honestly so bored and lonely without you. Someone get him a good hobby.

~~~~

Z - Zeal(Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?)

Like mentioned previously, he’d give up everything to be with you. There’s truly no limit to the things he’d do for your relationship. If he had to, he’d even sell his soul.

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

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baileypie-writes · 8 months ago

Note

Hello! Love your writing for PreCure!!! Could I ask for some headcanons of Westar taking a reader from the human world to (post finale) Labyrinth? Just showing them all the cool tech and weird creatures 🥰

A/N ~ Sure! Hope you enjoy!

~Westar Taking You to Labyrinth Headcanons~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Precure!

Fanfic Type: Headcanons

Reader: Gender Neutral

Relationship: Romantic

Characters Included: Westar

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: None!

~Masterlists~

~Fresh Precure! Masterlist~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~ Westar is constantly talking about his homeland, Labyrinth. Since you’ve shown and taught him so much about your home, he wants to return the favor. Before going, he always compares things on Earth to things in Labyrinth. He’s purposely trying to up your curiosity, so you’ll finally agree to go. And it works.

“Okay fine! I’ll go to Labyrinth with you! We can go on Saturday.”

“Yes! Oh my god, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

~ Once you decide to go, he’s so excited! He wants to go as soon as possible, so the first free day on your calendar is marked off. By the time a date has been picked, he’s already sloppily packing a bag for you.

“Westar, it’s just one day. I don’t need all that stuff. Plus, we don’t go for another four days.”

“I know, but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared!”

“Since when were you the type of person to prepare for things?”

~ Westar tries his very best not to spoil anything. He wants everything to be a big surprise for you. But he just can’t help but mention some things. He thinks so much about all the possible activities you two can do there, that he begins to get a bit overwhelmed. He almost starts to think that one day might not be enough. But you quickly shoot those thought down.

~ He takes immense pride once he sees your amazed face when you first get there. It’s the same face he made when he saw all the cool things where you live, so he’s happy that you get to experience a similar feeling.

~ Westar’s not much for brains, but he does know everything there is about his home! So answering your questions, which he knows the answers to, makes him feel smart. And boy, does he love it!

“‘What’s that’? Oh, that’s right, you don’t have flying chairs where you live. Well then allow me to show you how they work!”

~ Labyrinth is not a very colorful place, and everyone wears very similar clothes. So you’re going to stand out like a sore thumb. Stares by random people on the street are definitely going to happen. But don’t worry, Westar won’t let them bother you! If anyone even utters a negative word about you, he’ll defend you!

“Hey! What are you lookin’ at? How about you show some respect for a visitor!”

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#baileypie-writes #precure #precure x reader #pretty cure #pretty cure x reader #fresh precure #fresh precure x reader #precure westar #precure westar x reader #westar #westar x reader

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baileypie-writes · 1 year ago

Note

Oh my god, PreCure x Reader blogs exist?????? You are so cool, bro!

Anyway, could I kindly ask for Westar x Reader headcanons? Maybe with a short reader if that fits with your blog rules? Otherwise just general dating headcanons are fine. Tysm.

I've never sent asks to writer blogs before so I'm sorry if it sounds pushy/demanding. Have a nice day/night/afternoon/morning/evening!

A/N ~ Thank you so much for your kind request! I love Westar so much, he’s one of my favorite villains. I’ll do general dating headcanons, with a mention of a short reader. I usually like for the reader’s appearance to not be mentioned, so that anyone can read it. But there are some exceptions. I hope you like it!

~Westar Dating Headcanons~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Precure!

Fanfic Type: Headcanons

Reader: Gender neutral

Relationship: Romantic

Characters Included: Westar

Genre: Fluff

Rating: PG

Warnings: kinda cringe, Westar being dumb, Westar being whiney, mention of Westar being aggressive(not towards Reader)

~Masterlists~

~Fresh Precure! Masterlist~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~ It’s no mystery that Westar isn’t the smartest guy in the world. So when he likes you, he doesn’t even know it. Despite this, he unknowingly acts very affectionate towards you. So much so, that there were multiple occasions where people have mistaken you as a couple.

~ If you don’t want to wait months(or possibly years) for him to realize his feelings and confess, you’ll have to do it. When you do, he’s shocked. You ask him if he feels the same, and at first he wants to say no. You’re just his best friend! Someone he loves more than anyone else. Someone he loves hanging out with. Someone he can’t stand being away from. Someone he loves getting hugs from. Someone he thinks about giving kisses to- wait a minute. You eventually have to ask him if he’s okay, after not responding for a good 20 seconds.

~ Westar loves showing off(or trying). He’s very strong and quite muscular, and it’s something he’s very proud of. So he’ll use any chance he gets to show off. Is that box too heavy for you? No problem! He can lift it with one hand! Tired of walking? He’ll gladly carry you! However, sometimes his attempts at impressing you backfire, and he ends up making a fool of himself.

~ Westar also loves talking about you! He loves you, and thinks you’re the most amazing person ever, and he’s not shy about it. He talks about you any chance he gets. He talks about your talents, and how you’re the best at what you do. If someone mentions one of your interests or hobbies, it causes him to start rambling about you. Soular and Setsuna already know everything about you before you even met them, because Westar constantly talks their ears off about you.

~ If you’re shorter than him, he thinks you’re the cutest thing ever(not that he wouldn’t think so otherwise). He loves it when you ask for help with getting something off the top shelf, he likes that he can be helpful to you. He does tease you sometimes, but never in a mean way. He’s just being playful. He also uses you as an arm rest a lot. He doesn’t even do it intentionally. It’s just that you’re right there, and the perfect height.

~ Westar has no shame when it comes to PDA. He won’t hesitate to give you a hug or kiss if he feels like it. He couldn’t care less if there are people around. You’re his partner, so why shouldn’t he give you affection? If it makes you uncomfortable though, he’ll save it for when you guys are alone. Also, just so you know, Westar gives the best bear hugs. No one can change my mind on that.

~ He can be a big baby sometimes. If something doesn’t go his way, or Soular was being mean to him again, or maybe he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, you’ll know about it. He’s very whiney when he’s upset, and you’re one of the only things that can help him feel better, so good luck. When he gets like this when you’re not around, he’ll go looking for you. When he finally finds you, his moods changes immediately. It’s like he wasn’t even upset in the first place.

~ He has a big heart, so he’s very caring. But he’s also very emotional. When you cry, he cries. When you get hurt, he cries. You give him a gift, he cries. He adores you so much, that it makes him overwhelmed. Unfortunately, he doesn’t always cry as a reaction. If someone caused you harm, or hurt your feelings, he’ll hunt that person down(and I’m not exaggerating) So unless you want them in the hospital, you’ll have to physically stop him.

~ Westar has a little notebook where he writes down everything he learns about you. It started out as just basic things, like your birthday or favorite food, just in case he forgot. But soon, he started writing down anything new he learned. He does this because he wants to remember every detail about you. Your current interests, your favorite bands, your allergies, your fears, everything is in that notebook. And it’s surprisingly organized. He brings it everywhere, and it’s constantly being updated.

~ He’s a very cuddly guy. He didn’t even know he was until you initiated it for the first time. After that, he was addicted. He loves the warmth and comfort, and of course being close to you. If you’re too busy, or refuse his cuddles, he’ll become real pouty.

~ Westar can’t cook, but he tries so hard. He loves the process, but it just never turns out great. He once tries making donuts, but they turned out as thin, black rings that crumbled when you tried to pick them up. You offered to help him get better at cooking, and he was so happy! It soon became a routine to cook dinner together, and it’s his favorite part of the day! He does get upset when the food doesn’t turn out great, but he keeps trying. Eventually, he does get better, and there are less failures.

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

#precure #pretty cure #precure x reader #pretty cure x reader #fresh precure #fresh precure x reader #precure westar #westar #precure westar x reader #westar x reader

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baileypie-writes · 7 days ago

Note

I see requests are stil open YIPPEE! Remember that "reader has a nightmare about Westar hurting them" ask I sent a while ago? Could I have a Soular version of that pretty please with Cure Whip and cherries on top?

A/N ~ Hello! Of course! How could I refuse with Cure Whip on top?? Soular doesn’t technically hurt Reader himself in this, but I think it still counts. Hope you enjoy!

~Wall~

Soular x GN!Reader

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

Fandom: Fresh Pretty Cure!

Fanfic Type: Oneshot

Reader: Gender neutral

Relationship: Romantic

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Synopsis: After being launched into a brick wall in your dream my your boyfriend, Soular, you placed an imaginary one between the two of you. But it wouldn’t last for long, as Soular wanted to know what was going on with you.

Warnings: Stupid imagery/metaphor, Reader almost getting very injured/killed in their dream, Soular “hurting” Reader in their dream, cheesy

~Masterlists~

~Fresh Pretty Cure! Masterlist~

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

You never thought you’d see a scene like this again. You were convinced that Soular was good now. That he had turned his back on terrorizing the city with the creatures he created. He had assured you of this himself. But as a giant fan with eyes and limbs marched about, creating destruction everywhere it went, all of that flew out the window.

“Soular! What are you doing? You said you didn’t do this anymore!” You shouted at your boyfriend from your spot on the cracked road.

His eyes turned to you, his malicious smirk never faltering. “Well, I suppose what I heard was correct. Your kind really are too quick to trust. Nakewameke!” He waved his hand in your direction, a command to his creation.

Stopping in its tracks, the fan maneuvered its body to face you. A terrifyingly strong breeze picked up a ways above you from its speedy blazes. Anything unfortunate enough to be in contact with it was sent flying. You let out a sigh of relief. Just a few feet lower, and you’d be blown miles away.

Soular scoffed. “Really? Is that as low as it goes?” He asked the Nakewameke. It just mumbled from embarrassment. “Oh well. I guess I can finish the job.”

He leaped at you so fast, it was as though he had teleported. You didn’t have time to process what was going on. You only saw his bright green eyes, before he grabbed your waist, fingers digging painfully deep, and effortlessly threw you into the air, directly into the monstrous wind.

Immediately, you were launched sideways. Your surroundings blurred from the unnatural speed you were going. You began feeling dizzy from it, your eyes not being able to keep up. Looking behind you, you caught sight of a brick wall heading your way. Well, you were heading its way. Due to the speed, it was only a few seconds before the wall grew closer, and you eventually-

~~~~

An intense, full body jolt shot through your body as you awoke with a small yelp. You could hear your heartbeat through your ears, and a cold sweat covered your back and forehead. You wanted to put your hands in front of you; an attempt you stop yourself from hitting the wall. But you quickly realized that there was no wall. Well, there was. But not the one in your dream. It was the wall of your house.

You were back at home. A bit shocking, considering it had probably just been destroyed. You sat on your couch, and the TV in front of you played a random game show. Coming to your senses, you realized that you were only dreaming.

“What in the world was that? Did you have a nightmare or something?” A familiar voice asked from next to you.

Your blood ran as cold as your sweat. You had just heard that voice a moment ago. A quick glance to your right met you with the same piercing green eyes you just saw in your dream. The dream where the man the eyes belonged to betrayed you, and almost led to you smashing against a brick wall.

Soular’s eyes furrowed in confusion. “What’s that look for?” While you couldn’t see yourself, you could guess what kind of expression you were making.

You blinked it away, attempting to go back to normal. “Sorry. It’s nothing.”

Soular just hummed, trying to ignore your strange behavior.

The two of you just sat, watching the game show on TV. Due to your disturbing dream, you subconsciously distanced yourself from your boyfriend; scooting all the way to the end of the couch. But he noticed. He also noticed how you were still acting distant and weird.

“(name), what’s up?” He asked.

“Nothing?” You responded dryly, without even looking at him. It was as if you had put a wall between the two of you. Like the one you almost crashed into in your dream; tall and wide.

“I can tell something’s wrong. Did I do something?” After seeing your eyes flicker to him for a split second, he knew he was right. “What did I do? I don’t remember anything that could’ve bothered you.”

“That’s because you didn’t do anything. I just dreamt you did.” You sighed out, embarrassed.

“Oh. Well what did I do?” It was a simple question. He was expecting himself to have teased you a bit too much, or maybe broke something. But due to your resistance to explain, it was apparently much more severe.

“C’mon, (name). You can tell me. No matter how bad it was, it was just a dream.” He reassured in his typical, sassy fashion.

You sighed again. “Okay.”

Recounting the events of your nightmare only made you feel much worse. Not only because you were going back to the awful memories, but because as the story went on, you watched Soular’s expression change. He was calm at the start, but hearing of the things he did, his brows raised and his eyes widened. It was honestly sad to watch.

You finished the retelling with a sigh. “That’s it.”

Soular was completely speechless. You just kept your head down, staring into your lap. The imaginary wall separating the two of you remained standing. You were still avoiding any eye contact with him and keeping silent, scared of his upcoming response.

“Well,” He said after a few moments. “that was certainly an awful dream.” His position remained the same.

You simply hummed, not having a response.

“But it’s just as I said before. It was just a dream.” His hand moved to gently rest on your knee. “There’s absolutely no way I would ever do that. And I hope you know that.”

You smiled. “Yeah, I know.”

And like that, the imaginary wall crumbled. There was now nothing separating the two of you.

“I don’t even know why I would ever need to terrorize the city again anyway. I’m way too comfortable with my current life. I much prefer it. Besides, making Nakewameke is too much work.” Soular folded his arms, leaning back into the couch. It was almost as if the very thought of going back to his previous life made him stressed and tired.

You laughed at this. Now feeling more comfortable, you scooted closer to Soular. Not being able to resist, you pulled him in for a hug. He’s not the biggest fan of hugs, but he knew you needed one at that moment. So he reciprocated, gently rubbing your back.

Once you pulled away, he cupped your face in his hands, and gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. “Even if I did go back to my villainous ways, I would never hurt you.” He gave you the kindest smile you’ve seen from him.

While Soular didn’t quite know how to comfort people, he certainly did a good job there. Your nightmare no longer caused you stress or fear, and you didn’t feel the need to separate yourself emotionally from him. No longer was there an imaginary wall between the two of you, and if there would ever be one in the future, you know that it wouldn’t stay for long.

~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~🍩~~~

~~baileypie-writes

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vercopaanir · 5 years ago

Text

It’s Pretty

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 20

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian teaches you how shooting a blaster can make you feel good.

Words: 4.1k

Rating/Warnings: M for sexy themes.

Notes: A special, heartfelt thanks to @forever-rogue for assuring me this didn’t absolutely suck. If sexy themes aren’t for you, abandon ship around 3/4 of the way in.

AO3

Your eyes widen, mouth opening and closing much like a fish. He was going to teach you how to shoot it? It doesn’t quite make sense in your mind, and you try to form the words to explain that it isn’t a good idea to teach someone who can’t see a target how to shoot. The Mandalorian turns to face the two husbands still attempting to deflect knives off their armor, brandishing the WESTAR-34, and asks, “May I borrow this?”

“Keep it,” Rhalaz grunts, throwing a knife so hard it knocks Briinx’s helmet back against the wall with a dull clang. The grey armored Mandalorian looks over at you both. “There’s some refurbished charge packs in that case, there.”

The Mandalorian kneels to open the case, pocketing the ammunition while you carefully climb down from the workbench. He slips the blaster beneath his belt so it’s snugly secured on his hip, and you blush when he touches your back to usher you forward. The contradiction between the rough handling of the gun and the tender way he touches you leaves you confused and flustered. You pause before you can climb the stairs and pull away from him when the two warriors exhaust their supply of knives. You take Rhalaz by surprise when you lean up on your toes to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet, and then his husband’s.

“Thank you for teaching me,” you say softly, smiling with your gratitude.

Briinx shuffles his feet, ducking his helmet, and Rhalaz rubs the back of his neck. “A-Any time.”

You hear a snort come from the Mandalorian behind you, and you rock forward on the balls of your feet. “Really? Can I come back tomorrow?”

They exchange a look before shrugging at the same time. Rhalaz gestures to a rack of blaster pistols and blades. “We’ll be cleaning and repairing weapons from spars, if you want to help.”

“I do,” you tell them, folding your hands to keep from fidgeting with excitement.

“Cuyir ramikadyc, Djarin,” Rhalaz laughs, and you feel the Mandalorian beside you seem to straighten, standing taller. Briinx chuckles too, picking up the fallen knives scattered on the ground.

“You’ll need to give me language lessons next,” you smile, tapping a finger on the Mandalorian’s chest plate. He follows your finger with his visor, looking down and where your finger pokes him. “I should know what people say about me.”

"Oh, you don’t know?” Briinx teases, an absolutely fiendish energy overcoming him.

“No,” you puff, swinging your hands down at your sides. “And he’s always calling me names that I don’t know the meaning of.”

Rhalaz tilts his head curiously, but Briinx straightens with no less than ten knives in both hands. “Oh, vod’ika, I’d endeavor to teach it to you. What does he call you?”

“Well-”

“Jate ge’catra,” the Mandalorian snaps, suddenly ushering you up the stairs so quickly you nearly trip. The resounding laughter from the two warriors nearly shakes the rocky tunnel walls behind you. You lift the hem of your dress so you don’t stumble over it, but you’re also steadied by his hand finding the small of your back, his other held out for you to take as you both climb to the top of the stairs. You follow him down the tunnel, letting him lead you as you regain your breath and balance. After a few moments of shared silence, a thought occurs to you, and you cock your head to the side.

“If I didn’t know better, you don’t want me to learn your language,” you say quietly, frowning in thought.

The Mandalorian stops so suddenly, his hand gripping yours tightly, that you nearly tumble forward again. He turns his visor upon you in the middle of the deserted tunnel, and you swallow, feeling not unlike prey before a predator.

He hesitates, his voice near a rasp when he finally says, “That’s not true.”

“Then why have you never told me what all of those names mean? Or bother translating so that I might learn?” you ask, feeling not a little hurt. The emotion you feel is akin to being swept under a rug, and you feel your cheeks begin to burn. “I...I’ve told you that I want to do my part.”

He makes a noise of distress beneath his helmet then, letting his hand fall to cup your cheek while the one at your back gently splays out over your waist, bringing you closer. “I will-I-I promise I will,” he murmurs, gently butting the cold beskar of his helm against your hairline. “It isn’t because of anything you have done or-or haven’t done.”

You draw your teeth over your bottom lip, looking down at the shine of his chest plate as he draws the fingertips of his glove affectionately up your cheek to tickle your ear. You flinch, the teasing caress bringing a smile from your lips, and you hear him breathe a puff of amusement.

“There is much I want to teach you,” the Mandalorian sighs, sliding both arms around you in a warm embrace. You feel the uneasy stirrings of your heart begin to settle, and you rest your reddened face against the cool steel. “I am...honored you would want to learn.”

Long moments pass, and you take a deep breath of him, smelling sage and sea salt upon the fabric at his neck, and you feel the pressure of his helmet resting on the crown of your head. It is a familiar, comforting weight, and your arms squeeze his middle. “Starting with target practice?”

“Starting with target practice.”

He leads you to a tunnel with a dead end, positioning you several meters back. The tunnel has high, thin slats that let the daylight in, partially keeping the dim tunnel more or less out of darkness. Attached to the ceiling at the end of the tunnel hangs a hook, as if to hold a lantern, and a rope dangles from it, connecting to the wall. You watch curiously as the Mandalorian removes his chest plate with ease, lashing the rope around it and tying it securely so it hangs like a gong. He strides back towards you, taking the WESTAR-34 from his belt. “Now, is it loaded?”

You shake your head, blinking as he passes you the gun and takes the charge pack from his pocket. You silently take it and begin to assemble it without being told, your fingers repeating the motions you’d practiced earlier under Briinx’s careful instruction. When the chamber slides shut, the Mandalorian nods his head.

“Good.” He pauses, shifting his weight on one leg. “I keep my weapons loaded. You know that?”

Blinking, you realize that the thought never occurred to you. You look up at him with a furrow in your brow. Slowly, you say, “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“And necessary for my line of work. But it’s a preference.” He touches the pistol with two fingers. “You need to decide what yours will be, should you carry a weapon.”

“What if…” You frown, shaking your head. “What if the children-”

“They will not.” His voice is stone, steel, beskar, and it is enough to quiet your leaping conjectures. He takes your shoulders in both hands, standing behind you and gently moving you so you are aligned with the target of his chest plate. His boot nudges between your soft shoes, and you blush when he makes space between your legs by pressing his knee between your thighs. “Apart. There. Hold it and aim.”

“I-Isn’t this rather...silly?” you ask, voice trembling when you finally speak your doubt. Your face flushes such a deep shade of crimson you can feel the heat of your skin. “I-I can hardly see it.”

“If it’s a full grown adult,” he says, his voice pitching low over your shoulder. “You have more center of mass to aim for. Shooting isn’t hard, Cyare. Just keep it level.” He cups your elbows and brings your arms up, and you suddenly feel every inch of him pressed against your back, his chest burning through the fabric of his shirt without the beskar between you. You can feel the buckle of his belt at the small of your back, and you hold your breath for so long that you fear you might pass out.

You press your lips together, holding the gun in front of you. His voice is so low, so quiet that the vocoder barely registers it. “Breathe,” he whispers, his thumbs stroking over the top of your elbow. You inhale, but he grunts in disapproval, dropping one hand to splay flat beneath the center of your breasts. His touch burns. “Not from your throat. From here.” He pushes against your stomach, and when you inhale, you feel your muscles release to breathe fuller. Your arms steady themselves. “Good.”

His hand slides up the length of your arm, cupping your hand over the gun. “Only point a weapon at someone you intend to destroy,” he rumbles, and you feel it at your back, in his unarmored chest, like the heat of a fire. “Never put your finger on the trigger until you’re ready to take a life.”

You close your eyes, breathing deeply, the rasp of his voice raking over the skin of your neck.

“Ready?” His hands retract, laying upon your shoulders. It makes you feel small. He doesn’t withdraw from your back, and you nod silently. You try to breathe, try to ignore the heat at your back and on your shoulders and coming from beneath that polished black glass visor you know is watching your every move.

But the end of the tunnel is so dark. You squint hard to attempt to make anything out, and you drop your arms in defeat, muttering, “I can’t see-”

“Look here.” He envelopes you, drawing his arms around both of your own, and you feel the brush of his cloak on either side of your body. He brings both of your arms up once more, squeezing your elbows before withdrawing to cup the side of your neck and the swell of your hip. “Watch. Don’t rush. You don’t need to see everything. This is not about perfection.”

Steadying yourself again, you nod and do as he says. His helmet rests just behind your crown, and you stare helplessly into the darkened end of the hall. To any able bodied individual, you expect they wouldn’t even need to squint to see the end of the hall, much less his armor acting as a target. But the dim light and the dull rocks of the walls make everything so blurry.

Until, a glint of beskar catches that meager light, a gleam so bright that even you could see it for miles. You raise your eyebrows, the tension evaporating from your face.

“Breathe,” he murmurs a gentle reminder, his hands coming to rest on your waist now. You think he may be making sure you are still breathing.

The seconds tick by, and when you see that traitorous flash of metal again, you pull the trigger. The blaster bolt is sudden and vibrates up your arms, shocking you from the noise and the violence of it. Residue hangs in the air, a thick, sweet chemical expulsion of the gas chamber.

The chest plate swings fast, twirling on the rope from the force of the hit, and a smile splits your face. “I-I did it,” you breathe, exhilaration flooding your senses as you look down at the gun before turning your face upward. “I did it!”

“You’ve done it before. You just didn’t know you could do it again.”

You don’t realize his hands are playing with your hair until a ticklish sensation causes your skin to tingle near your ear. If you didn’t know better, he’s hardly paying attention to your lesson. You bite your lip, lowering your arms and glancing toward your shoulder where his gloved fingers play with a long lock of hair that curls near the ends.

You need to cut it somehow. The girls at the brothel had helped you with such things before, careful of the long banner of your hair that fell down your back. They had understood your self-conscious decision to keep it long, and now with the scar that indented your skin on the back of your neck, you feel even more exposed at the idea of ridding the length.

“What are you doing?” you puff a laugh when he trails the end of the lock against your ear, making you squirm.

“It’s…” The Mandalorian pauses, two fingers holding the bit of hair from slipping away. You blink, watching him consider it and then you, his visor glancing between your face and your hair. “...pretty.”

You aren’t aware of your lips parting in surprise, because the flush that heats your face is overwhelming enough on its own. Eyes falling down to the floor, you lower your arms, and the blaster, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth. The silence settling between you creates a berth wide enough for a ship to fly through, even though your shoulder brushes his chest when he lets your lock of hair finally fall from his fingers.

His hands draw back behind him, a forced movement, and you hear him clear his throat quietly, looking away. “K-Keep going,” he grunts, nodding at the target. By the time the charge pack is empty of power, you have hit the chest plate enough times to send it spinning on the end of the rope like a medallion, and you finally pass him the weapon with an unconcerned air.

When he tucks the gun back into his belt and walks to the target, a thought occurs to you.

“Isn’t this a waste?” you ask curiously. He removes the chest plate, which doesn’t even have scratches from your shots. Beskar truly is unfathomable. There’s a few carbon smudges, but you know he’ll clean it before either of you fall asleep tonight. He is diligent, disciplined, and regimented in the upkeep of himself and his steel, and there is not a small part of you that respects those qualities about him. The quiet honor he has for the armor and for his way of life is something that makes your blood warm beneath your skin. It’s less to do with being part of his clan and more to do with wondering what it must be like to have all of the bounty hunter’s careful attention on yourself.

“Two hundred shots in practice can be one shot that will save your life,” the Mandalorian murmurs, taking the time to affix the armor on his person once again. You think you see his shoulders drop in relief, possibly comfort at being concealed beneath the steel again. His visor angles toward you. “Or one of theirs. That is not a waste.”

He does not need to qualify who they are.

Perhaps it’s the gleam of the black glass from his helmet, or the way the leather of his gloves strains when his hands fall at his sides, but you are, in that moment, not wanting to return to the covert’s busy hive.

You want his attention, you realize. So, you take a step forward, catching the now limply swinging rope in your hand that hangs between you.

“Briinx and Rhalaz told me that you are the best marksman in the Tribe.”

His helmet glances away from you, mindlessly tugging the leather of his gloves up at his wrists. “They should talk less.”

“So it’s not true?” You raise your eyebrows when he glances back at you. You quirk an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that.”

With your free hand, you tap one finger against the beskar covering his chest. His line of sight doesn’t follow your finger this time. “You don’t have to,” you say softly, a little smile pulling at your lips. “Good men never need to speak of what they do right.”

He’s quiet, and you wonder what he sees, what he looks for as he takes you in. Your hands are smudged with charcoal and grease, hair falling loose and your dress wrinkled where you’d been sitting and voraciously learning about the tools of destruction he’s so fluent in. He takes a step forward until the toes of his boots, thick, scuffed, and bulky, kiss the soft soles of your own. He moves so slowly that you almost don’t see it until his fingers encircle your wrist. You wordlessly let go of the rope, watching as his glove slides down to the base of your hand, his thumb ghosting over the smooth skin.

There’s a soft puff of breath from the vocoder, and you think...yes, he is smiling.

Just as slowly, he leads your hand, patchy with black stains, to the side of his cloth covered neck. The heat from beneath the fabric startles you, and you curl your fingers when you can feel the strong thrum of his pulse.

“What of good women?”

His voice is gravel, desert heat, and rough enough to raise the hair on the back of your neck. Your mouth is dry, and you don’t realize you have moved until you feel the cool rock wall pressing against your back. Your heart begins to beat heavier, a harder drum that should rattle your teeth, and you tilt your chin up to find what little boldness you still possess. The hand not cupping his neck falls to the buckle of his belt, and you gently pull him toward you. Both his gloves rest on either side of your body against the wall, and when his full weight presses against yours, a small sigh escapes your lips.

“I imagine,” you murmur, feeling the gentle press of cool beskar as he lowers his helmet to rest upon your shoulder. “They are the ones you kneel for.”

His helmet tilts to one side, and it is not unlike the predatory consideration of a hunter looking down upon prey. You can’t help but swallow, your lips parting when he slowly, slowly lowers himself to kneel before you. The air is hard to breathe, you find, when his gloved hands touch the sides of your hips, lowering over your dress covered legs. You try your hardest to hold the glaring gleam of that black glass visor, shivering when his leather covered fingers dip beneath your hem. You lay your palms flat against the rock behind you, leaning your entire weight into it when you feel the shifting of fabric at your ankles. When his hands circle around your calves, you only feel bare, smooth skin that’s warm as sun baked sand.

Your knees shake when he cups behind them, leaning forward until the beskar chest plate brushes your front. Your blush is so hot you can feel it against your eyes when he presses his knee between your boots, forcing you to make room for him. His palm is wide, smooth, and warm when it feels the inside of your knee, then your thigh. You hope he is prepared to catch you if you fall. You’re sure now that your legs will buckle at any moment.

His hands curve beneath the slope of your thighs, and you suck in a breath when he leans his helmet forward, pressing the cold beskar against your belly. When he speaks, his voice is unlike anything you have heard before-rasping, a gravelly, underworld sound that threatens to black you out from want.

“May I feel you, cyar’ika?”

Licking your lips, you do not trust yourself to speak, staring down at the helmet hiding its visor against your body. You’re not sure if he could even hear you now if you did manage to speak. So, instead, you slowly rest one hand upon his pauldron, the other brushing the crown of his helmet. You don’t know how it’s enough, how the press of warm flesh against cold beskar could be good enough to give him your acquiesce, but he moves as if you’ve whipped him into the task of grabbing your leg and pulling it over his shoulder.

The skirts of your dress are haphazardly tossed upward, practically covering him from view, and it’s all you can do to keep your balance and still remember to breathe. The loud, unadulterated sound of metal hitting stone goes bone deep, and you turn your head to press your cheek against the rock just as his helmet rolls along the ground to the side of you. He has you pinned with one forearm across your belly, holding up part of your dress while the other hand cups beneath your bottom to bring you forward. You feel the scratch of newly shaven facial hair against the delicate skin of your thigh, and your hand flies from his pauldron to cover your mouth, smothering the yelp you can’t swallow in time. Your hand upon his pauldron moves to cup the nape of his neck, squeezing the tension he holds from eagerness, as if you’ve allowed him to sup water after a journey in the desert.

The thin cotton shaped against your hips feels like air with the way he simply moves it aside with nimble fingers, and you shut your eyes tight against the wave of dizziness it brings on. His lips are so soft, softer than you remember when you kiss, and pressing against the inside of your leg is like nothing when he puts his mouth fully on you. The noise you make is disgraceful, a choked moan beneath your hand, unfamiliar and wanton. Your leg supporting your weight shakes with every slow stroke, with every satisfied hum that comes from the man between your legs, and your face is burning from how good it feels.

You’ve never felt so good. You didn’t know it was possible to feel so good.

One of his hands braces you behind your shaking leg, just beneath your rear, and you whimper and practically convulse when he runs his tongue up and down and moans. You think it isn’t possible for him to-to enjoy this, not as much as you are, but the tightening of his fingers on your leg and the way his arm pins you in place when you begin rolling your hips into his mouth makes you doubt.

It’s only then you realize he’s speaking, muffled beneath your skirts and against honey soaked skin. His voice is ragged, panting around eager, clumsy kisses and sips between your legs, and when he slips two fingers to replace his mouth, you realize he’s been reduced to the language of Mandalore, his mind unable to keep up with what he is feeling in time to translate. You dig your nails harder into the thick muscle beneath the back of his neck, and he growls, pulling his hand away to suddenly grab your other leg up over his other shoulder.

The noise you make, half a yelp and half a scream, echoes against the rocks. Your heart is hammering against your breast, grabbing onto the uneven surface behind you for balance as he pulls you onto his mouth with an unforgiving, possessive hold. The rhythm of tongue and lips and fingers and teeth are building in your belly a coiled tightness that makes it hard to form thoughts. You need to tell him he has to stop. He has to stop or you’re going to break, it’s going to hurt, but you can only press the backs of your heels against his back to hold him closer.

When he buries his face with the fervent, broken rhythm of desperation, you bear your teeth like a snare and cry out when you feel the break. It crests, building and swelling until tears run down from the corners of your eyes, arching your back helplessly with the need to move and breathe and struggle against the goodness of it. You don’t realize you’re sobbing, or that you’re weakly beating at his back for mercy, or that he’s cooing mesh’la over, and over, and over.

Hiccuping, you can’t keep the spasms filling your every breath, a pitiful gasp. He moves so slowly in the languid, lazy moments after, pressing his naked cheek against your lower belly and breathing with you until your tears have dried on your neck and the sweat on your face has cooled. Your thighs have warmed his pauldrons, which you feel as he gingerly shifts you back to your feet.

Promptly, your knees buckle. And he does catch you, hugging your legs and letting you brace your hands at the top of his back. You can feel him laughing beneath you, and you blink the salt from your lashes, forming one hand into a fist to thump his shoulder with a helpless smile.

“I told you I’d get on my knees for you.”

Mando'a Translations:

Cuyir ramikadyc - "She is ramikadyc." This is a commando state of mind - an attitude that he/she can do anything, endure anything, and achieve the objective. A blend of complete confidence and extreme tenacity instilled in special forces during training. Can also be used informally to describe a determined, focused person.

Vod'ika - Little sister.

Jate ge’catra - Good evening.

Cyare - Beloved

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Cyar’ika - Sweetheart, darling

#The Lovely Moons #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin x you #Din Djarin x reader #The Mandalorian x you #The Mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfiction #my fic #my writing #pls be gentle with me i'm literally gonna cry i'm so nervous posting this

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vercopaanir · 5 years ago

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Teach Me to Fly

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 3

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: Making space for yourself aboard the Razor Crest, the child enlists you to break an unspoken rule that leads to something new.

Rating: E for everyone!

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: None!

Notes: God, I didn’t intend for this series to be such a slow-burn, but it is what it is. C’est la vie! I appreciate feedback. Please forgive me if I’ve misrepresented something from Star Wars canon, I am not an expert. Also on AO3.

Keep Up | Go to Sleep | Teach Me to Fly | (later in series) Don’t Go Far

Traveling through the stars didn’t feel quite as mystical as you’d dreamed of when you heard of people going off-world. Perhaps it was because you couldn’t see it for yourself, but other than the occasional shimmy and shake of the engines, the Mandalorian was an incredibly talented pilot who flew his ship with steady hands. It hardly felt different than being on solid ground.

That wasn’t due to the integrity of the Razor Crest, either. In the two weeks you had been aboard, you’d overheard him muttering quiet curses in another language any time something broke, fell off, or rattled somewhere in the ship’s engines. He would disappear into a crawl space in the floor or wall for a few hours, and you would wait nearby in case he needed help, keeping the child firmly encased in your arms.

He never did. Or, at least, he never asked for it.

It had taken you a full week to grow accustomed to the ship. You took your time, using both hands, exploring every nook, crevice, and corner of the hull. He didn’t forbid you from following him up the ladder, but you hadn’t been invited, either. So, you kept your exploring on the lower floor. It turned your hands cold and stiff until they shook, feeling the metal structure around you, but you created the map in your mind. There was a refresher, a rather large locker that you weren’t sure of the contents, the bunk you slept in, and then...further into the hull.

“Don’t,” the Mandalorian told you one day, as you started to step towards a colder corner of the hull near the back. You stopped, tilting your head towards him curiously. “Don’t touch anything down there.”

You considered the warning, the baby holding onto the hem of your robe near your feet. “Alright,” you murmured carefully, turning back. You stepped back towards his voice, where he was standing near the ladder that led up to the upper deck. The child chased the trailing fabric of your robe. “What is it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. You weren’t sure if you would have believed him, or taken him seriously if he had. The truth was a bit gruesome to someone like you-someone who had only ever lived in such a small corner of the galaxy.

That night, you sat up with your back against the metal wall of the bunk, your knees drawn to your chest, and you stared straight at that dark, cold side of the ship. You couldn’t see the carbonite freezer he’d told you about, or the hanging encasements of his bounties. At first, the idea of people frozen in pain and fear left you feeling sick.

But the more you considered it, you felt less unsettled you were, and more respectful you became.

Living a life as a slave indentured you to an order of things. You’d seen the best and worst of most living creatures, and it was not hard to imagine the cantina owner hanging up on the rack. It wasn’t hard to envision the imperial officer who’d taken you from your home, slaughtering your village, your parents. For the first time in your life, you were seeing the bad things that could happen to bad people.

When you fell asleep, you dreamed of the Mandalorian hunting for the man who took your eyesight and drowning him in carbonite. You dreamt of him in the dark, rather than yourself, and you woke up more rested than you could remember being.

The Mandalorian found consistent work, but he never told you what planet you were on or where you were going next. Your curiosity was piqued, but you felt too timid to ask more about it. So far, neither of you interacted beyond what the child needed, and you were, in a small way, grateful. It took you days to accept you were no longer under someone’s thumb. Every time you brushed the back of your neck and felt the thin, healed flesh that had once held the transmitter, you felt dizzy. It didn’t feel real.

At least, not until the Mandalorian found you to give you a payment from some of his work. The credits were kept in a small money pouch, and you stared stupidly up at him as you held it like it was a detonator. You tried to thank him, but he simply spun on his heel and walked away before you could manage the words.

Such was the basis of your interactions. So whenever the Razor Crest landed, you gathered the baby up into your arms and stepped out into the hull, listening to the armored warrior descend down the ladder before he opened that mysterious locker.

Your questions and interest grew each time over this routine, and finally, you couldn’t keep quiet. You stepped closer, setting the child down near your feet. “What are you doing?” you asked softly, tilting your head towards the light that came from the locker that was open before him. It caused his beskar to gleam, and you admired how it must have been polished.

His helmet turned toward you, and for a moment you were both still, staring at each other. The dim light from the locker illuminated enough that you could make out his shape, and you felt brave enough to take another step closer, leaning against the locker’s door. Would he push you away? Tell you to go back to your place? You didn’t need to be in the way, after all. You felt a sudden wave of reticence press down on your shoulders, but you resisted the submissive response.

“Tools of the trade.” His voice was even and low, but it held a lightness, too.

Your stomach settled, and your shoulders relaxed. You tried to recall what little you knew of the creed of the Mandalore, and you felt your cheeks flush from your naivety. You asked, “Mandalorians use tools?”

A quiet noise came through the modulator of his helmet. It could have been a small, breathy chuckle, or even a fond sigh. He shook his head once before seeming to make a decision and reaching into the locker. He brought out something before turning towards you.

“Here.”

Frowning, you reach out and recoil instantly at the feeling of icy metal, but his gloved fingers catch the delicate bones of your wrist. “Don’t-” you freeze, letting him draw your fingers back to the gun he holds. “Don’t be afraid.”

You swallow, taking the tips of your fingers and drawing it over the well oiled steel. Some kind of handgun, you think, hovering over the muzzle before tracing back down the barrel to the grip. He held it still as you studied it, the tension leaving you the more comfortable you became with shape. The cold dissipated the more your skin warmed it, and you tilted your head. “What kind of weapon is this?”

“A WESTAR-35 blaster pistol.”

You had never touched a gun before, never handled any weapon. The solid finality of it made you feel weak and flimsy, and you curled your fingers away from it and towards yourself. “Is it...your...favorite?” you struggled with asking, the words sounding stupid to you.

The Mandalorian seemed to consider your question, turning the blaster over between his hands before you heard him holster it at his hip. “It’s essential. Reliable.”

“How so?”

This was the most you’d ever spoken to each other, and even though it was out of your realm of knowledge, you were desperate to hear him speak more. You were desperate to talk with him more. You suddenly didn’t want to break the tenuous thread between you, finding his presence more comforting than you thought possible. It was an odd sensation for you, finding comfort in a stranger. You waited for annoyance to overcome him, irritation to cloud his demeanor or color his voice.

It didn’t.

“They can fire underwater. Sand, snow, dirt-nothing jams the machinery. Impassable to an enemy.”

The words made you shiver, but your lips twitched upward. “Like you.”

His helmet turned toward you again, regarding you. “This is the way.”

A slight tug at your ankle reminded you the child was at your feet, and you leaned down to pick him up. He cooed as he gazed up at the Mandalorian, and the bounty hunter’s gloved hand reached out to pet the small child between his ears.

You followed him to the hatch, letting the hum of the lowering ramp fade before you asked, “Will you be gone long?”

He paused at that, a question you had never asked before. You wondered if he was so unused to talking with another organic life that it threw him off each time. You couldn’t blame him-no one spoke to you much either, before he brought you along in his ship.

“I wouldn’t wait up,” the Mandalorian said, and you thought he might be happy. At least a little.

“Not much else to do,” you murmured, looking toward the child in your arms as he tugged your hair for attention. “For either of us.”

Warm air from outside ruffled your robe and dress, but the sunshine outside made you yearn to follow. The Mandalorian hesitated, swaying between descending the ramp and staying on the ship. Your eyes moved from beyond the world outside the Razor Crest back to his form, blinking inquisitively.

“D-Did I say something wrong?”

The Mandalorian shook his head then, stepping out of the ship and walking down the ramp. You sighed softly, hearing the door begin to close. You shifted the baby in your arms as he cuddled closer, his naptime nearing. You felt an odd sensation, a tugging in your chest to say something, to call out after him, but you had no idea what you would say.

What did one say to a deadly warrior whose body count surpassed anyone else’s years?

“Be careful.”

He had a tendency towards hesitation when you spoke to him, and the slight pause in his stride as he walked away was no exception. You could hear it in the rhythm of his boots. You felt a small, self-deprecating smile tug at your mouth, and you reached out to the familiar electrical box that housed the buttons that controlled the ramp. You closed it, sealing you and the child in the safety of the ship, and let the sudden silence overcome you.

The baby was still tugging at your hair, and you sighed, stealing his little hand and kissing it fondly. His big eyes blinked up at you, and you gently butted your forehead against his. “Alright, let’s get you some food.”

This was, arguably, the most difficult time. When the Mandalorian went off for work, the quiet and dark of the ship crept in on you until you thought you might lose your mind. The child, tugging at your ankle or babbling happily up at you from your lap was good company, to be sure, but it didn’t make up for your lack of occupation. Without toys, the child seemed just as restless as you were. You could keep him distracted with stories, simple ones you remembered from your childhood, but that only lasted so long before the little one was toddling off to find something else to get into.

After finding him a small dehydrated meal in one of the crates, you suddenly realized you’d never known where the child sleeps. Usually, the Mandalorian would gather the baby from you every night and ascend up the ladder, or he’d collect him for a nap while the ship was on autopilot. You supposed the child could sleep in your bunk, and as you decide on this, you reach over to lift him up only to find him missing.

“W-Where did you go?” Your voice raises octaves higher, fumbling around the small corner you two had been occupying. Your hands frantically search for any sign of the baby, but a gurgling giggle from across the hull makes you perk up. “Oh! You little-!”

There’s laughter in your voice even as relief washes over you, and you clamber up to gather him in your arms. He tugs at your sleeve, grunting as if trying to direct you, but all that’s forward is the ladder.

“You want to go up there?” An answering coo makes you sigh. What could be the harm? “Alright. But you’re going to be napping, not playing.”

The baby fits in the bend of your elbow, and you’re able to shoulder your way up the narrow ladder onto the upper deck. It’s shadowed in darkness, and you fumble for a switch that might light the passageway, huffing in irritation. You supposed his helmet must have some kind of night vision specification, but did the Mandalorian really need everything so dark ?

Your fingers tripped over a panel of buttons, and a sudden whisper of metal opened a set of doors nearby. Instantly, the passageway was flooded with natural light.

Sucking in a breath, you hesitated before stepping inside, your sight lighting up more than it had since before boarding the Razor Crest.

The cockpit featured observational windows that bled the outside world in, and you blinked at the brightness, not unlike some deep-sea dwelling creature underexposed to the above world. The baby wiggled happily in your arms and continued to tug you forward. When he seemed to discover you responded to his silent pleas, he led you to one of the co-pilot seats where you found a makeshift cradle.

“Oh. So you sleep here?” You feel the inside of the small space, finding it insulated and padded with something downy and plush. There’s a heavy blanket inside that you suspect was upcycled from another use, but the baby pulls it happily on top of himself. You can make out his two big eyes blinking from underneath, ears tucked down, and you hear him yawn.

The scent of the cockpit hits you as soon as your mind begins to drift back to your surroundings. It doesn’t smell as metallic up here, you decide. There’s a wintry, sharp scent like trees, clean fabric and a layer of oil that comes from well preserved steel. Some of the switches on the control panel glow in front of you, and you can make out various colors from the sunlight dappling through the windows above.

You sit carefully in the pilot’s seat, feeling uneasy leaving the child alone up here by himself. That’s the last thing you would want to deal with, you decide, imagining the ship suddenly lurching off while the little beastie played with the thrusters and dials unattended. You’re sure the Mandalorian would drop you off at the nearest port, and you wouldn’t be able to blame him.

As you languish in the streams of light, you realize the peaceful quiet outside the ship. You can hear the wind blowing, faint sounds of leaves, and the child’s quiet breathing behind you. It lulls you into security, and soon your own posture-usually perfectly, unfailingly straight-slumps back as you, too, fall asleep. Kuiil’s words of rest in safety echo in your mind.

When you wake up, it’s violent and sudden. There is someone there, and you lurch forward at the undeniable presence looming nearby.

“Hey, it’s okay,” the Mandalorian’s voice says, his gloved hand resting on your arm. Your heart is thundering in your chest, eyes wildly searching for any sign of something wrong. The light is nearly gone now, save for the silvery glow of the stars, but as pretty as it is, you still feel as if you need to fight or flee. The child sits in your lap, staring up at you and cooing as he plays with the ends of a few locks of your hair, and his guardian is still looking you over. “Are you alright?”

You turn your face towards the Mandalorian. He’s knelt down by the pilot’s chair, where you still sat, and you take a few moments to assess yourself. You bring one hand up to the baby’s ear, gently stroking the little creature to reassure both of you that it’s alright.

“I didn’t mean to sleep,” you finally whisper, feeling suddenly miserable. The chair has left your back aching, your temples tight where tension is turning your neck stiff. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even...hear the hatch…”

“I tried to be quiet. It’s late.” There was another pause. “I told you not to wait up.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, frowning gently at the discomfort of sitting for so long. It felt like all you’d done since boarding his ship was sleep, but...you had never slept so well, either. Even now, waking up discombobulated and tense, it was better than any of the nights spent in the cantina’s bunks, huddled on a sparse cot or on the floor with a sheet for a blanket and no pillow.

“Did you get what you came for?” you ask, tilting your head toward him. You could make out the faint shadow of his helmet, kneeling near your legs. “The bounty, I mean.”

“Put up a chase. I would’ve been back sooner, otherwise.”

His voice was a low, raspy baritone, and you wondered if he found it uncomfortable to speak after going so long without. You knew you did, at least.

“I’m glad you were successful, then.” You slowly stand up, hissing as blood rushes back to your feet and your back seems to creak. The Mandalorian lifts the child from your arms as you stretch, and you rub your lower back with gentle fingers to chase the discomfort away. “I should do more to keep me from being idle.”

“You do plenty with this little womp rat,” he says, lifting the child up a bit higher. The baby giggles in response, and you smile at the sweet sound.

“I could-” You pause, biting your lip. You’re aware of when he turns to face you, and you take a deep breath against the intimidation you feel bubbling to the surface. “I could do more. Be more useful, I mean.”

The silence between you is heavy with hesitation, and you can only imagine what he must be thinking. You try to hope he isn’t doubting you just because of your inability to see. The thought alone brings ire in your breast, and you flex your fingers at your sides, ready to defend yourself.

“Sit back down,” he murmurs, turning the pilot’s chair so it bumps the back of your knees. Your eyebrows fly up, and without question, you gingerly perch on the edge of the seat, feeling your heart flutter when he steps closer again. A breeze of scent-the smell of trees and outdoors, clean fabric and steel brushes your face. “Have you ever flown before?”

The question is absurd, but his lack of doubt is also...incredible. You’re not sure if it’s stupid or dignified. Your throat tightens and you don’t trust your voice to remain steady so you simply shake your head.

“Right. Hold this,” he says, dropping the child into your lap without ceremony. You blink, securing the wiggling baby between your arms, and watch as he leans over the control panel. “I don’t think I can teach you how to fully fly a ship, but maybe...take off and landing aren’t complicated. You only need to know the controls for the propulsion and thrusters. The landing program does the rest.”

Your heart begins to beat wildly, and you lean forward as he takes the next few hours explaining what every module, button, switch, and handle on the panel in front of you does. You take your time, feeling everything after he names it so you can commit it to memory. When your fingers brush over a red communications link, you sigh, “It’d be easier if they were all lit.”

There’s a brief pause, and you can hear his intake of breath through the modulator. The more you hear him speak, the more you decide you enjoy the sound of his voice. “It would?”

“Yes.” The child begins to squirm in your lap, trying to reach for a metal top that’s attached to a switch. You shift the child in your lap so he can see what his guardian is doing, and he moves to the other side of the chair while you speak. “I can make out shadows and some color and shapes when there’s enough light. It’s distorted at best, but it’s not total darkness. Not unless there’s light.”

The Mandalorian is quiet, and your eyes track his movements as he unscrews something on the control panel. He leans closer to your side, and you see him drop something into the child’s eagerly outstretched hand.

“What’s that?”

“His favorite toy. There’s a button, here,” he says, moving quickly from the topic to kneel down again. “Under the panel. It lights the controls, but I don’t use it.”

“Show me, please?” you ask, holding a hand out, palm up.

The Mandalorian takes your hand, cupping your knuckles and leading your fingers to the bulky nodule just beneath the lip of the panel. His finger lines up over yours, and he shows you how to press it with a little more force than the others. Suddenly, hundreds of lights that were previously dark flicker to life before you. The baby gurgles in delight around the toy half shoved in his mouth.

You spend a moment, looking at the glowing, slightly blurry controls, and you feel your eyes begin to sting. You’d never been trusted with something like this before, something so complex and skill-based. It was a far cry from cleaning dirty glasses and serving watered down liquor.

Your companion takes a deep breath and leans his forearm on the back of your chair. “Does this help?” he asks, voice almost too soft for the modulator to pick up.

A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you wipe it away quickly. “Y-Yes. Show me how-how to take off, now,” you say, not asking so much as demanding with a childish eagerness.

The Mandalorian is a good teacher.

In fact, he’s an excellent teacher.

His voice is direct and patient, and he allows you to ask questions and make comments that don’t make you feel inferior. He stands over you, not hovering as much as observing, and you find consolation in his presence. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t treat you as if you’re made of glass, or because he’s not worried you’ll mess something up. Whatever the reason for his trust, you’re grateful for it, finding yourself smiling when you go through the motions of landing and he praises, “Good. Very good.”

The child begins tugging at your sleeve, and you realize it’s past time for him to be fed. As you start to get up, a gentle hand touches your shoulder. “Stay. I’ll bring it to you. Keep practicing.”

But he didn’t. He brought food for the child and yourself.

He set the plate of cold meat, bread, and cheese on the armrest, and you blink in surprise, looking up at his shadow. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

The Mandalorian was using an oiled cloth to wipe down the controls, not glancing at you as he worked. He points out, “You do it for me every day.”

“Yes, but-”

“Let’s practice take-off, now. It’s more in-depth.”

You sit back in the chair, letting the child pick what he wanted off the plate and nibbling on what was left, listening intently as the Mandalorian described different procedures and the pre-flight check-list. Something warm was building in your chest, slow and fervent, and every time his helmet tilted back to look at you, it deepened. You had never been valued before, cared for or thought of as more than a means to an end. And these feelings-they hurt, like the first breath of air you take after being submerged in water for far too long, but they felt sweet, too.

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#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #uhhh #the mandalorian #i think that's it

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