#we’ll see where the bight takes us

[saphronethaleph]

Maybe Call It A Praexum This Time

“This place looks… verdant,” Finn said. “Are you sure there’s anywhere to set down?”

“General Antilles gave me the coordinates,” Rey replied, banking the Falcon slightly. “There’s somewhere… or, there was back during the war.”

“Decades ago,” Finn mused. “Again. Are you sure there’s anywhere to set down?”

“Given the nature of the place, I’m sure of it,” Rey answered, then pointed. “There it is. On the horizon.”

Finn squinted, shading his eyes, then whistled.

“Now that is one big building,” he said.

“The Great Temple, it’s called,” Rey told him. “Obvious name, I know… can you let Poe know we’ve confirmed it?”

“We haven’t confirmed we can land yet,” Finn pointed out. “But I’ll tell him.”

He reached for his comlink, and flicked it on. “Hey, Poe! How are you doing in that rust bucket?”

“That’s my line!” Poe replied, with a laugh. “This transport’s three whole years younger than the Falcon! But I’ve got to admit, the power-to-weight isn’t so good… you three got me somewhere to set down yet?”

“We’ve got an area,” Finn replied. “We can see the temple, anyway. Chewie hasn’t had a chance to give us an expert wookiee look at the trees to see what we can clear away.”

“I last did that fifty years ago!” Chewbacca shouted, from where he was keeping on top of the Falcon’s inevitable maintenance issues – this time the fact that the concussion missile launcher was being balky.

“I’ve never been a tree guy at all!” Finn shot back. “And I’m pretty sure Rey’s only seen trees in the last year.”

“I knew they existed,” Rey said.

“Okay, guys, guys!” Poe called. “Focus, okay? I’ve got fifteen kids on board and I think Threepio is having trouble keeping them all under control.”

“Aren’t Artoo and BB helping?” Rey said.

“Man, I don’t want to see what happens if Artoo teaches the kids,” Poe replied. “BB’s good, though…”

Finn chuckled, then the Falcon flew over the temple and Rey expertly adjusted the controls.

“What do you think?” she asked Finn, as they stopped.

“...well, it looks like we might have space to land both ships on the forest floor,” Finn replied. “If we do it one at a time. The Falcon would have to go first… actually, I take it back, I think we’ll need to get some work done.”

He glanced back. “Chewie? You’re up! You’re the closest thing we’ve got to an expert!”

One closest-thing-to-an-expert-opinion later, along with a slightly hair-raising landing and twenty minutes of work with lightsabers, Chewbacca waved two lightwands to guide Poe down.

The chunky transport hopefully contained everything they’d need. Supplies… equipment… beds, amenities, tools… and fifteen children, over half of them from Canto Bight, all of them recently liberated and force-sensitive and eager to learn how to use their abilities.

“This is going to go terribly, isn’t it?” Finn asked, standing under the overhang of the long-abandoned temple hangar.

“We’ll see what we can do,” Rey replied. “We found the kids, didn’t we? We found the lightsabers…”

“Yeah, that was tricky,” Finn agreed, thinking about the deep delve into the Imperial Palace on Coruscant to find the Emperor’s hidden trophy room.

He grinned. “Bet that old bastard never thought we’d pull anything like this off.”

“Master Luke’s supposed to have told him that his overconfidence was his weakness,” Rey noted. “I hope we’re not overconfident.”

“Given how I feel right now, if I’m overconfident, we’ve got no chance!” Finn muttered. “This is going to be tough.”

In the newly-expanded clearing, Poe’s ship sank onto its landing legs with a creak.

“Okay, here we go,” Rey decided, squaring her shoulders, then glanced at Finn. “Do you think they’ll mind that we’re going to need to spend time clearing out living space?”

Finn frowned, thinking about it.

“Not if we help,” he guessed. “Let’s start with Force lessons and camping out in the hangar?”

Two weeks into the operation of the new Temple, everyone was still being run ragged. Every hour was full, between making sure that the giant stone structure was liveable, converting it to handle effective Jedi training, and simply giving lessons in the first place.

Rose, Poe and Chewbacca were real pillars of strength, helping make sure that Finn and Rey were only a normal amount of overwhelmed… most of the time.

But it was hard to feel like you were doing a good job of teaching when you didn’t know much yourself.

“I still can’t even read these,” Finn admitted, frowning at one of the ancient Jedi books. “How do you do it?”

“It’s about a state of mind,” Rey replied. “It’s about… focusing on yourself, and focusing on the world, and recognizing the connections between them. Then, once you can do that, you can look with the eyes of the Force.”

“The connections…” Finn repeated, thinking. “You mean like that connection you had, the dyad?”

“That was the easiest one to see, at first,” Rey admitted. “I had to focus on it enough to be able to reduce the strength of the connection, and I wasn’t always able to.”

“I actually think that’s part of the problem I’m having, you know?” Finn said. “You had this big signpost to start with, and I don’t have that.”

Rey picked up a book, closing her eyes to get into the right mindset, then scanned through it.

“Focusing techniques…” she said. “Focusing… oh! There’s, um, good news and bad news.”

“Well?” Finn asked, sounding apprehensive.

“The good news is, there’s several suggested alternative ways to focus,” Rey informed him. “The bad news is… there’s about fifty of them.”

“Great,” Finn sighed. “This is going well.”

He glanced at his friend. “That’s not me trying to complain, or anything.”

“It was,” Rey replied.

“...yeah, it was,” Finn conceded. “Just, not aimed at you.”

“I can’t disagree, though,” Rey told him, thoughtfully. “This is always going to be difficult, Finn… we just don’t know much. So much of the Jedi Order’s knowledge was lost, and Master Luke only had a few months of training with Master Yoda plus what he could find on Ossus. Then Master Luke’s knowledge was lost as well, and I’ve only had a couple of months of very intermittent training. But… it’s the best we can do.”

“It’s the best we can do,” Finn agreed. “Well, that makes me feel better.”

“It should,” Rey smiled. “What matters is that we carry forwards the ideal of the Jedi. Ben – Kylo said to let the past die, but that’s not right… it’s not a rule. It’s advice, and that advice is sometimes wrong.”

She shut the book. “If we had a holocron, that would be better. If we had a Jedi Master with proper training to help us out… that would be perfect. But we work with what we have. It’s not like they grow on trees.”

Finn laughed.

“If they did, we’re in the right place!” he said. “Okay, want to give me one of those meditation techniques?”

“I did see one that might help,” Rey told him. “It’s about visualization. Start with something simple, and add bits to it, one at a time, then take them away again. Add and remove.”

“Right,” Finn decided, crossing his legs, and tried to focus.

Less than three minute later, there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Rey said, turning. “Oh, Temiri – is something wrong?”

“Um,” the former Canto Bight stableboy said. “I don’t know?”

He held up a furry animal, a bit larger than BB-8 and with long floppy ears. “I found him in the forest. He followed me home… is that okay?”

“Huh, you found a pet?” Finn asked.

“Rather more than that, I think,” the animal said. “I’m given to understand you’re starting a Jedi Temple?”

Temiri let him down, and he clasped his paws and bowed. “I am Jedi Master Ikrit, who was trained by Master Yoda. I have been waiting for… is something wrong?”

Finn and Rey exchanged glances.

“...so…” Finn began. “Looks like you were wrong, Rey.”

“Yeah, I’ll admit to that,” Rey conceded readily. “Please tell me you’re willing to teach. We have so little idea about what we’re doing.”

[royalbestie]

hi i’m gonna move prom over to @foundliight here soon as in whenever i get to a computer so!!! u can hit us up over there :))

[swtki]

Break Room - F.W

Pairing: Retail Worker! Fred Weasley x New Person! Fem! Reader

Summary: Y/N has finally started her first shift at their new job, only the guy training them is beyond eager to do more than talk about codes.

WARNINGS: I guess Fred is technically a superior but I assure you it’s all consensual, swearing, retail trauma, working, FLUFF

A/N: This totally isn’t based off of what I want to happen in my own life hahahaha what?

The cheap plastic of my name tag hung off of my collar, the feeling of it moving when I walked was strange. At my old job, we weren’t made to wear a name tag, our names were embroidered on the breast of our shirts. Such a small thing it was, but not having an exact uniform shirt and getting on with loose guidelines was a blessing. Mr. Olivander  was a very laissez faire boss, so the minor tag was a sacrifice I was happy to make. 

“Ah, I am so very sorry Ms. Y/L/N, the boy who is supposed to be training you appears to be running late. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll fetch you when he arrives.” The older man said, looking a tad annoyed, understandably so. I went back to picking at my nails, but looked up when I heard the door jingle open.

“Speak of the Devil! So glad you could join us Mr. Weasley.” The boy was tall and thin, and he hid his hands in the sweater that was far too big for him.

“Ahhh, Mr. O, come on! You know I’m the best employee even when I’m late!” Mr. Olivander shook his head with a smile.

“Right then, Fred this is the girl you’ll be training today. I’m sure you two will get along quite nicely. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some work to finish in my office. Call if need be!” The man quickly said, scurrying away to his office. The two of us were left alone, and a quietness surrounded us. I hadn’t noticed it before, but he had a full head of ginger locks. Thats when I instantly recognized him.

“You go to Hogwarts, yeah?” He inquires. Our heights were strikingly different, so much so than he had to look down at me.

“I-I do, I’m just on summer break so I thought I’d get a job and Mr. Olivander was kind enough to offer me a position.” I rambled, avoiding eye contact as best I could. What was wrong with me? Losing my composure with a boy I barely knew. “I’m friends with Ginny actually, and of course who could ignore your brother and yourself when you pulled that stunt at the goblet last year.” A smile crept upon his face.

“Blimey, you’re thirteen? Coulda’ sworn you were around seventeen at the least.” His voice told me that he was uncomfortable being around me now that he saw me as thirteen.

“Merlin, no! I’m sixteen, just turned it actually.” He relaxed, at least he isn’t too comfortable with a girl that young, too many boys in my year were. “I tutored her when she was in first year, Mcgonnegal thought it would be good for third years to help fresh meat.” He chuckled, it was deep and I could feel it rumbling in his chest. “We just became good friends, and have stayed such.”

“I see, I thought I’d seen you around the common room but then again if you were with my sister, I probably wasn’t really looking.” I smiled, I liked that he had some knowledge I existed. “Right, okay, first things first.” he started walking to the back of the shop. “C’mon, I’m not leading you to your death or anythin’” I walked quickly to him. Where he was standing was in front of a wooden door, it was dimly lit yet I could see the perfect outline of his lean body. “This,” His pale hand turned the doornob, opening to a small room with a counter,fridge,oven, and couch arranged along the walls, “Is where we will take our breaks and clock in or out.”

“Nice.” My voice was quiet. Gesturing to follow him, we walked towards the large collection of wands.

For nearly four hours, Fred explained how I was to do my job, how Mr. Olivander was to be working the front desk for purchases, how I would be in charge of organization and easy finding. While Fred didn’t have dedication to school, I could see he clearly had dedication to retail. We said our goodbyes and clocked out at ten pm.

It was now my fourth shift at the wand shop, and though it was hard work that made my back ache, it was good work. It was a fair wage, and thats all I could ask for. The training had been completed, leveling Fred down as my coworker. I think he preferred it that way, actually. He joked with me more than he had the first shift, and made cheeky comments.

“You’ve got to be pissed to think I’ll work a double, Weasley.” He was following me around the store, begging for me to take his shift.

“Ah no, love, why would I be pissed before I take you out for a drink?” He slyly commented. I felt a heat on my cheeks, and a fluttering sensation in my belly.

“Fine.” I said, finally putting away the last box of wands, “I’ll take it. But you owe me big time.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something.” He winked and turned around.

I was sure he was only flirting with me as a joke, something friends do but don’t really mean. We were coworkers, maybe this was his way of passing time. Until my sixth shift, when I realized this wasn’t the case.

I was in the break room, stirring the milk into my tea. The bight had been slow, it was cold and stormy and nobody wanted to go out. Although it was boring, it was nice to slow down for once. To be able to drink my tea hot.

“I reckon we won’t have any customers at this rate.” I jumped, not having heard Fred come in. He laughed as I turned and leaned on the counter. “Scare you, did I?” I rolled my eyes in response.

“In your dreams, asshat.” He got up and started walking over to me, I assumed he must have been going over to the fridge for some milk, that wasn’t the case.

He stood in front of me, his hands placed along the counter, his chest mere inches from my face. I could smell his cologne, and although he towered over me, I could feel his breath. He looked down, a smirk painted on his face.

“You know, Y/N,” He bent down, closer to my ear, “Thats not what I do to you in my dreams.” I made a small gasp when his hot breath hit my ear. I tried my best to avoid eye contact, in fear that if I looked at him, it would all be a big joke. 

“Y-yeah? Why’s that, Weasley?” My voice was shaky as I questioned him.

“Because,” he leaned back, brushing a piece of my hair behind my ear, “Theres something about you, something very different. I think you’re just as attracted to me as I am to you, am I right?”

I didn’t answer, although I did turn my face and look him in the eye. A few seconds passed, and then we slowly pressed our lips together. It was natural, like two missing puzzle pieces finally put together. His hands flew to the sides of my face, cradling it lightly.

Slow and reluctant, we finally pulled away for air, the only sound heard was our pants.

“Perhaps I should take you on a proper date first before I snogg you again.” I laughed at his attempt at a formality.

“Perhaps you should, Weasley.”

-

-

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Taglist:

@amourtentiaa @rosemallow10 @acosmis-t @anchoeritic @endlessymphony @seekinglumos @weasleyyy @accioweaslcy @fa-me @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @freddie-weaselbee @fjorelaant 

[mandospace]

Allure (Boba Fett x Reader)

Request:  Hi! I love your writing! 🖤 May I request something with jealous Boba? 🙏🏻✨

Requested By: @kat-r-in​

Word Count: 4,224

Warnings: Strong language, jealousy

A/N: Sorry if this kind of sucks :( But maybe you don’t think it sucks, so enjoy, anyways! **gif not mine, credit to the creator!**

MASTERLIST

“If we come in from the side, he won’t suspect a thing.”

“No, that’s too obvious- he’d spot us from a mile away.”

The constant bickering between the two Mandalorians was becoming old, and fast. They were surrounding a table that had maps scattered over it, gloved fingers pointing at different areas. A single puck sat between them, hologram shining the face of the quarry that the two hunters were after. The three of you had tracked the quarry to Canto Bight- one of the richer and more frivolous cities the three of you had ever been. You were positive that he was hiding somewhere in one of the many bars and casinos- the question was which one.

After some light scouting done by the two hunters, the pair determined that the quarry was hiding out in the largest casino that Canto Bight had to offer. Go figure.

The three of you- more accurately the two bounty hunters- were trying to come up with a plan to capture the quarry effectively and as quietly as possible. Drawing attention in a city this big was never good, and the two Mandalorians already stuck out like a sore thumb in their beskar armor. 

“Well we can’t just walk up to the guy,” Boba huffed, thick arms crossing over his chest in exasperation. The bickering was giving you a headache. You tried to tune them out as best as you could but their deep voices seemed to echo in the hull of Slave One. Rubbing your temples for some form of relief, Din spoke up.

“Why not?”

Boba gave Din an annoyed glance through his black visor. His irritation radiated from him in waves. “I don’t really have to explain why that is a stupid idea to you, do I?”

“No,” Din shook his head. “Not us. Her.” He swung his arm out in your general direction, casting the Mandalorians’ gaze on you. You squirmed in your seat at the attention.

“Me?” 

“No.” Boba spoke at the same time you did, voices overlapping. Embarrassment at being called out soon turned to frustration at Boba’s quick dismissal of you. You could feel your metaphorical hackles raise in defense.

“Why not?” Din cut in before you could argue for yourself. “She’s perfect. Put her in a pretty dress and she’d blend in with the wealthiest of the crowd. She could saunter right up to the quarry and seduce him like that.” Din punctuated his sentence with a snap of his fingers. You could feel the blush rising to your cheeks at his suggestion of you seducing someone- you couldn’t do that. “She tempts him out the back door where we will be waiting to get him. It’d be over in an hour.”

Din’s words hung in the air as Boba contemplated the plan before answering with a resounding ‘no.’ Anger flashed hot in your veins.

“I can do it,” you shot a glare at the green helmet before turning to Din’s silver one. “When do we start?”

“I said no.” Boba’s tone was dangerous- the threat very clear. Before Din could argue for you again, you hopped off your crate and stormed up to the older hunter. 

“You don’t get to decide what I do or don’t do,” you jabbed a finger into the green cuirass. Pain radiated through your finger, you forgot just how hard beskar was.

“It’s too dangerous,” Boba grabbed your wrist to push away your hand. Hurt flashed through your eyes at his motion. “You could get hurt.”

“Then one of us will protect her,” Din interjected, disrupting the tense glaring match you and Boba were having. “Follow her from a distance, watch out for any problems. And if she needs us, we’ll be there.”

“I’ll be fine, Boba,” you switched tactics, trying to appeal to his more gentler side. If he even had one. You reached your hand out and rested it on the green beskar covering his chest. This time he didn’t push you away. “Din will step in if anything-”

“I’m going to watch you.” Boba cut you off and settled his gaze on your face. You couldn’t be sure, but you were certain that he was looking you in the eye. “Din will wait out back to catch him. If anything goes wrong, I will step in and protect you, even if it means the quarry gets away. Understand?”

Din spoke his understanding, nodding along to the plan. You were frozen to the floor of the ship, trapped under Boba’s gaze. While his words were meant for Din, you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. He was willing to give up the bounty for you? He was willing to give up the job that would keep them comfortable for a month for you?

“I still don’t like this,” Boba grumbled, breaking your gaze to look at Din. He took a step back from the tense bubble the two of you created before turning to walk to the cockpit. “Get ready. We’re doing this tonight.”

Boba left the two of you in a flurry before the doors leading to the cockpit slammed shut. Din laid a tentative hand on your shoulder and you jumped in surprise. “Don’t worry, you’ll do great. Boba is just being dramatic.”

You were still frozen to your spot on the floor, staring at the sealed doors of the cockpit. “There’s just one problem.”

“What?”

“I don’t own a dress.”

———

After storming off, Boba passed the time in the cockpit, silently fuming by himself. The anger was like a raging sea in his chest, waves battering against his ribs. Logically, Boba knew that the plan was good and that it would work. The quarry would get one look at you and would fall at your feet in adoration, maybe even cuff himself if you asked in just the right way, just the right context. He knew that you could handle yourself and that you would be okay, and if not, he’d be there.

Realistically, though, the idea of some sleazy guy putting his hands on you made his stomach turn. Just the idea of another man touching you- no, even looking at you- made Boba see red. The anger and hatred for this quarry and his imagined slights against you rose up in his throat, leaving a sour taste in his mouth. His grip on one of the dashboard’s levers tightened before the lever snapped from the pressure. Boba looked at the metal object in his hand, disgusted.

“Great,” Boba grumbled to himself before tossing the broken lever to the corner. “Now I’ve got to fix that.”

Boba knew he shouldn’t feel this way about you. Feel this insanely possessive feeling that gripped his heart every time you walked into a room or smiled at him. You weren’t his, you didn’t belong to him, and you never would. Even if you had wanted him too, Boba reasoned with himself that he would turn you away for your own safety. You were too gentle, too kind, too pure to get wrapped up in his bloody life. He wouldn’t make you go through that, even if he desperately wanted you by his side every step of the way.

The watch on his vambrace beeped, signaling that it was time to leave. Boba stood up with a sigh, strapping his blaster to his hip. The sooner he left for this mission, the sooner he could get back to sulking by himself. He met Din in the hull of the ship who was waiting, ready for the mission. Din leaned against the wall, fingers messing with the whistling birds on his vambrace. Boba had always wanted some of those.

“Is she ready?” Boba asked while settling in next to Din. He crossed his arms over his chest with a sigh.

“Almost,” Din responded. “She had to run out earlier, so she is a little behind.”

“Run out?” The words left Boba’s mouth in confusion. What did he mean, you ‘ran out?’

Before Din could answer, the soft sound of clicks against the floor made the two Mandalorians look up in interest. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Boba’s heart almost burst through the hard beskar strapped to his chest at the sight of you.

You were absolutely breathtaking. Boba was glad for the helmet that hid his face, or else you and Din would’ve seen his gaping mouth. He couldn’t take his eyes off you- each glance sent a trickle of heat running south, pooling low in his stomach. The silvery-white fabric draped over your curves deliciously. A slit ran up the side of the skirt, showing your leg with each step. Boba couldn’t help but stare at the skin revealed before his eyes. You were ethereal, reminding him of the angels that lived on the moons of Iego.

“Wow...” Din let out a shaky breath. Boba’s gaze immediately snapped to Din who was currently drinking in your form. Anger and jealousy flared inside of Boba. “You look...”

“Beautiful,” Boba finished Din’s sentence, drawing your gaze to him. He hadn’t meant for the words to slip out, but they did, and his face was red under the helmet. The way you looked at him, a nervous smile gracing your features as you tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear made Boba want to reach out and touch you. Before he could do something he’d regret, Boba turned around and opened the ship’s ramp. “Let’s go.”

The walk to the casino was long, the three of you trying to make your way through Canto Bight’s bustling crowds. Din walked beside you, making light conversation while Boba trailed behind to watch out for any trouble. His mind wasn’t focused on scanning the crowd for dangerous people though, instead it was focused on the dip of your back where Din’s hand rested. Boba knew that it probably wasn’t anything other than friendly- the logical part of him told him this- but that still didn’t stop the animalistic urge growing inside him to snatch you away from Din’s grip with a snarl. Your dress draped low on your back, revealing even more skin that Boba longed to touch. You looked so soft, he was sure your skin would feel like the silk you were wearing. Din’s thumb continued tracing lazy circles into the exposed skin on the small of your back. With each brush, Boba’s vision tinted redder with ire.

“We’re here,” Din’s voice snapped Boba out of his thoughts, red haze fading when you turned and looked at him. Just one look from you and he could practically feel the anger melting off of him. “I’ll be waiting out back for the quarry. If you need me,” Din tapped the side of his helmet twice, a silent way of saying ‘call me,’ before he turned with a swirl of his cape. He vanished into the crowd, and Boba was left alone with you.

“Here,” he grabbed your wrist, bringing it closer to him and having your palm face up. He placed a small piece of technology in your open hand. “This is your communicator. Put it in your ear. It lets me hear what’s going on around you, and lets you talk to me if you need me for any reason.”

You looked at the small piece in your hand before putting it in your ear. It was slightly irritating, the little communicator. Boba pressed a button on his vambrace and a small little beep sounded in your ear.

“There,” Boba’s voice was much deeper through the earpiece. Even though he was only a few feet in front of you, it felt like he was right beside your head, whispering in your ear. “Now I can hear everything.”

“Everything?” Your mind drifted to what was about to happen. You knew you had to seduce the quarry, and that was already embarrassing as is, but now Boba gets to hear it too? “Even...”

“Yes,” Boba nodded. He already didn’t like the plan. Any plan that put you in harm’s way was a bad plan to him, but he still knew this would work. Didn’t mean that he had to like it. 

“What if I...” you trailed off, heat flooding your cheeks in embarrassment. Maker, you were so bad at this. “Nevermind.”

“What?” Boba prompted, stepping closer to you so he could avoid the moving crowd.

“No, it’s too embarrassing.”

“Sweet girl,” Boba sighed at the look of nervousness on your face. You had tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, and he desperately wanted to free it with a brush of his thumb. “If you don’t want to do this, we’ll just turn around and head back. Din and I-”

“No,” you cut him off. You could do this, no matter how inexperienced you were in the art of seduction. “I can do this. I may just... need help.”

“I’ll be watching you and will jump in if anything goes wrong-”

“No, not that,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand. Kriff, why was this so awkward to tell him? “I’ve just... never seduced anyone before. What if he doesn’t even follow me out back, and this whole mission is a bust?”

For the second time that night, Boba was thankful that his helmet blocked his features from you. He was dumbstruck at your words- you had never seduced anyone before? Stars, Boba thought, you seduce him with just a smile. 

“Boba,” your voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He hadn’t realized that he was silent. He was too busy fantasizing about you actually trying to seduce him- you were already incredibly sexy to him every day. You weren’t even trying to make him feel all hot and bothered every time you looked at him. You were just that effortlessly alluring.

“If you really need me,” Boba tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. Kriff, if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn you were trying to seduce him right now with that innocent look in your eyes, just begging for him to- “I’ll give you some pointers,” he cleared his throat. “But I don’t think you’ll need my help.”

You exhaled shakily. “Thank you, Boba,” you rested your hand on his green cuirass, right over his heart. Maker, you were going to make him come in his pants if you kept looking at him like that. You had barely touched him, barely said anything to him and he was already wanting to push you up against a wall and have his way with you. He could imagine it vividly with how close you were to him right now, your sweet scent filling his head. It would be so easy, Boba thought, to just grab your hips and pin you to the wall. To hitch your leg up and around his waist- leg bare from the slit in the silvery fabric of your dress- as he pressed his hard length against you and buried his face in your neck. So easy- “I wouldn’t be able to do this without you.”

“Of course,” he shifted awkwardly on his feet, trying to adjust himself discreetly. “Anything for you, sweet girl.” The tracking fob clipped to his belt started beeping, noting the hunter that the quarry was close. He silenced it with a push of a button. Boba turned back to you. “It’s time.”

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. Boba desperately tried not to stare at your chest when you did that. “Wish me luck.” You turned with a swirl of your dress, silvery fabric billowing out behind you as you made your way into the casino. Boba just stood there, transfixed on your fleeting image. He hated to see you walk away, but he loved to watch you leave.

___

The casino was bright and loud- people surrounding various tables and shouting with glee over winning or yelling in fury at losing their entire fortune. Machines flashed blinking lights, tempting the patrons to waste their money at a chance to win. You tried to push the noise to the back of your head whilst your eyes scanned the crowd for the quarry. There were so many people, you weren’t sure if you were ever going to find the quarry until your eyes found him at the bar. He was leaning against the counter, talking to some pretty Twi’lek who did not seem that interested. You drew in a shaky breath before making your way to the bar. 

“Spotchka, please.” You settled in against the counter right next to the quarry, raising your hand to catch the bartender’s attention. You could feel the quarry’s eyes on you when you gave the bartender a dazzling smile. His gaze sent shivers down your spine- but not the good kind. It wasn’t the delicious shivers that raked over your body whenever Boba looked at you or brushed his hand against your skin. This gaze made you feel uncomfortable.

 “Any luck tonight?” The quarry sidled up next to you, forgetting the pretty Twi’lek. You forced yourself to give him a smile and turn towards him like you were even remotely interested.

“Unfortunately, no, not yet,” you brought the blue drink up to your lips and took a slow sip. Your eyes drifted over his form, acting like you were actually checking him out. “But I have a feeling my luck is about to change.”

The man smiled at you and his eyes settled on your cleavage. Fighting back the disgusted feeling you felt, you pushed out your breasts ever so subtly, trying to entice him even more.

“I think you’re right, gorgeous.”

___

Boba hated this. He hated sitting in some corner of the casino, watching you flirt with this scum. His hand was constantly clenched in a fist, other twitching to feel the smooth metal of his blaster. Boba desperately wanted to shoot the quarry down where he stood as he tucked a loose piece of hair behind your ear. You laughed at something he must’ve said, head tilting back with laughter displaying your neck and more of your chest. Even from this far away, Boba could see that the quarry brazenly looked at your breasts and licked his lips in hunger. What was even worse was watching this man touch you and hear your words that were egging the quarry on.

“So,” you had trailed your hand down the man’s chest. Boba couldn’t help the hate and jealousy for the quarry that rose up in his throat like acid as he watched you. Boba wished it was him that you were trailing your hands over, wished it was him that you were looking at beneath your eyelashes. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Not at all.” The quarry dragged his hand lazily up and down your arm, seemingly trying to entice you. You had flushed at the man’s touches. Boba hoped that it was just a fluke- that you weren’t actually attracted to and turned on by this garbage. He could feel his finger twitch towards his blaster again. “What about you, gorgeous?”

Boba watched you pull your bottom lip between your teeth like you did earlier that night as you looked the man up and down. He almost launched himself from his seat when the quarry brushed his thumb over your lip, releasing the pillowy flesh. Boba should be the one doing that, not him. 

“Well,” you looked shyly up at the man, hand trailing down his chest. “I was hoping you could do something for me.”

“Yeah? What’s that, angel?” The quarry had wrapped his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him. Boba’s chest was heaving as he tried to calm himself down. You didn’t actually want the quarry, Boba had to remind himself. You were only doing this to help him and Din.

You had leaned in closer to him, mouth moving to whisper something in the quarry’s ear. Boba was able to hear what you said because of the earpiece. 

“Me,” you whispered seductively before pulling back slightly to crash your lips against the quarry’s. 

Red was all Boba saw. A growl ripped through his chest at the sight of you kissing that trash, that garbage, that scum. He launched from his seat and was making his way towards you so he could tear you from the man’s greedy grip.

“Boba, don’t.” Din’s voice cut through his earpiece. “Let her lead him outside first.” Boba stopped in his tracks at Din’s words. “You’re going to tip off the quarry if you mow down half the casino to get to him.”

Boba didn’t realize that the crowd had jumped away from his warpath. Whispers of “Mandalorian” and “bounty hunter” floated through the crowd while Boba stood there, fuming. He tried to take deep breaths to tamper down the fury that threatened to boil over at the image of you wrapped in the quarry’s arms. Only when the quarry took his lips off yours was Boba able to stop shaking from his anger.

“Let’s get out of here,” the quarry started to tug you towards the exit.

“He’s headed your way,” Boba gritted out through the comm. He trailed behind the two of you, watching you follow the quarry out the door. Within moments Boba was out through the exit, and fury swirled in his chest at what he saw.

The quarry had pinned you to the wall of the casino and had his hands and lips on you. Boba couldn’t wait for Din to swoop down from the shadows and get the quarry. He was going to put a stop to this, now.

Boba grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and ripped him off you. Anger flashed behind his visor as he slammed the quarry’s back against the wall. The man’s eyes widened in fear when Boba drew his fist back, poised to slam it into his face. Before he could break the man’s jaw, Din had finally revealed himself and put himself between the quarry and Boba.

“Don’t you ever fucking touch her again,” Boba seethed. He couldn’t even get any satisfaction of watching Din cuff the bastard. He had never wanted to kill someone so badly- not since he watched a jedi cut down his father.

“Boba.” Your soft voice had pulled him from his red-tinged thoughts. He looked down at you as you placed your hand on his arm. Boba almost melted into your soothing touch. “I’m okay, he didn’t hurt me.”

“I know, but-” Boba’s head turned to look at the scum again but your hand on his helmet directed his gaze back to you. He could feel his cheek heat up under your touch even though you weren’t directly touching his skin. The look you gave him made Boba weak in the knees- he could hardly feel the anger he was just raging with only minutes ago. 

“Everything I said, everything I did, was all a lie.” You had your hands on either side of his helmet, cupping his face. “I need you to know that.”

Boba could only nod at your words. He knew that they were true, but jealousy still lingered beneath his skin at the memory of your lips pressed against the quarry’s. “Guess you didn’t need my help after all, sweet girl.”

“Trust me, I most certainly did.” You unknowingly held his gaze under the black visor. “If I didn’t pretend that it was you that I was talking to, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

Your words made Boba pull up short. “What?”

The heat that flushed over your cheeks was beautiful. “I, umm, pretended that I was, ah, trying to seduce you.” You stumbled over your words, but Boba’s heart swelled with them. Before he could stop himself, Boba was tearing off his helmet from his head and pushing you back against the wall, large hands on your hips.

“Sweet girl,” Boba sighed as he brushed his nose against yours. Not wanting to waste another minute, he crashed his lips against yours. Your lips were so soft beneath his own, even better than he dreamed. A soft sigh slipped from between your lips and Boba almost let out a moan at the taste of your breath on his tongue. You even tasted sweet, Boba thought. He wondered where else you would taste sweet.

“Boba,” you moaned against his mouth. He just continued to kiss you, pulling you tight against his chest. Before he could make the kiss any deeper, you pulled away from him, much to his dismay. “We can’t do this.”

That certainly made him stop dead in his tracks, cold fear pulsing through his veins. He had thought that you wanted this, wanted him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” you cut him off, hand cupping his cheek. “You misunderstood me. We can’t do this, not here.”

Just as your words had stopped his heart, they revived it just as easily. He couldn’t help but press a bruising kiss against your lips. “Thank the Maker.” His grip on you tightened. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Don’t you forget it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you smiled up at him before you pulled him back down to your lips. “Not in a million years.”

[joel-millerr]

Choices Are Made in an Instant

Chapter Six of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.1k

Summary: You and Mando help Ahsoka in battle. Then, when you get back to the Crest, he starts acting weird. You couldn't have been prepared for what happens next...

Warnings: SMUT, dom/sub mentions, mild choking, (maybe a bit of edging?) aftercare, graphic depictions of violence, a sprinkle of fluff. mando is possessive af during sexy time

---

“What’s the plan, again?” Mando asks you, not because he doesn’t know the plan, but because he wants to make sure you know the plan.

Scowling up at him as you sit on the floor of the Crest, Grogu slowly falling asleep in your lap, you roll your eyes when you see Mando put his hands on his hips like he’s annoyed with you. 

“Seriously?”

His head tilts to the side, and then shifts his weight over to one leg. For someone who doesn’t like to talk about their feelings, he sure does wear his emotions on his sleeve. Mando’s body language is a dead giveaway as to what’s going on under that bucket of his.

“Fine. If it’ll make you happy.” You pick the kid up off the ground and hold him in your arm as you explain to Mando—for the third time, what’s going to happen.

“Ahsoka will storm the main gate and engage the guards. You and I are going to walk around the wall and find a way into the village without getting seen. The Magistrate—”

“Morgan Elsbeth.” Mando chimes in.

“Yeah, whatever.” Using your free hand to wave him off because who cares what her name is? “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted—Ahsoka needs some information from Elsbeth so she’s off limits.”

“Good. You remember.”

“You know—”

“Yes?” He probes.

Lips forming a thin line, and realizing he’s just trying to rile you up you shrug it off and bite your tongue, instead opting to put Grogu down inside Mando’s bunk. The Child looks up at you with his big eyes, babbling incoherently. You wiggle your finger in front of him, causing him to giggle excitedly.

“Are you sure he’ll be safe here, alone?” You ask Mando over your shoulder, continuing to play around the kid.

“There’s no one else out here but us, and I’m going to engage the ground security protocols once we leave.” He explains as he fiddles through his armory, gently placing his pulse rifle back on its hook, and reaching over to his jetpack and strapping it to his back. “Nothing will penetrate the Crest.”

It doesn’t do much to ease your anxiety but since Mando seems comfortable with this, then this must be the safest place for him to be. Air exhales through your slightly parted lips as you turn to the armory and grab a vibroblade from Mando’s stock, strapping it to your right thigh. As time ebbs on, the sound of the blood pounding in your ears becomes louder and louder, and you’re unable to stop the steady thumping of your heart against your ribcage.  This feeling reminds you of spice running. The rush, the excitement, the worry of not knowing what could happen or if part of the plan could go wrong; it’s something you’ve always chased after.

The plan is almost foolproof, so you shouldn’t worry. Of course, the thought of something going wrong is always there in the back of your mind, but how often do you see a Jedi, a Mandalorian, and a smuggler working together? You’re almost certain this is the first time in the galaxy that this has happened, so how could you fail?

As you make your way to the ramp, you feel a rough leather glove grab hold of your wrist, and turns you around gingerly to face the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure about this?” He asks, tone low and husky, and it strokes that part inside of you that forces you to rub your thighs together.

No matter how much time you two can spend being around each other, the moment you’re standing only inches apart—you can’t stop your heart rate from picking up. Your mouth dries up like the sand dunes on Tatooine, and the only thing you can focus on is how fucking intoxicating this man is.

“You can stay here with him.”

His hand is still on your wrist, and you look down to where leather meets your skin. His thumb brushes small, gentle circles on your wrist; an otherwise small token of affection, but taking into consideration that Mando is willingly giving you such a gesture, it makes you heart do cartwheels.

“And miss all the action?” A smile stretches across your face, arching an eyebrow at him. “No way, Mando.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“Then you’ll need all the help you can get.”

He whispers your name softly and drawls out exhale that cuts up through his vocoder, as if your name is his way of begging you to reconsider. The ‘T’ of his visor stays glaring at you, but it’s damn near impossible to sway you from doing something once you’ve set your mind on it, so no matter how he stares, it won’t make much of a difference. He knows this isn’t a battle he’ll win. Your free hand reaches out, fingertips brushing against his elbow, hoping your touch will help calm his apprehensiveness about you coming along.

“Mando, I’ll be fine. I know you like to worry, but I’ve been in plenty of worse situations and I’m still here.”

Making a noise deep in the back of his throat, he gives you a quick nod and lets go of your wrist. A groan threatens to escape through your lips at the sudden lack of touch, but you manage to keep it under control as he breezes passed you, hearing his boots hit the durasteel ground as he descends the side ramp of the Crest. Taking one last deep breath and looking at Mando’s cot where Grogu is resting, you walk over to the panel by the door, and whisper “We’ll be back soon, kid,” before pressing the button to close the door, watching it come down with a hum. You turn on your heel and march down the ship to meet Mando, who waits patiently for you to join him before using his vambrace to shut the ramp.

You tread towards the village in a comfortable silence. Nightfall is especially unnerving here. The air feels dirty, like dust and ash mixed together, trekking through large gusts of wind as it almost knocks you off your feet. The sky is a dark mossy green, glooming over you, almost like there’s an ominous presence watching the night unfold. Three clicks away from the wall is where you meet Ahsoka. She’s wearing a long robe that aides her in hiding within the shadows, the hood pulled over her montrals, cloaking them from being detected. Her lightsabers, not laser swords like you thought they were called, dangle off her waist. You eye them curiously, wondering how it must feel to wield one of them. The thought makes you chuckle. If you really wanted to know what it felt like to hold such a beautiful weapon in your hand, you just had to find someone to train you, and then you’d be privy to it. A problem for another time, though. Right now, you had more important matters to worry about.

Just as you reach the woodland edge, Ahsoka turns to you and Mando and once again repeats the Magistrate is not to be harmed.

“Save the prisoners,” She reiterates.

Offering her a nod and a smile of reassurance, her hand touches your forearm, squeezing it gently. Mando detaches his right pauldron—the one with his signet engraved and hands it to Ahsoka. It looks like a mudhorn signet. You’re reminded of what Grogu had shown you just a few days ago. Mando battling the ferocious beast, and the Child, watching him on the brink of death, feeling his need to save the Mandalorian.

“We’ll go around the perimeter,” He announces, shooting you a quick look that you acknowledge by dipping your head downwards. “Just make my death believable.”

The corners of Ahsoka’s lips curl upwards. “Don’t worry about that.”

You and Mando break off, choosing to go to her left. Being mindful of where you walk, and making sure not to rise any suspicions by making noise and accidentally stepping on a broken twig, your eyes shift constantly between the ground and the giant wall just a few metres in front of you. Given your experience with sneaking around, you’re basically a master at keeping to the shadows.

Once Mando’s content with the distance you’ve put between yourselves and Ahsoka, he scans the area of lifeforms with his helmet. Beckoning with his hand, he moves forward with you following closely behind him. You crouch over, making yourself seem as small as you head straight for the fortified village.

“We’re going to have to climb it.” He says, realizing the sound of his jetpack would be too loud and alert the guards.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to sneak around,” You jest.

Mando lifts an arm towards the top of the rampart and a grappling line shoots out from his vambrace, flying right over the top of the duracrete wall and latching onto the parapet. Tugging the rope to make sure it’s got enough of a sturdy grip for both of you to scale, he hands you the wire to climb first. Blood pounding in your ears and your heart racing faster than the fathier races on Canto Bight, you take the line from Mando’s hand and pull on it hard enough until your body is leaning backwards.

Your left foot presses against the rampart, making sure to balance yourself properly before your other foot hits the wall, then you begin scaling it. Mounting it quickly, you make it to the top in just under a minute—you can’t help but be impressed with yourself.

Once you climb over the parapet, you crouch down immediately, head whipping to the left then to the right to make sure there aren’t any soldiers in sight. In the distance you hear cries of pain, whooshing, and a loud bang. Ahsoka must have engaged the guards by now.

Taking notice that the coast is clear, you beckon for Mando to join you, and he scales the duracrete wall, beating your time by just a couple of seconds. Show off.

The village is a good… maybe thirty or forty feet drop, and the thought makes you groan. Already you can feel the ache in your legs and knees, but better to get it over with. As you’re about to jump off the wall, Mando’s arm comes flying out across your torso.

“What the hell are you doing?” He whispers through gritted teeth.

Standing there somewhat dumbfounded, your eyebrows pull closely together. “I was going to jump?”

“And break your legs in the process?” He asks rhetorically. Then, without waiting for your answer, he coils the grappling line around his arm that you used to scale the rampart and drops it on the other side of the wall.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?”

Your eyes dart over to Mando’s eye slit, narrowing them as you watch him climb down just as fast as he came up. When you hear him reach the ground and taking one last look around, you grab onto the line and head down into the village.

The fighting in the distance has stopped, you hope that means Ahsoka’s made it through the barricade of guards. Darting between alleys through the village, you can hear her voice echoing in the distance.

“Your bounty hunters failed.”

Making sure to keep your centre of gravity low as you continue to navigate through the huts, you follow Mando on his heels until you see Ahsoka in your sights. She’s standing just a few metres away from Elsbeth, who has her own platoon of armed soldiers behind her, holding the staff in her hand, alongside the gunslinger Lang.

“Tell me what I want to know.” Ahsoka says, voice calm and stern. “Where is your master?”

Elsbeth stays silent for a few seconds, scowling at Ahsoka, eyes burning into hers, rage all but spilling out of her words. “Kill her.”

Lang takes a step forward, hands gripping his gun fiercely as he says with amusement, “Love to.”

A blast of red shoots out from his gun, narrowly missing her as she jumps onto one of the roofs. Her lightsabers come to life, beams of white whirl around her as she blocks an onslaught of blaster fire. You want to help her, to take down just even one of the guards, and Mando seems to sense your urgency because he grips onto your arm as a warning. You can’t blow your cover, not yet. The guards need to follow Ahsoka and leave the prisoners alone so you and him can free them.

The Magistrate instructs Lang to take her battle droids with her before turning on her heel and stalking back towards her fortress. She orders the remaining two guards by her side to execute the prisoners. Shrieks and cries fill the air as the prisoners start begging for their lives, and then your feet move before your brain takes notice, running straight for the guards before Mando can pull you back into the shadows.

You come up behind the soldiers, just as one aims their gun to one of the men strung up. Your hand flies to your blaster, unholstering it and shooting him right between the shoulder blades. He cries and falls to the ground with a loud thud. The remaining guard pivots towards you, aiming his own rifle at you but is shot down by Mando before he can pull the trigger.

“You were supposed to wait for my signal,” He hisses through the helmet as he appears from behind one of the houses to join you.

“You were taking too damn long.”

“And why the hell is the safety on your blaster not on?”

Narrowing your eyebrows, your mouth opens to answer but you have trouble finding the words. “Uh—is that reallyimportant right now?”

He doesn’t answer, but sighs somewhat angrily. Okay…

In the corner of your vision, you see the elderly man from yesterday emerge from one of the huts. Out of reflex, you catch Mando pointing his blaster at him. The man’s palms fly up in defense and freezes. They exchange a series of glances, ending with Mando placing his blaster back in his holster. They make their way to one of the prisoners, trying to gauge how to free him without hurting him or themselves.

The sounds of gunfire in the background catch your attention. Looking over to Mando and the elderly gentlemen, you really want to go out there and fight.

What if Ahsoka needs backup?

Surely, you should help her, right?

Hands fidgeting at your sides, your body racing on adrenaline and the urge to make these soldiers pay for what they’ve done, you take one last glance over to Mando who instinctively looks back at you. By his body language, you know he understands what you want because he squares his shoulders and takes a tentative step towards you. Shaking his head, slowly but nothing shy of authoritative, basically warning you not to go after her. Giving him a shrug and lips forming a tight line, you whip your body towards the sounds of gun fire and disappear into the shadows.

“Get back here!” Mando’s voice come from the commlink on your wrist as you continue zig zagging through the city, following the sound of gunfire. Ignoring him, you turn the volume down on your commlink until it’s fully muted, as to not draw any attention to yourself. Your body is running entirely on the electricity pumping through your bloodstream right now. Senses heightened to a degree you’ve never experienced before. The wind brushing against your hot cheeks, hearing the thumping of your heart in your ears, you feel everything so much stronger, now. Maybe it’s because you’ve never being in such a gritty battle like this, but it’s so much more intense than any spice run you’ve ever done.

Navigating through the huts and keeping yourself hunched over, you look out for any potential threats, coming up on dead-end after dead-end. You’re running out of time, and need to find Ahsoka now.

A hand touches down on your shoulder, causing you to gasp a little too loudly. Reaching over your chest and gripping the hand tightly, you twist your body around to face them while pulling downwards on their arm, vibroblade flying into your free hand. Relief overcomes you when you see it’s Ahsoka.

“Felt like you were missing out?”

You give her a smile, tucking the blade back into its strap on your thigh, hand clutching your chest as you try to come down from the sudden alarm. “Little bit.”

The moment is short lived when a blast of red gunfire flies by the back of your head, missing you by only inches. Ahsoka wraps her arm around your back, pushing you behind her as her lightsabers come alight once again, using them to dodge and ricochet incoming fire. As she continues to block blasts, a guard emerges from behind you, giving you only a second of time for your blaster to come out of its holster and into your hand, shooting them down with two blasts. Just as his body hits the ground, a second soldier comes right for you from the left. Your free hand shoots up close to your body, palm facing him. Taking a step forward, your arm straightens out and the power of it sends the guard flying backwards, hearing his skull hit the ground with an echoing crack.

You don’t have time to process it, to think about the fact that you’ve just heard that man’s skull split because you propelled him so aggressively into the ground. Turning your body back towards Ahsoka, she continues to fight off blasts, one of them knocking a lightsaber out of her hand and sending it flying through the air, landing just a couple feet behind you. Without even taking a second to think about it, you dash for the lightsaber, gripping it with your hand just as you fall over onto your stomach. A black gloved hand grabs hold of your shoulder, flipping you onto your back. The man crouches down and presses his body into yours, each leg on either side of your body, pinning you to the ground. You wrestle for a few seconds, dodging some punches but ultimately taking a couple hits to your stomach. All of a sudden, a bright white light nearly blinds you—the lightsaber buzzes to life, and then you’re pushing it in your hand through the man’s chest, screaming as it impales him. The sound of flesh sizzling against the lightsaber makes your skin crawl, never before hearing such a foul noise. Maker, even the smell is agonizing. Something you never thought you’d ever experience. You’ve cauterized wounds before, but that was just kissing the skin. This? Fuck, this went through his body, burning his skin, bones, and whatever organs were in the saber’s way. Ego and pride aside, it makes you nauseous. Pushing his limp body off yours and rising to your feet, the smell still lingering in your nostrils, you attempt to shake it out of your mind and wrench your eyes shut for a moment. This isn’t the time to dwell on things.

Feeling the lightsaber in your hand, something in you changes. Everything stills for a moment. All of the insecurities you had about yourself, the feeling of having lost your way, not knowing which path to choose, it all comes together. The answer is around your fingertips, its power clearing your mind of the questions you so desperately wanted the answers to. For the first time in your entire life, you feel at peace, like you finally found your place in the galaxy.

A new power courses through your veins, enabling you to take down enemy after enemy with Ahsoka’s lightsaber. As you battle in between the huts, your eyes meet hers for a brief moment, and it’s almost like she understands how you’re feeling. After cutting down the last guard, your chest is heaving, body shaking as it burns off the adrenaline that was exuding from your body just seconds ago. You head over to where Ahsoka is standing, a pile of bodies surrounding her. Mindful not to step on anyone, you tiptoe around them and hand her her lightsaber.

“And?” She asks, head cocked to the side.

You can’t even find the words. How can you even describe such a feeling? All your anxieties solved in just one moment. Jaw nearly dropping to the floor, you want to say something but the only thing coming from your mouth is a laugh. Ahsoka smiles back, but it quickly disappears, leaving you to look into her eyes, she seems…sad? You want to ask her what’s wrong, but you table it for another time.  

As you both make your way back to the main street of the village, she treks along the rampart of Elsbeth’s fortress. Once you clock the second gate ahead of you, Ahsoka leaps onto to the top of the wall, leaving you to meet Mando on the main road. Keeping to the shadows of the little houses around you, you see him standing just a few feet shy of the wall, hand hovering over the blaster strapped to his thigh. Towards the end of the cobblestone street is Lang, hands on his rifle.

No one speaks for a moment; Lang’s eyes shift between Mando and Ahsoka who stands at the top of the rampart. Your body is still shielded in the shadows, gauging Lang’s body language; waiting for the right moment to show yourself. Finally, Ahsoka turns her body and jumps into the Magistrate’s home, leaving you, Mando, and Lang behind.

“So, you threw in with the Jedi.”

Taking a quick look around, and noticing you to his right, he answers Lang, “Looks that way.”

Maker, you’ll never get tired of looking at him. Broad shoulders pushed back so his all-encompassing chest is on full display, practically toying with Lang because he knows they’ve lost, it’s not only intoxicating how much he turns you on, but it’s quite frankly obscene how your pussy gushes at the sight of him. His ability to stay calm, even when he’s seething with anger. It’s easy to get wrapped up in the heat of the moment, but watching Mando in his element, full of gusto and brawn…It’s quite a shock that some people choose to fight a Mandalorian rather than save themselves the trouble and simply surrender.

Sounds of beskar clashing with lightsabers ricochet through the air. Cries from both women pierce your ears. You want to see Ahsoka fight, curious to see how a Jedi battles with a formidable opponent, but you’re too transfixed on Mando right now to tear your eyes away even if for a moment.

“Who do you think’s gonna win?”

Mando doesn’t answer, just stays ever still, his cape flapping in the wind behind him. Lang takes a tentative step forward, and then another, and then another. “Could be your side…” He taunts. “Could be my side.”

He’s getting too close for comfort; you think to yourself. Stepping out from behind one of the homes, you make sure Lang sees you. Squaring your shoulders, you walk over to Mando cautiously, keeping eye contact with Lang the entire time. Once you’re by his side, your arms rest by your thighs, one hand gripping on your blaster.

“Ah, there you are. I was beginning to think that you were left behind… or dead,” The last word drips from his tongue like venom.

Clamping down hard on your jaw to keep yourself from snapping back, your free hand balls into a fist, white knuckling so aggressively, you’re digging half-moons into your skin.

He takes one more step forward.

“I got no quarrel with you two.”

Another step.

“That’s far enough,” Mando warns, his hand coming up to stop Lang in his tracks.

The Magistrate’s cries blend in with Ahsoka’s. The silence between resonances of weapons colliding become more and more frequent. The fight must be nearing its end.

“You know, we’re a lot more alike than you think.”

What in the kriffing hell is this man talking about? To think that you or Mando could ever be similar to someone like Langmakes you scoff, an empty laugh expelling from the back of your throat.

“All of us, willing to lay out lives for the right cause.” He says orotundly then pauses for a moment, listening to the two women fighting on the other side of the rampart. “Which this is not.”

He can’t honestly think either of you believe him, right?

All of a sudden, you hear the beskar staff hit the ground, bouncing a few times before everything becomes jarringly quiet. Tilting your head slowly in Mando’s direction, his visor keeps to Lang.

“Looks like you guys win.”

Holding out his gun in front of him, he shows you the weapon and ever so slowly places it down on the ground, motioning his surrender. Mando’s hand flexes over the blaster, gauging Lang’s next move. Without skipping a beat, Lang’s hand flies to a blaster at the back of his waist, but before he can even take it out of its holster, Mando’s own gun flies into his hand and shoots him down.

“Did you have your safety on before you shot him down?” You ask sarcastically, darting an eyebrow at him as holsters his weapon.

“Is that really important right now?” He repeats, using that same mocking tone that drives you fucking crazy.

Eyebrows pulling together in a frown and rolling your eyes, you reply, “I hate you,” while also trying to hide the dumbass smile that’s sneaking up on your lips.

The elderly gentlemen, who has apparently been watching you this entire time, emerges from his home. One by one, the villagers come out, stunned that they’re finally free. They cheer and holler, walking over to you both to give their thanks. Seeing the instant smiles on their faces fills you with warmth and pride. All the pain, all the cruelty they were forced to endure is gone. They can live the rest of their lives free of tyranny.

“WATCH OUT!” Someone cries. In a nanosecond, panic sets in, whipping your head in every direction trying to find the threat. Looking at the roofs, there’s the faint silhouette of a battle droid, crawling on one of the homes, its gun aimed right at Mando.

“Mando!” You shout. The droid’s weapon then switches to you, a red beam of light flies from his gun, hitting you right in the shoulder. The force of the hit sends your body flying backwards, landing hard on your back, head smacking the ground hard enough to make you dizzy.

The pain in your shoulder is fucking intense, the smell of sizzling clothes and burnt skin quite literally burning into your nostrils. Hand flying to your shoulder and pressing down on the wound to ease the bleeding and hopefully the pain, you realize your shoulder has been taking quite the hit lately. First the bruise, now a fucking gash.

Mando rushes to your side, holding the back of your head with one hand as he eases you to sit upright.

“Are you okay?” Baritone pulling rough through the helmet, panic sits at the back of his throat. The hand cradling the back of your head travels down to your lower back, the other reaching for your hand that’s keeping pressure on the place where the droid hit you.

Unable to answer, you groan low in your throat and gesture that you’ll be fine with a simple nod of the head. When you finally look over to Mando through hooded lids, the corners of your lips curl upwards in an attempt to prove to him that you’re fine. Folding your legs at the knees and using his forearm to pull you to your feet, he helps you stand up, keeping his hand on the small of your back the entire time.

“Kriff, that hurt.” You groan through jagged breaths. When your hand finally moves away from the injury on your shoulder, you peek down to see just how badly you were hit.

Thankfully, it’s actually not that bad. There is a gash where the blast connected with skin, but the bleeding has stopped significantly, although your tunic and hand are drenched with blood. You could probably cauterize it right away to close up the wound and then put some bacta on it once you get back to the Crest.

Mando’s still holding you. It’s like he’s too scared to let you go, like he needs to protect you and the only way he can think of doing it is to keep holding you. In any other moment, you’d be absolutely loving this, but right now? His body heat mixed with the fervor and throbbing from the gash near your clavicle is making you burn up. It’s when you finally take a step forward that his arm falls back to his side, fist balling up like he’s fighting the urge to keep you in his reach.

“The droid dead?” You manage to say through winces of pain, hunching over.

“Yeah.” He says breathlessly.

“Okay, good.”

As more and more villagers approach you both, they continue to give you their appreciation and continuously asking if there’s anything they can do to thank you. An elderly woman even retreats back to her home and comes out just a few minutes later with a medpac for your gash. Initially, you reject her kind offer, insisting that you can wait till you’re back on the ship for your wound to be taken care of, but after she continue to argue that you should accept a bit of help, you take it graciously. They seat you down on one of the cobblestoned steps, and begin wiping away at the dried blood, trying to be mindful not to touch the actual wound.

“We can’t thank you enough,” She says kindly.

“You’re—ah shit—” You try to thank her, but despite her best efforts, you’re still in quite a tremendous amount of pain. “Sorry. It’s our pleasure, really.”  

Once she’s done cleaning up the blood, you look down at your shoulder to see that the wound isn’t even as big as you initially thought. The blood splattered around your shoulder had made it seem much worse than it actually was. It’s barely the size of a Calamari Flan coin. It’ll definitely scar, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.

“Your husband doesn’t ever take his helmet off?” She asks, trying to keep you distracted as she begins to spray bacta on it.

Completely taken aback by the word ‘husband’, you blurt out a laugh. “Husband? Oh no, he’s not my husband. We’re just…” Your voice trails off because in truth, you have no idea what your relationship to Mando is anymore. It doesn’t seem appropriate to say that you two are friends because your relationship has certainly developed passed that, but to go so far as to say you’re…together doesn’t really seem to fit your situation either.

“Oh, my apologies.��� Shaking her head like she’s embarrassed by assuming the nature of your relationship, you place a hand over hers and smile.

“It’s okay. No need to apologize.”

“I just assumed that because of the way he was so concerned for your health after getting shot by that droid…”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you mull over how Mando held onto you for a lot longer than he needed to when you finally got to your feet. How he stood so close to you, even when you assured him you were okay. How he still looks over to you every couple of minutes while he talks to Ahsoka, like he needs to watch over you.

You watch as Ahsoka hands the staff over to Mando, who seems to hesitate to accept it at first, but is eventually persuaded to take it. He takes a moment to speak into his commlink, your wrist comes alive to the sound of his voice.

“I’ll be back in a moment. Will you be okay here, alone?”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, and you attempt to hide it by biting down on your lip. Bringing your wrist up to your lips, you press on the talking button on the comm, “Yes, I’ll be fine, Mando.”

As Mando disappears into the forest, Ahsoka makes her way over to you, just as the elder is finished addressing your wound. She’s put a bacta patch on your laceration now, its cooling sensation untensing your muscles and relaxing you almost instantly.

“Thank you.”

She grabs your hand with both of hers, giving you a gentle squeeze before letting you go, and hobbling back over to her home.

The city is full of life now, residents cheering and conversating. The children are running around, laughing and shouting with joy, even kicking a ball around the main cobblestoned road. It’s such a stark contrast from the city you and Mando had entered just two days ago.

Pushing yourself up to your feet, you pat the dust and dirt off your pants and face Ahsoka.

“How the shoulder?” She asks.

“I’ll be fine. It was barely a scratch.” You joke. She laughs in response. The first moment of genuine happiness you’ve seen on her face since you two met.

You both begin to take a leisure stroll through the village, noting how different the villagers seem now the Magistrate is gone. It’s such a fulfilling moment for you. For most of your life, you’ve behaved selfishly, usually only caring about yourself and doing whatever was in ever was in your own self-interest, and now you’ve just helped hundreds of people. You don’t want to put yourself on a pedestal, but if you’re being entirely transparent, you’re pretty proud of the change that’s happening to you. This? You could get used to this.

“If I did want to train…”

Ahsoka turns her head to face you once you address her. “Yes?”

“Like…How would I go about doing that?”

She stops walking, looking down at the ground. “You need to learn to control your emotions before you can even think of training. You’re pretty reckless.” Her voice stays kind, but she’s very much warning you of the difficult road ahead if you choose to go down this path. “I worry that your own attachment to the Mandalorian will be your undoing.”

You could argue with her, you could say that there is no such attachment, but if you were to be completely honest with yourself, you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something there. It’s almost unbelievable to come to terms with the fact that you’ve developed some kind of connection with him, especially when you used to pride yourself on the idea that you had transformed into the type of person that did not become invested in someone else but Mando is different. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met.

He’s full of mystery. An enigma that you could learn about every day for the rest of your life and never even scratch the surface. Mando can be cold and callous in one moment, then tender and kind in the next. It quite literally makes your head spin. He can be so distant, and then all of a sudden, he can’t bear to be away from you. The inability to know what he’s thinking or what he wants just reels you in even more. You want to know everything about him, to feel like you’re a part of him, that you’re more than just someone passing through his life.

“Surely, the two can coexist?”

Ahsoka doesn’t respond right away. Her eyes leave you to look up at the sky, as if searching the clouds for help. “Asking that question just proves that you aren’t ready to train. Attachments clouds the ability to see reason. If you let your attachments control you, you can never act solely based on the good for all. You’ll always put your loved ones first, and that’s something the Jedi do not do.”  

Your lips press into a thin line.

“If you want this, you have to realize what you’ll be giving up. What you’ll end up denying yourself later on.” Her voice is almost a whisper. “There will come a time when you’ll need to make a choice. To embrace the way of the Jedi, or walk away forever.”

“It’s just…” You begin shifting, pacing around as the words come to you. “Ahsoka, the darkness I feel inside me? It scares me, like I’m never actually in control of it.”

“The Dark Side is powerful. It’s something you’ll fight your entire life as a Jedi, but it’ll become easier to deal with as the training progresses.”

“When I held your lightsaber…” Voice trailing off, you let out a small chuckle. Her lips curl into a smile, she knows the feeling all too well.

“I know.”

As you both stand at the gates of the village, the newly appointed Magistrate—the old man that aided Mando in rescuing the hostages, approaches you both, smiling from ear to ear.

“Thank you again for saving the village.” His eyes are kind, the wrinkles on his forehead giving you an insight as to the many years of injustices and struggles he’s had to face, as well as the hope he’s held that his people would one day be free once again.

Dipping your head downward, he grabs your hand in his, shaking it twice before turning to Ahsoka. “The New Republic will be here soon for Ms. Elsbeth. If there’s anything else you’d like to question her about, now would be the time.”

“Mando should be here by now…” You remark, noticing that it’s been too long since he left.

Ahsoka nods in agreement. “Go. I’ll catch up with you.” She doesn’t wait for your response before following the Magistrate back into the city walls.

During the walk back to the Crest, you continue to go over everything Ahsoka’s told you over the last two days, weighting out your options. You’re not like Mando. You’re not a Mandalorian, nor are you a bounty hunter, so naturally you couldn’t expect to stick with Mando once you get all of this figured out. Going back to spice seems irresponsible, given that you know you were destined for something better. Moreover, now that you know why you’re different, it would see inappropriate to ignore that side of you and continue to live a life where your powers were wasted. Maybe this is something you could discuss with Mando. Maybe he’ll offer a different view that you hadn’t thought of before.

When you catch sight of the Crest, you suddenly feel a bit nervous, almost shy. You can hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as you near the ship, and clutch your chest with your hands when you see what’s happening inside the ship.

Mando’s sitting by his cot, one leg resting on the edge of the bed, Grogu seated on his thigh, and speaking gently to him. Even if you tried not to get sentimental about it, you’d never get tired of seeing how endearing Mando is with the Child. Every moment is more precious than the last, warming your heart and making you fall for the Mandalorian even more. You know he doesn’t need it, but you want to protect them both—to keep them both safe from anyone who would ever try to harm them, and on some level, you think Mando would do the same.

“Hey,” You announce as you get closer to the edge of the ramp, making your presence known so that he hopefully doesn’t think you spent the last minute gawking at them during their little intimate moment.

As you approach them, Mando rises to his feet and walks over to you, holding Grogu with both arms. “How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Much better. The bacta really helped,” You answer, keeping your voice low as to not wake him. Grogu’s eyes flutter open, head tilting to the side when he sees you.

“Hi, little guy.” Your index finger gently boops him on the nose, causing him to giggle in Mando’s arms. Although you don’t know for sure, you have an inclination that Mando’s watching you, and when you look up away from Grogu, sure enough the eye slit in his helmet is pointed at you.

“You’re like a father to him.”

Your turn your body around and see Ahsoka standing at the end of the ship, arms crossed against her chest. Mando heads down the ramp first, and you follow closely behind him.

“I cannot train him.” She says, a bit of disappointment hidden in her voice.

“We had a deal, and we held up our end.”

Letting out a deep breath, Ahsoka takes a step towards Mando and takes Grogu’s little hand in hers, rubbing her thumb across his tiny claws.

“There is one possibility.”

“We’re all ears,” You reply.

“Have you heard of the planet Tython?”

“No.” Mando answers dryly.

“It has a strong connection to the Force. There you will find the ancient ruins of a Temple atop one of the mountains. Place Grogu on the seeing stone and wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“For Grogu to choose his path. If he reaches out through the Force, there is a chance that a Jedi might sense him and come searching for him.” She looks down at the ground for a moment, before pulling her eyes away from the dirt to look at you. “Then again, there aren’t many Jedi left.”

“Thank you.” He answers sincerely, then turns on his heel and heads back into the Crest.

You take a step towards Ahsoka and wrap your arms around her, giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling again. “I hope our paths cross again.”

“This will not only be a test for Grogu, but for you as well. You will need to make a choice.”

“I know…”

Her head dips down, offering you a farewell smile. “May the Force be with you.”

Heading back into the ship and closing the ramp, you hear the Crest’s thrusters come to life, finally feeling like you now have a purpose.

--

“Do we have enough fuel to make to it to Tython?”

“We’ll have enough to get there, but not enough to leave. We’ll have to make a stop beforehand to refuel.”

Mando punches in some coordinates and activates the hyperdrive. You look out through the transparisteel and watch the stars change from small specks in space to giant rays of light as you beam passed them, and then cockpit is surrounded by waves of baby blues similar to the waters on Naboo.

“Hey, where are we headed?” You ask once Mando rises from the pilot’s chair.

“You ever been to Coruscant?”

Fuck. “There’s nowhere else we can go?”

He walks over to where you’re still seated. At this angle, your eyeline is pointing right at…that. Trying to look anywhere but there, you opt to tilt your head at high as it can go so you can look at Mando in the ‘T’ of his visor. Maker, don’t you dare even peak down there.

“Is there a problem with going there?” He asks in jest, head tilting ever so slowly to the side. When you don’t immediately answer, he takes an excruciatingly slow step forward. He’s now almost touching your knees with his, making it even more difficult not to look down and catch sight of his—kriff, pull yourself together!

“No—” You squeak, your voice embarrassingly high. “I mean,” Clearing your throat in an effort for it to go back down to its normal octave. “No, that’s fine.”

Mando hums smugly in his helmet before disappearing through the cockpit door and descending down the ladder.

Uh… what the hell was that about? Was Mando acting…coy? No, surely you were misreading things. He’s not like that. He doesn’t joke around or act smug…right?

Sleep.

You should get some sleep.

Shifting around in your unbearably uncomfortable chair until you’re in a somewhat comfortable position—which is just you sitting upright in the chair with your leg crossed over the other, you fold your arms across your lap and close your eyes, hoping it won’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You can hear a light scuffle in the hull, and you try to ignore it, but now that you’re aware of the sound, it’s impossible for you to ignore it and try to get some sleep. All you can focus on is trying to ignore the sound which just makes the noise that much louder. Letting out a groan in annoyance, you move around even more in your seat hoping you’ll be able to find some kind of position that’s more comfortable, but to no avail.

Not only is the noise annoy the hell out of you, but you’re completely hung up on your interaction with Mando just a few moments ago. He usually doesn’t get that close to you unless he thinks you’ve been injured, but there he was, willingly getting closer and closer. Actually, it seemed like he was enjoying watching you squirm and get frazzled by how close he was to you.

Just when the sound stops, you hear heavy boots hit the metal rungs of the ladder. Great, he’s coming back.

You sense Mando reach the top of the ladder before you see him. Although, he doesn’t directly step into the cockpit. After a couple seconds of still not seeing him, you look over your shoulder to see where he might be, but you end up craning your neck to an uncomfortable amount and still no sight of him.

Fuck it. You jump to your feet and face the door to the cockpit, and see him standing like a goddamn statue. He’s still in full armour, but you definitely notice something different about him. His fists are balled up together at his sides, black eye slit pointed directly at you, and by the way his shoulders rise and fall, his breathing is uneven. As your eyes travel downwards from his helmet down to his feet, you can’t help but notice the bulge in his pants. Shit.

Your mouth instantly goes dry, your own heartrate picking up slowly, heating pooling in your belly. This isn’t the first time you’ve both been in this exact situation. It happened before on Sorgan, but somehow this is a hundred times more intense. Maybe it’s because of the rush from today, maybe it’s because you’ve tasted him before, but whatever was on your mind right before this moment is totally gone.

Right now, you can feel the blood pounding in your ears, you can feel the fucking heat radiating off Mando, your panties sticking to you like glue because of your slick, causing your pussy to fucking throb.

You want to say something snarky, but words are something you’re not even able to come up with, you’re so fucking spellbound by him that nothing in this galaxy could pull you away. He’s got you entirely wrapped around his leather finger and he hasn’t even said a word to you.

A broken moan forms at the back of Mando’s throat, coming out rough and distorted. It reminds you of his sobs the night his cock was wrapped around your lips. You want to run to him, feel his big arms pull you closer to him, but you need to know he wants this as badly as you do, so you wait. You wait for him to speak, to make the first move.

“I—” His voice is barely above a whisper, like he’s struggling to find the words.

“Tell me what you want, Mando.” You say breathlessly.

He takes a step towards you, and your breath catches in your throat. His own chest is heaving, his quick breaths cutting through his helmet. “Fuck.”

Realizing how hard this must be for him—admitting how he feels, you step closer to him. Now, you’re just arm’s length away. If one of you reached out, you’d touch the other and it’s becoming more difficult with every second that goes by not to jump into his arms, rip that helmet off his face and kiss every inch of his skin, but you won’t. You would never touch him in a way that would compromise his creed.

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about bending you over that control panel and fucking you until you begged me to stop?” He nearly growls. Voice so rough and low, you can’t stop the moan that escapes your lips.

Your pussy gushes in response. “Maker…”

He inches closer to you, taking his sweet, agonizing time as he continues to taunt you. “I’ve thought about it ever since I picked you up on Kijimi.”

Another inch.

“I thought about it in the alley with my hand touching your drenched, sweet cunt.”

Another inch.

“I thought about pulling you off my cock and pounding into you right against that wall.”

The heat coiling in your stomach is so fucking intense, you can feel it all over your body. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, jaw slacked so you can breathe in quick little bursts of air. He’s standing merely inches away from you, and you want to reach out and touch him. You want him inside you, but you’re frozen, unable to move. Unable to break free from the trance he’s put you in. All you can do is stand there helplessly as he continues to torture you with his confessions.

“But I was able to control myself.” He grits out, head tilting ever so slowly to the side.

“Mmm…” Is all you can say. Your mind is on fire, your body’s on fire. Everything’s fucking on fire.

“I don’t think I can control myself anymore.”

Only one word comes to mind now. Once you say it, your relationship to the Mandalorian will never be the same. It’ll definitely make it harder to choose between Mando and following the way of the Jedi but quite frankly, right now, you really don’t give a shit. You want this. You want Mando, and nothing is going to come between you and him. “Good.”

Finally, he closes the tiny gap between your bodies and wraps a big arm around the small of your back, spinning you around and pushing you up against the door to the cockpit. You yelp at his swiftness when you feel metal hit your back, but it’s still not fast enough.

You want more.

You need more.

“Mando…” You moan helplessly.

The shakiness of his breath, kriff, you really want to drop to your knees and make him feel so good. His hands try to touch every part of you. They settle on your waist and he flips you around. Your face nearly smacks into the door but you’re able to catch yourself before your cheek makes contact, hands bracing up against the wall. He grinds his hips into yours, and you feel the outline of his cock nuzzle against your backside.

“If I’m too rough…” He begins to say, but you cut him off before he can finish his sentence. “I’m not fragile, Mando. Do what you want with me.”

“Fuck,” He punches out, fist hitting the door in front of you. “Y-you can’t say things like that to me.”

“I want you to,” You make sure to drawl out your words, to make sure he really hears you, so that he knows you want this just as badly as he does.

The sound that comes next is almost animalistic. It’s somewhere between a cry and a snarl, but it’s the sweetest, most arousing sound you’ve ever heard. It’ll be something you replay over and over in your mind.

His hands travel down to your hips, grabbing onto the waistband of your pants and yanking them down in one swift motion. A brown leather glove flies to your throat, using his thumb and index finger to press on that sweet spot right under your jawline. You sob brokenly as he continues to apply more pressure on your neck, but still gentle enough for you to know he’ll never actually hurt you.

“M-Ma-n-ndo…” You manage to choke out.

Mando hums in the back of his throat, pressing his body into you even more. His cock is rock hard in his pants, and your hands leave the wall to fumble around behind you, trying to touch him. With his free hand, he grabs hold of both your wrists and holds them in place behind you. “Let me take care you, pretty girl.” He purrs, his baritone dangerously low.

When his hand leaves your throat, you whine at the sudden lack of pressure. Cupping your jaw, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, your tongue darts out and tastes leather. Two fingers force themselves into your mouth, and Mando growls into your ear. “Bite.”

You obey like the good girl you are, biting and tugging on the glove until it comes right off his hand. He takes it from you and tosses it on the ground, revealing his beautifully tanned skin. It’s a little embarrassing how just the sight of his hand makes your pussy pulse, but everything about Mando draws you in. His smell, his stoic demeanor, even his fucking hand.

As his naked hand travels back down your body, fingertips barely touching your tunic, it’s driving you crazy. He’s taking his sweet ass time, reveling in the fact that he has you completely spell bound against him. You can’t move, you can’t shift under him and create more friction for yourself. No, you’re going at his pace, which is making you fucking dizzy.

When his hand reaches the edge of your underwear, sending shivers down straight to your throbbing cunt, your body is basically shaking from the lack and overwhelming amount of stimulation all at once. It’s too much, yet it’s nowhere near enough. A thumb begins to trace the skin around the waistband of your underwear, tantalizing you. Your broken sobs echo through the cockpit, and then in a second, his hand pushes passed the thin material and cups your sex.

“Fuck!” You cry out.

“Look how wet you are, and I’ve barely touched you,” He whispers.

Pushing your ass out and rubbing against his cock, you feel him twitch in his pants as you continue to tease him. The hand on your cunt disappears and wraps itself around your throat again, pressing into your flesh just enough for you to stop grinding your hips. When Mando speaks next, he growls through gritted teeth. “Do that again, and I’m stopping. Do you understand?”

Your throat is dangerously dry, and all you can do is moan in response.

“No, pretty girl. I need you to use your words. Do you understand?” He says again, this time in a much gentler tone, but without relinquishing any of his control over you.

“Yes,” You whisper breathlessly.

“Good girl,” He praises, and then his hand is back on your pussy. His fingers rub between your folds, sending shockwaves through your body as he starts collecting your slick on his calloused fingertips, and then he’s rubbing tight, quick circles around your clit. You mewl helplessly into the door, forehead pressed against door with such force, it’s actually starting to hurt, but in the best way possible. You wouldn’t dare move from the spot you’re in right now, not when Mando continues his agonizingly slow assault on your bud.

“I’m going to let go of your wrists now,” He begins to instruct, his head resting on your left shoulder. “And you’re going to be a good girl and keep them there, right?”

Your orgasm begins to build in your stomach, the rhythm on your clit never faltering. “Y-y-yes,” You answer, voice hoarse and barely audible.

Letting go of your wrists, you do as you were told and keep them behind you on the small of your back. You hear him fumble with his utility belt and pants. Panting and having to manually control your breathing because air just isn’t fucking coming into your lungs fast enough, your body starts to shake from the white-hot pleasure, causing your hands to clench violently. Mando thrusts his body against you once again, almost flattening you on the door, but now you feel his free cock pressing between your ass, feeling drops of precome graze your skin.

His hand drenched in your slick, you’re on the verge of coming. Breathing picking up even more, he must sense you’re close because his rhythm gets quicker and quicker, nearly pushing you over the edge.

“I’m g-gonna c-come, Mando.”

“Already? Hmm,” He hums proudly. A gloved hand comes up to your throat, using his thumb and index to choke you again. The pressure on your throat and cunt is making your head fucking spin. It’s too much all at once, your orgasm teetering right now. This is so much more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“Come for me,” He commands gently in your ear.

Head lulling back, your knees are about to give out, but he never stops. He develops a pattern now, rubbing even tighter circles on your clit and then brushing his fingers through your soaking folds, then back to your bud.

“Fuck fuck, fuck, Mando!” You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, sending waves of ecstasy through your entire body. He doesn’t stop though. As you cry out, riding out your climax, he slams his gloved hand over your mouth, muffling your cries; still continuing his pace between your thighs. Practically convulsing from the overstimulation, your knees almost completely cave in, and you almost feel your body going limp, but Mando keeps you steady.

“Such a good fucking girl.” He praises.

You don’t even have time to come down from your climax before he’s thrusting a thick finger allll the way inside of you. Flexing it in and out of your pussy and body trembling, if you don’t grab onto something, you’re sure you’ll drop to the ground. Broken sobs stifled by leather, feeling the corners of your eyes getting wet with tears, your mind is going fucking blank. Maker, the Mandalorian is going to be the death of you.

Pushing a second finger into you, your eyes wrench shut. He eases them in and out of you at a deliciously slow rate, sometimes choosing to roll his fingers inside you before pulling out. One of your hands grabs onto his vambrace, using that as a means of staying upright because you’re hanging on by a thread right now. This is the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. No one has ever even come close to making you feel the way Mando is, and you’ll never be able to be with anyone else after this. He hasn’t even fucked you yet, but you’re literally coming apart under him. He pushes two gloved fingers inside your mouth and orders you to bite down again. You do as your told and his hand yanks free of the glove, tossing it to the ground like he did with the other glove.

His precome continues to paint your back and backside, and you start begging and pleading.

“Please, Mando…”

“Please what?” He asks, and then he’s fucking curling his fingers inside you, hitting that sweet spot that makes you see stars. You cry out again, feeling a second orgasm bubbling to the surface.

“Please, f-fuc-c-k me. Please, Mando I need you inside me.”

“Mmmm,” He drones deep in his throat. Flexing his fingers inside you once more time before pulling out, you feel suddenly empty.

Need more.

Need more.

Using the slick he’s gathered on his hand, you look over your shoulder and can barely make out him smearing it all over his thick length. “Gonna make you feel so good, pretty girl. Gonna fill you up, and fuck that pretty cunt of yours until you can’t fucking walk.”

All you can do is mewl back, a broken sound that he barely notices.  Mando grabs hold of the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down to your knees. One hand digging into your waist, the other holding his length, he starts to rub his cock between your sopping folds, gathering even more slick. Once he seems satisfied hearing your broken sobs, he angles himself to your entrance, and pushes just the tip into you.

Kriff, you’re not even sure if you’ll be able to take all of him.

He stills for a moment, and then he’s back to pushing himself against your cunt.

Fucking unbelievable.

Mando’s teasing you, getting off on the sweet torture he’s putting you through. Every time you think he’s about to fill you up, he pulls away and continues to toy with you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge, but then pulling away at the last second.

“Mando!” You whimper.

“Shhh…” He scolds, giving you gentle slap on your left buttcheek. “I want to take my time.”

He continues his gradual onslaught, and then finally, he’s lining up his cock with your pussy, and ever so slooowly eases an inch of himself in your entrance.

Maker, he’s huge. Even with just an inch inside of you, he fills you up, your walls clamping around him in an attempt to stop him from pulling away again. “Fuuck.” He drawls out through shuddered breaths. “You’re tight, pretty girl.”

You don’t answer because you can’t. Words are no longer a thing inside your mind. Just Mando.

“You’re mine.” He snarls, pushing another inch of himself inside you.

Something like a sob escapes your lips.

“No one else will ever get to touch you like this.”

Another painful inch. You can feel the veins around his girth pushing against your walls.      

“I’ll kill anyone who comes close to you, do you understand me?” Mando doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues to push himself more and more into your pulsating cunt. He must be almost fully inside you now. It burns, almost painful. It’s uncomfortable but it’s so fucking good, it feels so fucking amazing to be filled up by the Mandalorian. A delicious pain you’ll be thinking about for days.

With both hands on your hips, he seems to lose control for a second because the next thing you know, he stills for a moment, his helmet dropping to rest in between your shoulders, and then he’s grinding even more of himself into you. Kriff, how fucking big is he?

When Mando finally fucking pounds into you, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go blank, you scream out, feeling completely stuffed to the brim. “Fuck!”

He’s so much bigger than you thought. Your walls flex around him, your pussy is on fucking fire right now, pain and pleasure mixed together to form a delicious cocktail, you’re drunk on this feeling. Mando widens his stance to steady himself, and pulls out just enough for only the tip of his head touching your walls and then slams into you so hard, your entire body flattens against the door, his cuirass digging into your back.

“Ah shit!” He swears breathlessly. Mando’s barely began fucking you, and a second orgasm is seconds away from unleashing electricity through your entire core.

“I can feel you clenching around my cock, sweet girl. Are you going to come again?” He taunts deliciously, pulling out once more and snapping back into you with such force, it blinds you momentarily. Bending your knees and using one his hands to push down on your back so you’re arched with your ass out—almost sitting back on his cock, he wraps a hand around your throat and begins pounding into you like an animal. The sound of skin slapping skin pierces through the cockpit, you can’t even make a sound. Your pussy clenches once again, climax nearing.

Two rough fingers find their way to your clit, and rub tight circles on your bud, the sounds of his length thrusting in and out of you are downright obscene.

“Be a good girl and come for me again,” He orders, voice so deliciously low in your ear. You last only a couple more seconds before a second orgasm rips right into you. White-hot pleasure tears through you, the ecstasy so intense, tears are streaming down your face at a constant rate. He doesn’t relent, just continues to plow into you over and over and over again.

“Fu-ck, you feel so fucking good. I’m g-gonna, shit, I’m gonna c-come.” He pants, his rhythm beginning to falter as he approaches his own climax. “Wh-ere should I…?”

“Inside…please.” You choke out.

“Kriff, are, a-are you sure?” He punches out, thrusting deeper into you between each word.  

“Im—implant,” Is all you can manage to say, but it seems to be enough for Mando, because he uses the remaining strength he has to pound into you a few more times before his own orgasm hits him.

“F-fuck, pretty girl.” He grits out as his cock starts pumping his seed into your worn-out, swollen cunt. He sheathes himself one more time, reaching that sweet spot inside you before ever so slowly starting to ease out of you. Being the brat you are, using all the strength you can muster—which isn’t very much right now, you fiercely clench around his cock, causing Mando to cry out in the back of his throat.

“Maker, you don’t want me to leave, do you?” He says, shuddering but ending with a soft chuckle. “Well go on then, squeeze out every bit of come out of my cock like a good fucking girl.”

And so you do. You continue to squeeze down on his length, milking every single drop of his seed until you feel it trinkle down your legs. As soon as his hands leave your body, your knees cave in and you double over, nearly falling right on the cold metal floor, but Mando manages to wrap an arm around your waist before you do, holding you upright. Lifting you off your feet, he pulls you close to his chest, hooking his arms under your legs and around your back. Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck and lean your cheek against his cuirass. Beskar cools the heat on your face, and you swear you could fall asleep right now in his arms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, nostrils filling up with the smell of sex and gunpowder, your eye flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion hit you all at once.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep yet.” Baritone low and gentle. “We need to get you cleaned up first.”

“Mmm,” You mumble in protest. “ ‘M gonna sleep here.”

“Hey,” He repeats, this time more commanding. “You’ll need to climb down the ladder, can you do that?”

Pouting and wanting to resist, but knowing Mando won’t take no for an answer, you give in. “Fine,” You answer, petulantly.

He puts you down gently, making sure that when your feet touch the ground, you’re able to stand up straight on your own. He pulls your underwear and pants back up from your knees. His come mixed with yours sticks to your underwear, and you hate to admit it, but he’s right. You definitely need to clean yourself up before falling asleep. Legs still buckling, Mando opens the cockpit doors and heads down the ladder first.

“Okay, come down.” He whispers kindly.

Kriff, your whole body is shaking. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to make it down those stairs without falling back. As you begin to descend the ladder, your grip on the rung loosens and you slip. Thankfully, Mando’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder and catches you in his arms before you could hurt yourself. Leaning on his pauldron is the only way you’re able to stand up, so you continue to lean into him as he guides you over to the fresher.

“Will you be able to clean yourself up?”

Looking up at the visor through hooded lids, you nod your head slowly. The possibility of you falling asleep in the fresher is very real, but you could try not to…

“Dank farrik…” He swears to himself. Mulling over his options with your half-asleep body leaning into him, he must realize there’s only one option available. “You’ll have to keep your eyes closed the entire time, okay?”

You look up at him sheepishly. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” He repeats. “You can’t—”

“I won’t look, Mando. You can trust me.”

A drawn-out sigh emits from the helmet, but he seems to be satisfied enough with your comment. Keeping yourself steady by holding down on his pauldrons, you watch as he carefully begins to remove your pants and underwear, gently telling you to step out of them and tossing them to the side.

“Lift your arms,”

He pulls your tunic over your head, and even though you’re absolutely wrecked and exhausted, being completely naked in front of the Mandalorian while he stands there, fully clothed and wearing his armour, you begin to feel a bit self-conscious, and try to cover up your body with your hands and arms.

“What…are you doing?” He asks, head tilting to the side.

“Feel so exposed,” You mutter.

“Now you feel exposed? Not when my cock was inside you?” He jests.

“Mmm, that was before.”

Mando sighs once again, the sound breaking apart like static through his helmet. “Get in the fresher, I’ll be there soon.”

“M’okay.”

Turning around sleepily, you head into the refresher and turn the water on. Kriff, it feels good. Standing directly under the hose, you let the water cascade down your body, closing your eyes and enjoying the warmth that tickles your skin.

“Okay, eyes closed,” Mando says, voice no longer modulated by his helmet. Maker, his voice is heavenly. Curse the helmet he wears, covering up a sound as sweet as Mando’s voice. Smooth like silk, you wish you could listen to him for hours, undistorted and naked. Keeping your promise, your eyes wrench shut, palms coming out trying to find him in the small space you’re both sharing. You feel his hands meet yours, your own feels so small in his. Calloused fingers trail up your arm, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and you purr into him.

And then, he’s gently massaging the bar of soap across your body, ridding your body of the grime and sweat from the day. It’s ridiculously intimate, and it’s actually quite surprising how gentle he’s handling you, given the fact that he kills people with those same hands, but it’s incredibly endearing. The entire time he cleans you up, your hands are resting on his broad shoulders. Suddenly, you feel him get closer to you, and you’re forced to back up, feeling the wall touch your bare back. Mando leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. You need to crane your head upwards to meet his, but it’s not uncomfortable. This is probably the first time his face has been touched by another being since…well you’re not sure when because you’ve never actually asked him when the last time he took his helmet off was, but you assume it’s been years.

“When’s the last time you took off your helmet in front of another person?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, not only because your vocal cords are shot from all the obscene noises you made before, but also because you’re scared that if you speak too loudly, he’ll dismiss your question.

“I was just a child.”

“You don’t ever want to show your face?”

The water trinkles over both your faces and bodies, hands carded together.

“This is the Way.” He answers plainly, but you sense a bit of uncertainty in the way he speaks. It’s almost like he’s lost the true reason for covering his face—that there came a time in his life where he began to question his Creed, but still feels like he has an obligation to adhere to it.

You want to see his face. There are so many questions that you wish you had the answers to.

Do the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he laughs?

Does he have any scars or dimples?

Have the many years of fighting and surviving aged his face beyond his actual age?

What color are his eyes?

You’re not sure if you’ll ever know the answers to those questions, but truthfully, it doesn’t really matter. You don’t need to know all those aspects of him because they’re simply just arbitrary details. Everything that you really need to know, you’re already aware of.

And what you know is, you’re in love with a Mandalorian.

[some-dr-writings]

Nekomaru, Kazuichi and Gundham’s Tsundere S/O got into a fight

Nekomaru Nidai:

·       “Y/N!?” “Ah, it’s you. I’m surprised I didn’t hear you already. Surprised you weren’t talking as you always are.” You huffed, glancing away from your boyfriend, wiping blood off the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. You sat on the ground, leaning against the back wall of the building. Your face was covered in bruises, and your clothes were completely disheveled, scuffed, slightly torn, with smudges of dirt smeared across it. Nekomaru kneeled before you, gently yet firmly he held your chin between his thumb and pointer finger, just barely tilting our head. “Sloppy, how did they get this kind of damage on you? Did you lose focus?” “Tch, you should see the other guy. I still got in a few hits. Good ones too.” “… Hmm, come. I’ll patch you up and we’ll strategize! I’ll even give you a special variation of ‘IT’!”

·       “It’s not like you to get into fights like this.” You simply watched; eyes unwavering from Nekomaru as he wrapped a small ice pack around one of your many bruises that littered your body. “Are you feeling ill? Even the smallest of bugs can affect an athletes’ judgement! Even sleeping in slightly later can be a sign! Though… I don’t see anything wrong with you.” Then his gaze met yours. “It’s mental.” You glanced away signaling to Nekomaru that he had hit the nail on the head. You were speaking a lot less than usual, just a few snarky comments. Before he could get a read on what it was you mumbled something. “What? If you’re going to say something, say it with conviction! No holding back!” He then roared, likely being heard for miles around as evidenced by your ringing ears and the sight of many flocks of birds suddenly taking flight, far beyond the window and even the walls that surrounded the school. “Those assholes were talking shit about you! Spewing insults and rumors they had no idea of!” “So, they took your temper to their advantage, no wonder you’re so beaten up.” “I’m not a fighter so it doesn’t fuckin’ matter anyway!”

·       Standing up Nekomaru smiled, placing the supplies back into the first-aid kit. You flinched, feeling the heat raising to your cheeks. “I-it wasn’t for your sake, dumb butt! As if I’d let some trash speak poorly on anything related to me. As if I’d date anyone less than perfection.” Then your cheeks completely flushed red as you froze for a moment before suddenly abruptly standing up. “A-any way! I’m… Going… somewhere! T-TO TOWN! TRAINING, PARKOUR! DON’T WAIT UP!” Before you could dash out the room you felt a hand place itself on your shoulder, his other hand cupping your cheek, turning you to face him. He then smirked, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you too. But!” He then took a step back. “If you’re going out to sweat out your emotions, you’ll need your manager there, so I’m coming along too!” “O-okay, fine whatever, you can come along, I guess…”

·       Nekomaru couldn’t help but adore seeing that ever darkening blush, as you tried hiding your face, concealing that wobbly smile, even if you were absolutely failing to do so at this point. No matter what, he’s was going to be by your side, supporting you however he could, whether you wanted it or not! You were his partner, and he was determined for you to keep being amazing, to surpass him in every way!

    Kazuichi Soda:

·       “Hmm? Two thirteen!? Where did the time go!?” Kazuichi nervously ran a hand through his hair, seeing how early it was, meaning he had worked nonstop through the night. He quickly set about packing his tools and other supplies, fretting about upsetting you by messing up his sleep schedule… again. He especially felt guilty for how much effort you put into helping him live a little healthier and not spend so much of his time tinkering that he keels over from malnutrition or lack of sunlight.

·       Rushing to the house he tripped over himself when dashing out of his workshop, crashing into a wall in the process. It was… a rather chaotic crash, hearing a deep, resonating crack through his head. He winced feeling his nose in great pain, something cascade from his nostrils. He also noticed how he suddenly couldn’t smell anything; not the rain, or metal, not even motor oil though he had gone nose blind to it long ago. “Oh, shoot.” The guilt only piling on, now he was going to worry you senseless. This was just… fan-freaking-tastict.

·       The very least he could do was not wake you so early in the morning. Though trying to hide this would only worry you more so he’d tell you about what happened after you had woken up. As quietly as he could Kazuichi slinked through the house, tiptoeing into the master bathroom.

·       Suddenly a pair of ear splitting screams pierced through the air. “Kazu-baby!?” “Babe!? WHY ARE YOU BLOODY!?” “WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE YOUR FACE WAS RAN OVER BY A TRUCK!?” The last thing Kazuichi expected to see when turning on the bathroom light was you in the room when it was dark. You both were panicking, you holding Kazuichi’s face, examining his bloodied nose, as Kazuichi held your face noticing how strangely your nose matched his with that red gushing from it. You also had a lot of cuts and bruises riddled in your flesh to match it.

·       After fretting over one another, making sure any and all wounds were patched up, you and he sat side by side on the end of the bed. “What happened to you!?” “Well…” You sighed, your features seeming to grow heaver at the mere thought of whatever happened, sending a deep pain to shoot through your husband’s heart. “I was out for my nightly jog. On my way back home though I was mugged. I managed to escape but this person thought it was a good idea to just keep going after me, so I kept just jogging for a while, even after I thought I lost them, I… didn’t want to lead them home so I just kept going and going, and… I… had been through enough tonight and I didn’t want to deal with the police so I… I skipped going to the hospital. But I didn’t want to wake you up, so I decided to try patching myself up with the lights off.” “Y/N!” You hated seeing the worry in Kazuichi expression, so you immediately took his hands, squeezing them tightly, interlacing your fingers together. “B-but I’m okay! I swear! But what about you? I thought you’d be in bed by now.” “… Uh… I was working, realized how late it was and tripped into a wall when rushing back into the house-“ “Oh. My. Goodness. I’ve married an idiot!” “But what you went through was more important! How are you feeling? Are you sure you’re alright? Are you hurt anywhere else?” “No, no, I’m fine! But Kazu-baby, you need sleep if you smashed into a wall with enough force to break your nose! Come on, let’s just get to bed.”

·       Neither of you got to bed that night, too worried about the other to do so. “Hey, Babe… Want to just cuddle and watch a movie? I…” “… I could really use that tonight. And maybe we could just have a cat nap in the day.” “Heh, yeah. A day lazing around with you sounds fantastic.” So gently he kissed your temples, scared of hurting you, but needing to show you in even a small way how much he cared.

    Gundham Tanaka:

·       With a groan Gundham stirred from his rest, realizing his phone vibrated so much it had fallen off the bedside table, screen side up, lighting up the whole room to which Gundham hissed, shielding himself behind the quilt and sheets. Slowly he crept out, reaching his hand over the bed, patting the ground till his fingers felt that smooth device. Squinting his eyes, he saw he had gotten many messages from you, but the last one simply said ‘never mind. You better not wake up because of this.’ Well… too late for that. Almost every message was a variation of ‘please pick me up’, but then the last few realizing that because you were texting him to pick you up because the buses didn’t run this late, Gundham would probably be asleep by now. Stiffly he sat up, lightly stretching before going to the closet.

·       Walking into the rain, that soft pitter-patter that surrounding him caused him to wonder if by chance it was raining where you were… Just in case he brought a second umbrella, keeping it tucked under his arm… It was also rather chilly out so he brought an extra coat… He also wasn’t sure if you had brought any shoes suited for rain and puddles, so he brought a pair… And from the texts it seems you have been up for a while so perhaps you’d be hungry, so he also brought some leftovers in a small container with him… And maybe- Gundham abruptly shook his head at his own behavior. He needed to get going, not constantly going and in and out for something else… But maybe- “No! Enough of this!” With renewed conviction he strode down the sidewalk, not looking back.

·       It was a rather long walk to be sure, it’d take an hour by train or bus so Gundham jogged along, occasionally checking his phone to make sure he was heading the right way. The Devas huddled in the scarf, snuggled into Gundham, concealing themselves in that warmth, a few occasionally chattering. “I agree, this is entirely too strange, but that’s exactly why we must make haste.” The splashes of his feet against the puddles rippled and warped the reflection of those bight city lights that were drawing ever nearer as Gundham dashed past.

·       Once at the edge, where the streets and towering buildings met Gundham had looked down for but a moment, checking the apartment address when two of his Devas poked their heads out of the scarf, sniffing the air as one lightly nipped his neck. “Huh? My love is…” With a firm nod he began to follow their directions and dropped the phone into his pocket.

·       “Y/N…” You didn’t move, simply glancing at him for a moment. “I told you not to wake up.” Your voice was so horse, so quiet, that even the softest patter of the rain drowned your voice out, Gundham had only understood your words being your Soul’s mate, having been with you for so long he could have predicted it should he have tried too. There you laid, curled up into a ball, hugging your knees to your chest on a bench in the park, under the dead light of a lamp pole. Gundham kneeled before you, holding out the umbrella, himself getting out from under it’s protection in the process before opening the second one for the Devas and himself. You sighed, sitting up. “Since you’re here anyway, I suppose I’ll accept your company. Not that I needed it, I, I’m fine… Just… forgot the time is all.”

·       That little blush that dusted your cheeks suddenly flared up feeling the warmth of the coat that surrounded you and seeing the small container of chicken teriyaki held out before you. “T-the hell did you bring this for?” “Nourishment is a necessity for building up strength, and we have quite a ways to traverse before we’ll return to our domains.” With trembling hands you took the container. You took a bite, slowly chewing it, taking in all the flavors… You tried holding it back, but quickly those tears mixed in with the rain that dripped down your cheeks. “it’s not good cold…”

·       The tears that came pouring out, through hiccups and sobs you shoveled in bite after bite, all the while, Gundham taking off his coat and scarf, draping them over you. “Why, W-why do I even try anymore? I do everything they want, and they STILL blow up in my face! Why does mom always take their side!? I try to get along with her new partner, but they just never will try with me! AT LEAST I’M TRYING TO MAKE FATHER’S DEATH EASY ON HER, SO WHY DO THEY HAVE TO MAKE THINGS SO DIFFICULT!? WHY IS MOM WITH SUCH A JACK ASS!? WHY… why can’t I have my mom back? Why does she have to glom onto that fucking jerk!? Can’t she see they’re just taking advantage of her!? I… why? W-why.” Even as you hugged yourself, leaning forward, he didn’t dare move as you rested your head against his shoulder.

·       Not saying a word you sat up, only now noticing the rain boots that were placed before you. As you placed them on, Gundham closed one of the umbrellas. He stood closely beside you as the pair of you walked along. “… you didn’t have to come.” “I know.” “It must have been a real pain to get up so late.” “It was.” “And to walk all the way out here.” “Jog.” “That’s even worse.” “It certainly was.” “… thank you.” “…” A light pink dusted his cheeks as he took a step closer to you, now shoulder to shoulder. Though exhausted and feeling like you were on the edge of both blowing up and collapsing, the gesture pulled at the corner of your lips, drawing a soft smile from you.

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 4.5k / 17k (so far)

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings: canon-typical violence; discussions of past violence; just SO much (mutual) pining; and kISSING????

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Six: The Revelation

Din Djarin was not a melee fighter.

Din Djarin was not a melee fighter.

He had the necessary training to take his creed, which did make him better than most of the galaxy’s combatants. But when he moved from up hand-to-hand to firearms, he never once looked back.

Not that a well placed punch wasn’t a useful tool.

Just that a gun was so much more so.

Which is why even with a few months of training refresh under his belt, Nia could take him to task during their sparring.

But the real sting came from the fact that right now she wasn’t even paying that much attention.

He’d left his right side open, mostly by choice, and she hadn’t immediately exploited it.

They never went easy on each other. She must really be distracted.

She’d been quiet ever since they left the school a few days ago. The following quarry pick up had gone so smoothly, Din had decided that an afternoon planetside wouldn’t be terrible.

He’d been the one to suggest sparring, anything to pull her out of her own head. Though it obviously hadn’t worked all that well.

Proof came when she left her left side completely unguarded a minute later. One quick duck and sweep of his leg, she was flat on her back, blinking up at him.

“You’re distracted,” he said, offering his hand.

She sighed and took it, lifted to standing. “Yes. Sorry.”

He waved it off and rolled his shoulders before falling back into stance. The only armor he wore was his helmet during their sparring, but even that was proving a poor choice in the steadily warming afternoon.

Not that he had much of one to begin with.

Nia wiped her forehead on her shirt sleeve and readied to meet his first strike.

“Will you go?” he asked, reaching for her shoulder. He didn’t need to offer more context; they both knew what occupied her thoughts so heavily.

She danced back and then stepped in closer with a low swing for his ribs that he blocked. “I don’t really have a choice. I have to know.”

They traded blows back and forth, neither of them really pressing to end this round yet. Sometimes the dance was more fun than winning.

Her gaze jumped from his hands to his visor and she stepped back, hands up in pause. “You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to.”

But he just stepped in closer, still in a fighting stance and smiling though she couldn’t see. “Wherever you go, I go, right?”

For a heart-stopping moment, her eyes filled with an expression he didn’t recognize but was so warm and open he felt he knew it all the same.

“Wherever you go, I go,” she repeated.

Then she lunged and grappled him, toppling them both to the ground.

At that point, the fight stopped being about skill at all. They were both laughing as hands slipped in and out of the other’s grasp, each trying for a pin and neither winning.

His size won out, pinning one of her shoulders with his forearm while he trapped her wrist against the ground beneath her.

She struggled to free herself, still smiling and laughing breathlessly. Her hair was half escaped from its braid and tangled from dirt and sweat.

By the Mythosaur, he’d never seen anyone as beautiful as her.

The tightness filled his chest, his gut, expanding up to his mind to make room, pushing out breath, out thought, out everything.

She inhaled softly.

And Din realized he’d dropped his head, pressing his helmet to her brow in a Keldabe kiss.

He flinched back, breaking all contact and dropping to a sit next to her.

Oh kriff. What had he done???

Never before had he been so glad for the helmet as his expressions vacillated through wild shades of horror and shame. Though she knew him well enough to probably see it in the curve of his spine, the tense set of his shoulders.

Nia sat up slowly next to him, brushing the dust off her arms and resting elbows on her knees.

But she didn’t say anything.

Finally, he spoke up. He had to. “I’m sorry. I… shouldn’t have…”

“I feel it too,” she said, plainly.

He dared to look in her direction, but she was staring down at her feet. “You do?”

Her gaze moved to him, warm and open and oh. He did have a name for it after all.

That bright fullness warred in his chest with the mortification still determined to hold its position.

“Yes.” But her half-smile was wistful, and she looked away. “But I… I have so little of myself to give right now. It seems unfair to ask for more than I have to return.”

On some level, he understood her reasoning. Even still–

“I don’t care,” he offered.

She sighed a laugh and looked back to him. “I care… for now, at least. I care.”

“I’ll wait then.”

What was rapidly becoming his favorite expression of hers filled her eyes once more. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

He turned it over and intertwined their fingers, squeezing back.

They sat there in the quiet and warm sunshine for a long while.

Karga was surprised when Din didn’t immediately take four new bounties after dropping the last set off. “We’ll be back for more later,” was the only explanation he got however.

Nia was waiting back at the ship, coordinates already plotted and knee bouncing rapidly.

It was a quiet trip to Cantonica.

The noise of Canto Bight seemed welcoming as the two of them set off into the city.

They walked to the far end, far away from the glittering casinos and tracks, into the industrial section of the city, nearly deserted by the time they arrived.

Nia nodded up at a warehouse as they passed by. “That’s it,” she said quietly.

They kept walking till full dark had fallen over the city, a thick cloud cover blocking out the moon, before they returned to the warehouse.

Nia kept watch as Din hotwired the door open, a slow process but successful. They stepped into the dark and waited, both listening for any signs of life.

The warehouse was still.

Din flicked on his headlamp and they ventured further inside.

“What are we looking for exactly?” he asked after wandering through the obviously abandoned office.

“Ro wouldn’t be here herself, but she may have left something behind. Another message, or a commlink, that’s my guess.”

The door in the back of the office opened to the warehouse, the door scrape echoing through the dark empty room.

Din’s light swung over the floor, sweeping up to the corners to check for cameras.

“Fire damage,” he commented, noting the scorching along the wall.

“Yeah, we were sloppy in the beginning.”

“Were there any important areas of the warehouse? Where was infil and exfil?”

“Over here.” Nia jogged to the far corner of the warehouse, where a rickety catwalk clung to the scorched wall.

She stepped onto the ladder and the whole system let out a low groan. She looked back at him. “You should stay down here.”

His thoughts exactly. “Be careful.”

The catwalk lowed as she reached the top of the ladder and pulled herself over the railing.

Every squeak and metallic groan out of the metal stabbed at Din’s gut. He followed her every step, mentally calculating the likelihood of catching her should the whole grid give up clinging to the wall.

He didn’t like those odds.

What he wouldn’t give for a jetpack right now.

“I found something.” She pulled a small, unobtrusive box off the wall. “Catch.” She dropped it into his ready hands. It was marked with the Vod’oya sigil.

But her momentarily leaning over the railing proved the last bolt for the catwalk. It gave out a deafening screech and then leered away from the wall, knocking Nia off her feet. It careened half for the floor then was stopped, a few last bolts daring to hold strong.

“Nia!” Din rushed to stand under her as she dangled some twenty feet above the stone floor.

“It’s fine!” Her voice betrayed the panic she was tamping down. “I think I can–” She started to pull herself up, and the catwalk jerked down another few feet with a loud screech, loosening her grip to just one hand.

“I’ll catch you!” Din yelled.

“It’s too far!”

“I’ll catch you!! I promise!”

Her wild eyes looked down at him as the catwalk groaned again. She nodded.

She let go.

Time slowed as he reached up and grabbed her, rolling over her to give some place for momentum to go.

His helmet clanged against the floor, the world dimming for half a second and then throbbing as he held tight to consciousness.

But there was no time to grapple for bearings, Nia was pulling him up to his feet.

When his ears finally clicked back on, they were filled with the screeching from the collapsing catwalk.

Beams fell behind them as they sprinted for the door.

They made it back to the office. Out the front door. Across the street and down a few more alleys before they stopped.

He dropped to sitting against the wall, gasping for air and trying to keep the world from wobbling like a drunken tauntaun.

“You okay?” Nia asked, kneeling in front of him.

He ran a glove across the back of his neck and held it up for inspection. “No blood. I’m fine.”

“Din.” It came out both angry and concerned, but he shook his head, making the world whirl some more and his stomach turn in answer.

“Just give me a minute. Here.” He dug the box out of his pocket and tossed it to her.

By her look she knew he was distracting her, but she granted his request, sitting next to him and examining the box.

It wasn’t solid wood, but rather separate pieces fastened tightly together.

“I remember these,” she said half under her breath. She flipped it over and pulled on a seemingly random section, but it came away easily. The box deconstructed in her hands and held a small scroll of paper.

The markings on the page jumped around when he looked at them, making him frown and close his eyes in concentration.

“Coordinates. In mando’a. If it’s here on Cantonica, that’s not far from where we landed.”

“Let’s go then.”

“You alright to walk?”

He squinted an eye open and slowly stood. His skull drummed a very steady beat, and his stomach was uneasy at best, but the world remained steady. “Let’s go,” he repeated.

She stood and wordlessly offered her staff. He refused and then stumbled on the first step.

So he took it and they set off.

It was slow going as they made their way to the far side of the city, the cloud cover turning into a slow drizzle that dampened their shoulders and Nia’s hair, pinging softly off the tops of Din’s armor.

The coordinates led them to a humble neighborhood not too far from the spaceport. There were no people on the road between the hour and the rain, and most of the windows were dark.

Din’s gaze swept across the street, pausing at a single story house. There was a small carving in the mantle of the doorframe, a swooping Mandalorian ‘V’.

Something in the back of his mind still itched at the sight of it.

He reached for Nia’s shoulder and nodded to the door.

She took a steadying breath and knocked twice.

No one answered.

She waited a few more minutes and then knocked again.

No reply.

Din looked up the street and coming around the corner was the first figure they’d seen since they arrived. A human woman with a facefull of freckles, carrying a bag.

Ro.

“Nia,” Din said quietly. She turned around.

Ro looked up, immediately threw her bag down and ran the opposite way.

“Wait!” Nia cried, taking off after her. Din pushed himself to a run, head pounding with every step.

“Why is she running?!” Din called up to Nia.

“She’s a fugitive who saw a Mandalorian bounty hunter waiting at her front door. Wouldn’t you run?”

If you saw a Mandalorian waiting for you, it was already too late. But the point stood.

“Split up,” Nia ordered, grabbing the building to swing around the corner after Ro. Din ran a few blocks down before turning down his own alley, the world threatening to start whirling again with every step.

He waited at the corner, Nia’s staff still in hand, listening as two sets of pounding footsteps got steadily louder.

He swung the staff out, and Ro collided with it full-force.

Though she rolled back over her shoulder and fired her blaster at Din from kneeling.

The impact on his cuirass knocked him back a few feet, the staff clattering to the ground and the world finally making good on that whirling threat.

“Ro–Wait!”

Nia ran up in time for Ro to turn her blaster on her.

Din threw himself forward and tackled Ro, sending the shot wide and the gun skidding across the ground.

Ro twisted in his hold and a vibroblade slashed across his ribs, shallow but long.

His breath withered in his chest and the pounding in his head became deafening.

But Nia grabbed Ro’s shoulder, pulling her away from him.

Ro just turned on her, blade already swinging.

Her strikes were pointed and brutal, the vibroblade hissing through the air.

Nia knocked the blade out of her hand but gave up ground as she remained on the defensive.

She quickly was backed up against the wall with no escape.

“Ro. It’s me! It’s Nia!”

Ro ducked in and it looked like her strike over shot Nia’s shoulder, but then the arm whipped back around Nia’s neck, pulling tight and cutting off breath and blood flow.

Nia slapped at Ro’s arm but she held strong.

Din’s world fell back into order to the sight of Nia’s redding face. He fired his blaster once into the air and then pointed it at Ro’s head as he pulled himself up to standing. “Let her go.”

Ro looked at him, calculating odds as Nia pulled helplessly on the hold and her face turned unsettling colors, then she released her and held her hands up, a sneer playing across her mouth.

Nia dropped to her knees, gasping for air and coughing.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

She nodded and staggered up to her feet. “Put the gun away,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Nia,” he responded, the oversaturated red shade of Nia’s face far too fresh in his memory.

“Put it away.”

He lowered the weapon, but didn’t holster it.

“You brought a buckethead for a bodyguard?” Ro asked, disdain dripping from every word.

“This is Mando, he’s my friend.”

Ro scoffed. “You don’t even know his real name?”

“I know it.”

A knowing look crossed Ro’s eyes. “So he’s one of those.”

One of what?

Nia stepped closer but Ro edged back, a warning in every movement she made that Nia didn’t seem to notice at all. “Ro, I need your help. I don’t remember anything.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“I swear. I got a control chip put in my head, it took everything. I don’t even know who put it there. I’m… I’m getting bits and pieces sometimes, but– What happened? To the school? To Vod’oya? Have you heard anything from Phasia? Or Anella?”

That calculating look filled Ro’s eyes again.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing.”

The look disappeared behind an eerily calm wall.

“I don’t know where Anella is. Last time I saw her was… about the last time I saw you. And I don’t know who attacked the school either. We were gone… looking for you.”

Nia frowned. “Why?”

Ro studied her carefully. “You really don’t remember?”

“No.”

She chuckled once, cold and unamused. “That’s con-kriffing-venient for you.”

“Why were you looking for me?” Nia asked, pleaded.

Ro studied her sister for a long moment, a new sneer pulling her lip up, then she hissed,

“Because you killed Phasia.”

Nia froze.

That… that couldn’t be right.

“...What?” Nia said, her voice very small.

Ro stepped forward, fury shaking down her limbs. “You killed Phasia. You betrayed the Vod’oya.”

“No. No, th-that can’t– You–you’re wrong.”

“I saw everything. I saw you two talking that night and then you pulled your gun. And I watched you shoot our captain, our sister in cold blood. And then you ran.”

“No–” She started folding in on herself.

Din stepped forward, half shielding Nia from Ro. “If you saw, why didn’t you try to stop her?” he demanded.

“Because I didn’t have a death wish. I can’t compete with Nia when she’s actually trying. Only Phasia ever could. And now she’s dead.”

Nia sucked in a shaking breath.

Din stepped fully between them now. “If the Vod’oya were together when the school was attacked, why did you leave the message?”

“We split up. For safety. We didn’t know how many of us she intended to murder.”

Without another word, Nia turned and fled, running back down the alley. Din stopped long enough to pick up her abandoned staff before following her.

Ro’s voice echoed down the stone walls after them. “Watch your back, Mando! Or you might be next!”

The drizzle turned into a downpour as Din chased after Nia all the way back to where they’d docked The Razor Crest.

Nia finally slowed at the foot of the open ramp, before turning abruptly and emptying her stomach into a puddle. She staggered as she stood, Din reaching forward to brace her.

“She’s lying,” he insisted, searching Nia’s face. Her eyes were distant and deeply haunted. “She has to be.”

Nia shook her head, her voice shredded and hollow. “She’s not. I remember. I remember… being so angry… watching her body drop in front of me.” Her gut coiled as if to vomit again but she held strong. “I murdered my sister, Din.” She shuddered and pulled away from his support. “I… should have realized. Memory’s a curse–I don’t want to remember anything more.”

But he closed the distance between them, gripping her shoulders. “You wouldn’t have done this without reason.”

“You don’t know that! I don’t even know that. Neither of us know who I am–”

“No!” He cupped her cheek. “I know you, Niæna Vard’on. Ni kar’taylir veman.”

I know you truly.

“You would not take a life, especially your sister’s life, without just cause.”

She shook her head and gripped his hand on her cheek. “What reason would justify this?”

“We’ll find out. And we won’t stop till we know the whole truth.”

She stared at him, her lips quivering with tears hidden by the rain. “I don’t deserve this… I don’t deserve your loyalty, Din.”

“I don’t care.”

She stared at him for a long moment then reached up and tilted his helmet forward enough to press her brow to his.

He pulled her closer, needing to shield her from the rain, from everything else in the galaxy. She was so powerful, so capable, and he wanted so desperately to be safe harbor for her, as she had become for him.

But her hand brushing his side broke the moment, making him flinch away with a low groan and his head pushed back in with a reminding throb.

“Din–”

“I’m…” He wanted to find the way back into the intimate with her, but the moment had passed, disrupted by his injuries.

She sighed and took his hand. “Come on.”

They were both dripping puddles on the hull floor when the door closed behind them.

“Sit,” she ordered, pointing to a crate and moving to where the healing supplies were kept.

He was more than grateful to finally sit down, though disappointment puddled right next to the rain.

“We’re out of bacta-shots, so it’s going to have to be cauterized,” she said, returning with the tool in hand. He reached for it but she held it back. “Let me help.”

At first he tried to help her remove the pieces of his armor in her way. But after his clumsy fingers failed twice in a row to unbuckle his pauldron, she batted his hand away and removed the armor pieces, then the protective padding over his jumpsuit.

Every layer removed felt like a skin peeled away, leaving him raw and uncomfortably vulnerable. He hadn’t been this unprotected around another person in decades.

She seemed to sense his hesitation and paused to squeeze his hand, smiling softly at him, before pulling off the vambraces and his gloves.

Hoping that perhaps blunt efficacy would be its own armor, he yanked the zipper on the jumpsuit down enough to ease his arms out of the wet and stiff fabric.

He was still helmeted and mostly clothed, but he could practically feel her gaze smooth across his bare shoulders and chest. Thankfully, she didn’t say anything as she knelt beside him.

“Do you want a warning?” she asked, resting his arm on her shoulder and ducking towards the wound.

“It doesn’t make it hurt less.”

She chuckled and a nasty buzzing noise started below his elbow. “Get ready.”

It was a slow process and by the end, he was gripping the back of her shirt and shaking slightly. But finally–

“Deep breath. We’re done with this.”

He sucked in a steadying breath as she stood up.

“Thank you.”

She nodded and set aside the cauterizer for a handheld medical scanner. “One last thing. Turn around, we need to remove your helmet.”

Every already overexposed nerve flared, and he instinctively recoiled. “It’s fine–”

But she seemed to have expected his reaction. “If you’re going to exonerate me, you can’t do that with a concussion.” She rested a hand on his shoulder, her palm cool and electrifying on his bare skin. “Trust me, Din. Please.”

He did… he really did.

But it was still terrifying.

She sat behind him, the hand leaving his shoulder, but he could still feel where her skin had touched his like another tattoo.

It was a full minute till he summoned enough determination to ease his helmet off, resting it between his knees and staring down at his boots.

She exhaled softly. Then fingers gently touched the ends of his hair. “It’s curly,” she said, a smile in her voice that seemed so much warmer without the helmet.

“I need to cut it,” he muttered.

“Shame.”

The tightness in his chest was making it difficult to take full breaths.

Then her fingers slipped into his hair, tips running over his scalp, and he immediately stiffened.

She stopped but didn’t move away. “Does this hurt?”

He shook his hand, words impossible at the moment.

“I’m going to keep going,” she whispered.

His eyes shut as she continued, the sensations seeming to ripple outward, down his neck, his spine.

Years of diligently instilling preference for loneliness, for detachment, for separation were catching flame with every gentle brush of her fingers through his hair. He hadn’t realized till that moment how thoroughly all these months he’d been stacking tinder, splashing kerosene, all in longing for her spark.

Even her glancing across the sore spot on the back of his head wasn’t enough to stifle the flame.

“Here, yes?” she asked in that same whisper. He nodded.

His lips were clenched tight between his teeth and his fists balled on his knees; he was so focused on controlling his own reactions he missed her scanning him all together.

“Minor concussion, we’ll take it easy for a few days and you’ll be alright.”

Then her hands started to retreat.

And a low whining gasp of her name escaped through the flames.

She paused for a heart-stopping moment as he crackled with both need and shame.

Then she moved closer, her palms smoothing down his back then around his sides, wrapping him – shielding him – from behind. Her cheek rested on his shoulder blade. She was warm, damp fabric and smooth skin and soft hair.

“I’m here,” she murmured.

His hands covered hers as she held him, his throat shredded sore and every breath shaking under the unfamiliar weight of connection.

Yet even still… he wanted more, wanted it enough to risk everything for it.

“Close your eyes,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Her hold relaxed, and he gave her another breath before he dared to look over his shoulder.

There she was. Niæna Vard’on, his Match. The woman he loved, beheld in his own eyes for the first time.

He eagerly took in every detail of her face that the view screen obscured. The faintest hint of more freckles across the bridge of her nose, the tops of her cheeks. The few strands of early silver hair in her dark curls. The pale line of an old scar along her jawline.

Her eyes were solidly shut, and impossibly, greedily, he wanted to know those most of all. Was there gold in the center of her grey eyes? Or blue? Would they still smile at him if they saw his first face?

Need is a weakness, the cruel voice hissed just loud enough to make him lean back, to almost turn away and reach for the safety of his helmet.

But then Nia lifted her hand and reached out slowly towards him.

He watched her approach, apprehension and burning want warring with every passing second.

Then, the first person in nearly two whole decades, she touched his cheek.

His breath shuddered, and he leaned into her touch, eyes shutting under the tender onslaught as her other hand cupped his jaw.

She mapped the frame of his face, the curve of his nose, the stubble on his chin. Every brush of her touch so perfect it seared.

He kissed her thumb as it brushed over his lips, and she inhaled. “Din,” she whispered, moving closer, her head angling slightly.

He stopped her by pressing his brow to hers, savoring the pressure he hadn’t felt in the times before. “I’ve never kis– I want to… I may be bad at this,” he admitted in a rough voice, searching her closed eyes for reassurance.

She smiled softly. “I don’t care.”

He tentatively brushed his lips over hers, turning her smile solar bright for a second and making his chest glow in response, then she pressed close and kissed him.

Star bursts and comet fire.

It was inelegant and unpracticed and so wholly perfect that he wanted to be kissed by only her till the day he died.

Even after then too.

Everything else in the universe disappeared as he pulled her closer. Everything except for Nia.

Her hair between his fingers, her hands slipping down his back, her lips against his.

And then, through the comet fire and the star bursts and the steadily improving kisses, something flickered even deeper.

And a new yet familiar bond whispered,

Together.

Chapter 7: The Investigation

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[spacedaddymando]

All Heart and Beskar

Synopsis - A bounty hunter turned bounty, you find yourself as the assistant to one of the most feared bounty hunters in the parsec and his little green child with big ears.

A/N - Hi! This is the first story I have written in a long time so any feedback or constructive criticism is greatly appreciated! This will hopefully be a multi chapter story! I have kept physical descriptions to a minimum but the character is afab. It is a reader x Mando story but I have avoided using Y/N. My knowledge of Star Wars is rusty af so probably massive irregularities with canon lore. 18+.

Warnings - 18 +. Violence and death.

Chapter 1 

[3.1k Words] Chapter 1 - Back Alley Introductions

You docked in Canto Bight, a bustling casino city on the edge of the Sea of Cantonica. The bright lights were visible through the cloudy atmosphere as you landed your ship. Dry desert stretched as far as the eye could see outside of the city border. It was early evening, the sun was just setting over the west horizon.

Once landed and off the ship, you were met with an eager bay mechanic. A young lad who’s excitement at your ship was causing him to bounce around.

“I’ve never seen a hwk290!” He cried. “And in mint condition!” You smiled at him. “If I had the money I’d buy it off you!”

“Unfortunately she’s not for sale. But I need you to check the hyperdrive. It’s slowed.” You grinned and handed him the control panel to the ship's security. “Press here to lock and here for security. I’ll be back by the morning.”

He nodded, and ran around to the door. You could hear him excitedly explaining the ship to his silent pit droid.

You step out of the bay onto the busy street, people milled around everywhere, music and chattering filled your ears. You pulled your hood up over your head, shrouding your face in darkness. It was normal for people to wear hoods on Cantonica. The dusty planet sported high winds that would blow sand through the streets. You kept close to the crowd edges, passing cantinas filled with people and creatures. The air was warm and smelt like food, smoke, and….and Sewage. You wrinkle your nose.

You skulked around the Main Street, waiting for the puck to beep. It was still flashing so you knew the quarry was still alive. Your hands rested on the hilt of your knives strapped to your thighs. Again it wasn’t bizarre to see blasters and knives casually strapped to people. If anything the culture of always being armed made bounty hunting just that bit easier. You glanced up to the towering buildings either side, towards the small strip of night sky. Thousands of stars glitter through the planet's dusty atmosphere.

Beep! Adrenaline courses through you at the sound. He’s close. You duck into a side alley, and unsheathe your knives. You grasp the hilt and rest the flat edge of the blade underneath your forearm. Stepping back out into the bright street you moved towards the centre of the street, weaving in between people, head up surveying the area. The puck beeping softly. Closer.

A glint of silver hits your peripheral vision. You twist trying to see where it came from. Nothing is there when you turn round. The puck stops beeping. You curse. Turning around completely you begin to walk back up the street, the puck starts beeping again. So he’s here somewhere. You look up, balconies full of people fill your vision. You scan the area. There again! Another flash of silver. You twist, standing in the middle of the street.

That’s when you see him.

Standing taller than most in the crowd, silver beskar glinting in the casino light. You freeze, unsure of whether he’s noticed you or not.

You slip out of the main body of the crowd, quickly darting down a side street. It’s empty, the noise of the street fading slightly. You keep your back pressed against the wall of the building. If he’s seen you, he’ll follow.

The Mandalorian appeared at the top of the alley. Head scanning the area. You watched with a bated breath as he walked down towards you. You pressed closer to the wall. When the Mandalorian had passed, you crept out of the shadows, knives poised and ready.

“What are you doing here.” you hiss. He stops and turns slowly to face you. You thought you recognised the helmet, it looked familiar.

The Mandalorian stays quiet.

“I asked a question.” The Mandalorian stepped towards you, you don’t lower the knives.

“We’re both chasing the same quarry. Greef told me I’d find you.” Ah so that’s where you knew him from. The Guild. “It’ll be easier if we work together.” You furrow your brows.

“I didn’t realise you were looking for a partner Mando.”

“I’m not.” He pauses. “But I think we need to work together. Split the bounty.”

You scoff. “I don’t even know you. How can I trust you?” It's an honest question. You knew of his reputation but you also thought he worked alone.

He reached up. You tensed waiting to see where his hand went next. It curled around to a puck strapped to his chest. He flicked it over, red light blinking rapidly, the beep was faint but you identified it as the noise it makes when the holder finds it’s target. You held your breath as Mando pressed a button.

A hologram of you appeared. Your mouth hung open in shock. Your blood felt cold, and your stomach felt like it had dropped. So this is what it feels like.

“I won’t turn you in. Is that a reason?” The voice was clipped.

“Why is there a bounty after me?” Your voice was wavering, scared.

“Why is there a bounty after anyone?” You stared at him. Blades still drawn. He still held the puck out. Every inch of you wanted to destroy it but you knew better. If you did it would send an alert.

“Did Greef give you this?” You swallowed. You thought you were friends… business partners at least. The guild was supposed to offer some protection against bounties.

“No. I got it off an assassin who had been trailing you since before Nevarro.”

You blinked up at him. His dark visor was watching you. “But why help me? You don’t know me.”

The Mandalorian stayed quiet. You figured you wouldn’t get an answer so you ask another question.

“Are they still after me?”

“I have reason to believe so.”

“What can I do?”

“Help me with this bounty. Then we’ll discuss.”

“Where do you want to start?” But the Mandalorian was already moving past you. You ran to catch up, taking two strides for everyone one of his. At the top of the alley he motioned for you to wait. Mando passed you an ear comms unit. You put it in. 

“Can you hear me? Don’t speak. Nod.” His voice was rich and deep in your ear. You nodded slowly. “Good. Wait for my signal.”

“What’s yo-....” -ur signal. But Mando had already vanished into the crowd without answering. How did he just disappear?!

You walk back into the crowd, melting away with the movement of the city. Your heart rate is still high, you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. You’re being hunted. You feel sick. You carry on walking, knives still gripped tight in your hand. You sheathed them quickly, better not draw any unwanted attention to yourself.

“X Bar…” the voice crackles through the comms unit. You stop and scan the area. The bar is just up ahead on the left.

“Got it.”

“Get round back. Cover the area.” You sound an agreement as you slip down an alley. Turning to make sure no one saw. You cling to the wall, shadows concealing you. The alley is quiet.

What if this is a trap? Can you trust the Mandalorian?

Why is he helping you? Why hasn’t he killed you for the money?

You crouch in the shadows, eyes trained on the back entrance.

“I’m here.” You whisper into the comms. Mando doesn’t reply.

You try to slow your breathing. He’s helping you. He’s helping you. He’s helping y-.... Your mantra is cut off as a crash sounds from the back door.

A wiry man slipped out of the back door. You could hear a crackling through the comms unit, and barely made out the words “back….door….”

You spring into action, slipping quietly out of the shadows. The man is running away from you. You move silently behind him. He’s slipping through the back alleys, twisting and turning. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated. Drunkard.

He stops, and you slip back into the shadows. The sounds of other drunk patrons ring throughout the air. A crash of glass breaking eased the quarry's nerves and he continued on, this time walking.

You manage to get up behind him. Padding softly until you were so close you could smell the alcohol on him. You flick one knife around his throat, the other pressing into his back. Easy target.

“I suggest you don’t make a sound.” You hiss quietly. The man starts to twist around, you press the edge of the knife harder into his throat. “They want you alive, but I will drop you off dead.”

The man stills for a second, before grabbing your arm, trying to remove the knife from your grasp. You allow some movement, he lets his guard down for a split second and you kick his legs from underneath him. He drops down and you drop onto him, straddling his waist, knife pointing into his jugular vein. The other knife pokes his side.

“I suggest you don’t try that again.” You hiss, digging the point of the blade under his jaw. The man is shaking, staring up at you with dark blue eyes. You won’t actually stab him. At least not yet…..

“Roll him over.” A gruff voice calls out above you. You twist. The Mandalorian is standing there, visor tipped down to look at you. Blood stains the beskar. He has a blaster pointed at the man's head. You roll off the man, and he rolls over, subdued now the Mandalorian is here.

Mando leans down and cuffs him before dragging him onto his feet. You jump up. Knives sheathed in their holders. “Follow me.” Mando says, before marching the man down the alleys towards the docking bays.

You slip into the shadows again following behind the Mandalorian, listening to the man beg and plead for Mando to reconsider. Mando stays quiet.

The alleys are darker on this side of town, there’s barely any light filtering down from the Main Street. You can hear whispered voices in the darkened doorways. Mando’s armour glints in what little light there is. The bounty is loud, pleading for his life. You clutch the hilts of your knives again. Somethings wrong. You can sense it. Mando turned onto a brighter alley towards the Main Street.

A soft thud up ahead has you unsheathing your knives, still hidden in the darkness of the shadows. A man steps out of a door, his back is facing you. You can see from his posture he is holding a gun. Mando hasn’t noticed, the bounty is struggling, failing his arms around and kicking his legs out.

You rush forward, a blaster shot ringing out. You see Mando recoil with shock. Helmet twisting to see where the shot came from.

You glance back at Mando when he turns around. The unreadable darkness of the visor hides any reaction from you. The body of the assailant slumps to the ground, your knife sticking out of their back. You stand behind their fallen body, taking a few deep breaths. You can feel Mando watching as you tug the blade out of the man's back. You roll him over, his head lolling to the side. The quarry in Mandos’ grip is suddenly silent. Any hope of escape thwarted.

You quickly rifle through the mans pockets, trying to find an ID or something to ascertain his identity. When you find nothing you stand up, wiping your knife on his jacket, clearing the blood off it.

“Let’s go.” You step over the dead man's body. You see Mando roughly tugging the quarry up and starts to march him back to the ship. You slip back into the shadows. Watching and guarding his back.

The docking bays appear in view, everyone in the street moves out of the way for the blood covered Mandalorian marching a prisoner in front of him. Mando pulls up next to Bay 54, the door slides open.

You visibly relax, knives sheathed back on your thighs. You step into the bay behind him. A behemoth of a ship greets you. All dark and twisted metal with twin thrusters.

“Nice ship Mando.” He grunts in acknowledgment, mind preoccupied with the task at hand. He opens the hull of the ship with a button on his sleeve, the ramp slamming down with a thump. He drags the quarry up, and you wait sheepishly at the bottom suddenly unsure of if he needs you to follow.

You can hear the quarry screaming and pleading, and then the hiss of a carbonite machine. Then silence.

You sit on the edge of the ramp. You felt flat. The adrenaline that had coursed through you all night was fading, tiredness washing over you.

A small coo sounded from behind you. You twisted to see a little green creature tottering towards you on unstable feet. You knelt down to greet it.

“Hey there little fella!” The kid held his little hands out, you reached down and scooped him up. The kid giggled, eyes looking up at you.

“I’m sorry. I turned around and he was gone.” Came a voice from the top of the ramp.

“It’s no worries.” You stroked the top of the kids head. “He’s very cute.”

The Mandalorian watched you interact. You were aware of the feeling of eyes on you, and when you looked up the beskar helmet was watching you intently. The Mandalorian held his arms out and you placed the baby back in his arms.

“You are still in danger.” The gruff voice announced. You nodded solemnly.

“What can I do?”. You slipped the comms unit out of your ear and handed it back to the Mandalorian. He tucked it away. “Can I outrun them?”

He shook his head. “No. They’ll just keep sending people after you.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. But they’re rich enough to keep sending assassins.”

You groaned. What could you do? You can’t run across the galaxy forever…

“You can fake your death.” The metallic voice broke your train of thought. He paused as if carefully considering his next words. “You can help me and help look after the child.”

You didn’t say a word, you just raised an eyebrow at him. Stay with the Mandalorian?

“You have until sunrise to decide. I leave then.”

He turned to step back into the hull.

“Wait!” He stops but doesn’t turn round. “What about my ship?”

“Sell it, and we’ll discuss the arrangements tomorrow.” And with that he disappeared into the hull. You stepped off the ramp, the flat feeling being replaced with a feeling of dread.

Your decision, as it turned out, was made for you.

You could smell the fire before you saw it. The sharp smell of jet fuel burning was unmistakable. The fire sirens wailing out, and flashing lights lined your path back to your bay. Instinctively you knew whose ship was burning.

You sprinted to the door of your bay. You didn’t get a chance to step in before you felt the heat. You stared in shock. Your ship was in flames. A giant blazing ball of heat. You let out a half choked sob. The fire crackled and popped, metal burning and wires melting inside. The smell of burning fuel singed your nose hairs, burning your eyes, and throat. The fire brigade pushes past you, trailing a hose. They dowsed your ship with foam, as you watched in horror as the blackened nose of your ship came into view. Everything was destroyed. You felt tears prickle in your eyes, from the heat or sadness you weren’t sure.

You swallowed. Slowly backing away from the hellish scene of your life burning in front of you. You slid to the floor, your heart sinking. Your whole life is gone. All your  possessions. You slam your fist into the dust. Why?

Who? Was your next question. With nowhere to go you went to find the only familiar face (or rather helmet) on this giant dusty planet. The walk back to Bay 23 was cut short when you collided with a rather solid metal chest.

“I saw the smoke.” He muttered. You stared up at him, eyes wet with tears. You let out a sob. Mando stayed still as you cried into his beskar armor. You were so distraught you didn’t really register the hand rubbing gently circles onto your back.

“Come on. Let’s leave.” Mando’s voice was calm. You sniffed, and brushed your tears away with the back of your hand.

You trudged behind him back to his ship, unaware of the tears streaming down your face. You didn’t feel like this was a choice. You felt like a caged animal being forced into a new pen.

Mando showed you to the ‘fresher, indicating that you should wash. You stripped off, pulling the shower drapes around and stood under the warm spray rinsing the dust, dirt and soot off your body. Undoing the plaits in your hair you washed that too, borrowing the Mandalorians soap.

Tears still escaped and you felt a sob well up in your chest. You let yourself sink to the floor of the fresher, crying in heaving gasps. You don’t know how long you sat on the floor, but the water was cold when you finally regained some composure.

Stepping out you find a towel and some clothes folded neatly on a shelf. He must have heard you cry. And if you were honest, you didn’t care. You dried yourself and dressed, stepping out into the cold hull. The clothes were big, but soft and warm.

The Mandalorian stood in the hull waiting for you, clutching the little green creature. He gestured to a cot in the wall. “Sleep.” He passed you a soft blanket, you took it gladly, and clambered into the cot.

Wrapping the blanket around you, you curled up in a ball. The cot door slid shut, plunging you into darkness. When you closed your eyes images of your burning ship flashed in your mind. You felt the tears burn beneath your eyelids. You let out a half choked sob, curling up tighter into a ball.

You don’t know how long you cried for, but at some point you finally drifted to sleep.

[vercopaanir]

Bad Men

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 13

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Words: 4.8k

Rating/Warning: Teen-Mature for violence and graphic descriptions of injuries.

Summary: The Mandalorian finds you.

Notes: Y’all got me nervous to post this chapter, now. I hope it uh. Delivers? But! Everyone who sent a message, left a comment, shared, and liked this story has my heart. You can’t believe how much this has uplifted me, especially having some health problems the last few days. I appreciate each and every one of you!

AO3

It’s been days.

It’s been days since you breathed in the sleeping agent that knocked you out from under your own feet, leaving you with a throbbing headache. You overhear two men laughing about it, later, that you were carried right by the Canto Bight police. When they’d stopped to inquire, they were told you simply had too much to drink. That they were helping you home. 

It’s been days since you could feel your arms. The binders securing your wrists are enclosed around a metal pipe, and your arms are twisted so tight that they’re asleep within minutes. It stinks where you are, a musty, spicy odor that must be from animals, because you can hear them close by. You can’t move your legs, you can’t even stand up or walk. When they take you like an animal on a leash to relieve yourself, they laugh when you fall, and they continue to laugh when you try over and over to stand. 

It’s been days since you could open your eyes. Freedom has made you irreverent, giving you a confidence you never possessed before. When the man who had drugged you brings in a chair to sit, you glare as hard as you can, and he grins with wide, straight teeth. He has no hair and large, dark eyes that seem to reflect the light, even when there is none.

“You know where you’re at?”

“I’m blind.”

“Yes, and not stupid.” You lean away instinctively when he brings a hand close to your face, waving it in front of your line of sight. “Ah...so you can see some things.” You scowl when he leans away, bracing his elbows on his knees and staring down at you like you are some kind of specimen. It makes your skin crawl, and you shift uncomfortably on the floor. He cocks his head to the side and demands, “How much are you worth?”

There’s a cold trickle of fear working it’s way down your back, and you feel sick to your stomach. He chuckles at whatever secrets your face betray, and you grimace. Of course, he’s a gambling man, after all. He can call your bluff, see your tells. 

“I know slaves enough to see the signs. Come on, now. Is it that low a price?” he laughs, and your hands flex behind you. When you say nothing, he grins with wide, white teeth. “I’ll guess, then. A few thousand credits? Your hands are soft, skin clear, hair long and...pretty.” Tears form in your eyes when he reaches forward to tilt your chin up, and you try to blink them away. They fall, and you can’t stand the tenderness in his touch. “How much did he buy you for?”

“I-It’s not like that,” you whisper, flinching when he laughs again, a barking, grating sound.

“No? A Mandalorian did it out of the kindness of his heart? Assuming he has one, it wouldn’t be yours. You’d know that if you were smarter.” He almost sounds sorry for you, letting your chin go. “You know who I am? He tell you?”

You blink the misty vision away, sniffing and looking down at your lap. “Tycho Ivalice, gambling ringleader. Wanted by...someone.” You frown, trying to recall the conversation you’d had with the Mandalorian, what he’d said. All you can remember is how soft his voice was, how he’d asked for the closer side of the bed. How he called you Cyare, and made your heart ache.

Tilting his head, Tycho hums. “And my brother. Know where he is?”

In carbonite, on the Crest.

“No.”

His hand connects with a solidity that you fear dislocates your jaw. Your ear rings, head spinning with a liquid imbalance that has you slumping to the side. The shock settles in, having gone for so many years without being struck, and you know holding your breath will only delay the inevitable. When you open your mouth, your lungs instinctively contract, forcing you to breathe. Heat courses through your neck and face, a throbbing, pulsing pain that leaves your vision pricked with black dots.

“I don’t like liars,” Tycho says after a moment, as if letting you gather your thoughts that he’d just slapped out of your still-ringing ear. “But we’ll come back to that.”

He did come back, every day, to ask the same questions.

Where is the ship you arrived on?

Where is his brother?

Who is the Mandalorian?

You think you must have smiled at the last one, because he grows impatient, and powerful men who do not get their way are more dangerous than loaded weapons. You feel your eye bleeding when he strikes you for that, the hot, sticky mess painting your cheek and neck as it drips and stains your torn dress. The scent of dirty copper gags you, and you want to cry so badly, but you know that will only make it worse. When your cheek puffs, the delicate skin swelling and shutting your eyes, you find some relief because it stops the bleeding. You don’t smile after that.

A small child visits you that night, no older than you had been when you’d gone blind. She uses the dirty hem of her dress, dipped in the water cup they’ve given you, to clean the dried blood away. You thank her before she disappears again, saying nothing. You think you can hear her crying somewhere nearby at night, and you wish more than anything to sleep. 

It’s been days since you’ve seen the child. Your child, you think pitifully in the dark to yourself. The little one you’d come to give your whole heart to, with eyes as dark as ink and a tiny smile that makes you proud to take care of him, to be a source of his affection. You hope he doesn’t miss you, because you don’t want to be cause for his sadness. You desperately pray he is far from this damn city, from people like these who could hurt him. 

And you do pray.

Servants and slaves alike give up the hope of something higher, too tired or scared or sick to afford the luxury of dreams and thoughts that could save them. But you have kept your prayers close to your heart ever since you were small. Ever since you cowered beneath that old bed the stormtroopers dragged you out from under, making you look at your father with his dead eyes staring up and seeing nothing, you felt it was an act of defiance. You prayed for your lady when you heard the Moff strike her, and you prayed for that Moff to go far, far away. You prayed for the girls misused in the brothel near the cantina. 

You pray for the child, every night, that he would grow up happy and sweet and good.

You pray for the Mandalorian. You hope he assumes the worst-that you took money and left, rather than what truly happened. You think it might be better, because it would mean he’d move on sooner, and you don’t think this place is good for anyone. You pray for Din Djarin more than yourself, and when you allow yourself to think of his name, it keeps you as warm as his cloak.

On the third or fourth day, there’s a small boy who brings you moldy bread. You thank him after he reaches for your face and pushes the hair from your eyes, and he helps you eat without saying a word. On the fifth day, your jaw feels healed enough to dare to speak to the young girl, this time.

“Where am I?”

You hear her fear; it’s in her hesitation, in the way her knees knock together as she kneels beside you. Her small hand shakes when she tugs the torn shoulder of your gown up, for you were left indecent before by the cruel men who made you walk when you couldn’t feel your own feet.

“A stable,” she whispers. You frown, wincing at the pain it causes, and she shuffles closer. “The fathiers are noisy, it covers the sounds of people calling for help.”

You focus very hard on swallowing down the thick desperation threatening to send you into a panic. It would not serve you now. The desire to tug at the binders, as useless as it is, is strong, but you no longer feel your arms so you don’t even attempt it.

“What’s your name?” you whisper, leaning your head back against the metal pipe. You lick your lips, tasting sweat and blood and something foul. You can hear her shuffling beside you, and you imagine she draws her knees up to her chest, hugging herself. You did it, too, when you were her age and scared, wishing to make yourself small.

“Corde.” 

“You are very brave, Corde,” you whisper, feeling tears sting your eyes. Maker, it hurts, it burns like fire, like that first time the sun left your eyes so scarred you couldn’t see. You try to blink through your swollen eyes. “I’m sorry you have to be here.”

She is quiet for a long time, and your sleep deprivation begins to find you. You’re almost nodding off when she tugs at your torn dress again. It won’t stay up. “Did you get sold, too?”

You push your head to the side, towards her, hoping your injured face doesn’t make her nervous. She seems so sweet, and lonely, and sad. “Once, a long time ago. Not this time.” You think of that woman’s voice, oily and inviting like a flower with three leaflets, the kind the child would be tempted to pick that you would never let him near. You swallow hard. “This time it-it was my fault.”

Corde frowns, and you can hear it when she looks up at you and says, “I don’t understand.”

You lick your cracked lip again before you answer her. “I...I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”

I trust you to be smart.

Stars, you want to scream, to lash out. He was right, he was right, he was right…

“Bad men,” Corde whispers, and you feel a bubble of a laugh threaten to come out. You fight it down and simply nod, gritting your teeth. Bad men always find ways to hurt little girls.

The two of you sit in silence, and inch by inch, the child scoots closer until you feel her pressing against your side, leaning her head against your arm. The sound you make, a mangled whimper, escapes your lips before you can hold it in, and there is more salt stinging your eyes. “I-I don’t even know why I’m here,” you whimper, sniffling against the stink of animal. “It’s wrong.”

Corde’s voice is so small, and you can feel how thin she is when she leans against you. Her voice trails off, though, and you can hear her fear again. “Will…?”

You try to shift from your cramped position, sighing deeply when it’s for nothing. “Will what, sweet girl?” you ask, angling your chin down toward her.

“Will...when the Mandalorian comes, will he take me and my brother with you?”

The question shakes you to your core. You can’t move, you can’t breathe. Your mouth opens and closes, working on words that won’t come out. When you finally speak, your voice is hoarse. 

“What...what are you talking about?”

“Tycho said it,” Corde whispers, and you can tell she’s got one hand beside her mouth to muffle her noise as she shares her secret. “He said there’s a Mandalorian coming for you.”

The questions Tycho asks you now make sense. It was a trap, and you were the bait. You feel even more ashamed than before, even more foolish than a stupid no-named girl from the outer rim. At least someone else in that cantina would’ve been smarter, you think. He could have picked anyone. But he chose you, and he chose wrong.

“The Mandalorian isn’t coming.” 

Even if you wanted him to, it had been days.

Saying it out loud doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. It’s simple, an understanding you had known from the beginning that the man had told you himself. He would protect his child at all costs-no matter the cost. You like to think some part of him held affection for you. But he’d trusted you, trusted you to be smart, and look where you are now. 

You wonder how this gambler had formed such a half-brained idea.

“Oh.” 

You detest how heartbroken she sounds, because you have nothing to offer her by way of comfort. You wish you could tell her that you would take her with you, that you would protect her, but how could you say such a thing when you can’t even protect yourself? 

Children know better, and they know the lies of people who swear false promises. If you could be anything for her, you would be someone who would at least tell her the truth.

You learn the little boy is Corde’s brother, Venka. He doesn’t speak at all. Corde tells you he hasn’t spoken since they were sold. They sleep in the empty stall beside yours, and they’re waiting to be moved where other child workers are kept. When Venka brings you a wet cloth to press to your swollen eyes, you finally cry in peace, the salt washing away with the dirty water. He wipes your face with gentle, pudgy hands, and you whisper your thankfulness. He hugs you around your neck, and you have never, in your life, wished to harm another person so much as you do the men who keep these children locked in the dark.

The privilege, however, is not yours.

It happens near midnight of the fifth day after you were taken, and a jolt goes through you, waking you from the half-sleeping slump. The two children are nestled close to the spare warmth of your body, the girl laying against your side and the boy with his head in your lap. You’re unsure why they were allowed to remain with you. Usually they’re forced into their own stall, but you soon realize the door to your paddock is open as if someone forgot to shut it. Both children are awoken by the sharp, short burst of gunfire that sounds like it’s echoing just outside the building.

Your heart is beating like a bird losing feathers, mad to get out, and Corde sucks in a breath. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she whispers, the hope in her voice prettier than a song.

“Get behind me,” you tell them, voice harsh with your own fear trapped in your throat, threatening to climb out. You didn’t want to hope it was him, wishing for nothing but for him to take his son and run far away from this foul city. But you feel a rush of relief against your will, and stars, of course it’s him. 

The paddock door slams when a body hits it, and you tense when a mass of footsteps storm right up to you. A familiar odor of stale beer and unwashed skin hits your nose, and Tycho has your binders off before you can wonder what he’s doing. Tiny hands grab at your dress, and your arms fall uselessly, weak, in front of them.

“Up we go,” Tycho rumbles, and Corde cries out as you're dragged onto your feet. Is this the last thing you’re going to see? Is this some kind of mercy kill before he’ll give the Mandalorian the satisfaction of finding you?

“I-It’s okay,” you whisper to the two cowering children, shaking at the idea of being led away to be silenced. You wonder if your father knew, before they beat him to stillness, that he would die. Perhaps that’s why those lies people tell children come pouring out of you. “It will be alright, I promise-” 

When Venka won’t let go, Tycho’s boot reels back and lands squarely, knocking him into his sister, and all three of you are screaming, trying to fight him. Stumbling on legs that you can’t feel, like a newborn foal, you fall as he drags you by the back of the neck, and cry, “D-Don’t hurt them!”

There’s a brighter light where he drags you from the stall, but you don’t have time to try and open your eyes before his robust arm, thick with muscle, traps your neck against the front of his chest, forcing you to try and balance on your unsteady feet. Everything is a swath of blurred shadows, a dim, running painting of mangled shapes that you have no way of discerning, and all the blood rushing to your limbs leaves you breathless. You are not unlike a rag doll that’s been abused, dizzy and lightheaded, and you keep your swollen eyes closed, focusing on staying conscious. 

“Not so trigger happy now, Mando?” Tycho bellows, and you can hear the power of his deep voice all the way into his chest. It rattles your bones, and you suck in a breath when his arm tightens around your neck. “I’ll take my money back, now. And an apology.”

The Mandalorian’s shape, familiar even in your disabled vision, even from between aching, pained squints of your eyes, stands still as stone, a gun still smoking held in his hand. There are bodies on the floor, blood dripping from one of his gloves. His voice, though, is like thunder, quiet and rolling and cresting deep from within, and hearing him is like an allowance you don’t deserve. “I’m not negotiating with you,” the forbidding baritone bites out. He is raspy with anger, and severe enough to make you fear what he is capable of. 

“No?” 

Tycho’s arm tightens, and tightens, and tightens, drawing you back until the tips of your toes barely brush the floor, and your voice breaks on a whimper for air. Your hands shake and scratch at the thick, corded muscle of his forearm, but you might as well be an insect he can’t be bothered to swat away.

And nothing happens.

You wonder, briefly in your dazed, slowly slipping mind, if you die here, what will become of the two children in the stall. You hope someone is kind to them, and does not fail them like you have.

“S-Stop. Stop it.”

Tycho’s arm loosens, and you gasp in the dirty, stinking air of the stable, gagging on it as he allows you just an inch or so of leverage. “Ready to negotiate now?” he asks, giving you a small shake in his hold. You feel your teeth rattle, your body swaying as if drunk.

There’s no sound, no movement for a moment until you hear a loud metallic clunk hit the ground. 

“Good. Now put your blaster down, and kick it over to one of my men.” 

Don’t do it. Please don’t give him that.

The clatter of steel on the concrete floor follows bluntly, and you hear the rattling scrape when it’s sent skittering across the ground. A man nearby picks it up, checking the chamber and release before aiming it at the Mandalorian. Your heart grows hot with indignant anger in your breast. This-this animal didn’t deserve to be cowered to, not worthy of anyone’s deference. Certainly not by the Mandalorian.

Tycho releases you and in the same, abrupt motion, kicks your feet out from under you so that you land hard on the floor. The use of your legs and arms are still shaky, and your whole body spasms with pain. Beskar hits the ground when the Mandalorian kneels over you, and you’ve never felt so weak, so pitiful when he pulls you up against his blessedly cool chest plate.

Desperate, leather clad hands cradle you with urgency, and he leans you back against his leg, propping you up so your breath fogs the shine of his armor as you inhale the scent of clean skin and cool woods. His helmet kisses your brow, and you can hear, now that he’s so close, how labored his breathing is, how tight and tense his arms are while he rocks you. His whole body shakes like a vibroblade, like the electricity before the crack of lighting, and you have never felt safer. 

You smile, a small, sad thing that doesn’t meet your eyes. “You came.”

A tiny, pathetic sound slips from beneath the lip of his helmet, and one of his gloves cups the side of your face, his thumb pressing just beneath the bruised and reddened skin of your eye. You can’t stop yourself from leaning into the cool leather, biting your cracked lip with relief, but a chuckle from somewhere behind you makes both of you go still as stone.

You hear the click of a blaster being aimed, and you know it isn’t trained on the impressively armored man who holds you in his arms.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Tycho says, towering above where the Mandalorian stays kneeling over you, and forcing the bounty hunter to look up with an air of utter hatred. You have never felt him so angry, so glacial and still. “If you both want to leave, I’ll need something else. Let’s call it interest for the disrespect you showed me and my brother.” 

You press your cheek to his chest plate, your fingers curling into the fabric at his waist. If you were going to die with a gun to your head, at least you won’t be alone, and you won’t be without this man, you decide. It is more than you hoped for, even if the way he breathes, like a wild animal, makes you wish to comfort him.

There’s a nigh imperceptible tilt of the Mandalorian’s helmet, and Tycho smiles and says, “I want your helmet.”

Your fingers dig into his waist with desperation, nails biting into the skin, and you suddenly can’t be close enough, can’t stop what’s happening. “N-No,” you whimper, struggling against the Mandalorian’s firm hold, trying to clamber to your feet. “You can’t do that-!”

“I’m no longer negotiating,” Tycho growls, leveling his blaster’s aim at the crown of your hair. 

“Stop, please-” he chokes out, arresting you so tightly against his chest, you can’t move. You want to fight him, you want to shake this dear man under the steel because he shouldn’t sound like that, like a ruin. He should be brave, no matter the cost. “I-I’ll do it.”

“No!” Your entire body is a force to be reckoned with, adrenaline dumping into your system, but the Mandalorian traps you around the middle, locking his arms around you so you’re pinned to his chest. You turn your face into his neck, tears forming in your eyes. “No, y-you can’t-!”

Two men move to flank the bounty hunter, and you feel him tense, his entire body coiled like a spring ready to snap. That is what you expect of him, the urge and hunger to fight. Your breathing is so heavy, your mind so alight with passion that your entire frame hums. 

“I want her to do it.”

“I will not!” you shriek, something feral and foaming bursting from your chest when you wrench against him. Everything begins to flicker before your eyes, the fireside touches, the hand stroking your hair by the stream, the arm that has held and supported you over worlds. He is stronger than you, but he doesn’t seem interested in seeking to detain you as much as he seeks to keep you from hurting yourself against the beskar covering his body.

“Cyare,” his deep baritone rumbles against your ear, too low for anyone else to hear. “Trust me.”

You go still, your arms slowly circling his waist and tucking your cheek against his chest plate. His heartbeat is like a war drum beneath the armor, and you bite your lip when you feel his arms slowly release you. You keep your eyes closed, your heart squeezing in Tycho’s fist as he and his men begin to chuckle at such a great warrior defeatedly drawing his hands down to his belt while you lift yours to cradle his helmet. Your lip trembles, fingers smoothing over the beskar warmed by your own skin, and then-

A clap of thunder, followed by an overwhelming flash, and the Mandalorian throws you to the side, rolling you beneath him just as the flash grenade he’d detonated sends everyone into a panic. Blasters suddenly go off in every direction, and you’re thankful when the Mandalorian crouches over you because you aren’t sure which way is up. His leather glove brushes your cheek, and you can’t hear what he says, but he disappears from your line of sight. There are muffled shouts, screaming, and you curl in on yourself, listening to the sounds of battle. You can hear a blade slashing flesh, smell the residue of gunfire, and you feel when a body hits the ground one after another.

And then there’s silence.

It takes an olympic feat of strength to pry your eyes open, and the pain is nearly unbearable. You see a blurry set of boots striding towards you, and you let your gaze fall closed when the sweet sound of beskar brushing the concrete floor meets your ears. You feel the cool leather touch your face, moving to your neck and up to cradle your head. No longer able to open your eyes, you manage to move your fingers enough to touch his wrist where a small sliver of heated skin is bared. Veins of hot blood that you had traced in the dark sing beneath your touch, and a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

You hear him muttering in another language, fast and rapid beneath his helmet, as if everything that has happened is too much for his mind to translate in the moment and he’s only able to speak the words he learned as a child. It’s the sound of that beautiful speech that breaks you.

He lifts you up into his arms, trying to hold your bones together as your body spasms through sobbing, wailing, because you’re still alive somehow. You can’t control it, you can’t stop it, and you’re worried you won’t be able to. A leather glove, wet with blood, turns your head so your hysteria is smothered into the fabric of his shoulder, and your hands can’t find a place to hold onto, wrenching and pulling at this man who’s saved you twice over.

When you are exhausted beyond speech, beyond the ability to lift your head from where it lolls against his neck, the Mandalorian moves to rest you back against the wall. His gloves cradle your injured face, and you again wonder what he sees. Does he see your foolishness? Certainly, your weakness. Bile rises in your throat, and it’s all you can do to choke on it as well as your pride.

A sound, not unlike the skittering of a mouse, triggers the Mandalorian. He draws his blaster and cages you between his body at the wall faster than the flash grenade, and you hear a small gasp come from the paddock.

“D-Don’t,” you mumble, your lips cracked and your voice dry from your outburst. You imagine the two children, staring at what is rightfully known to be a legend who coldly holds them at gunpoint, cowering back behind the soiled hay. “Don’t hurt them.”

You hear the strain of leather where the warrior holsters his weapon immediately, but nothing happens after that for a long, tense moment. There’s another shift of fabric, and he’s kneeling over you now, sighing wearily. 

“They helped me,” you murmur, forcing your eyes open enough to see his visor is tilted in the direction of the little girl and her brother. “They’re-”

“I know.” 

The Mandalorian stands and approaches the children, and you strain your ears to hear what he says when he begins speaking softly to them. Corde tells him something, ever the brave little thing you’ve come to know, and he seems satisfied when he kneels back down beside you.

“We need to go, Cyare. Can you walk?” he asks, touching your jaw with a brush of his fingers.

You wince when you move your feet in your boots, and that seems to be enough of an answer for him. He leaves you again, speaking to the children, and your mind wanders until you’re not sure if you’re awake or asleep. Perhaps it is the lack of food and water, or not having slept for nearly a week, but it feels as if your body is shutting down. The shock from everything is wearing off, and you can’t even feel his arms when they slip beneath you to lift you up.

“You were right,” you murmur, laying your cheek against the warm fabric of his shoulder. You can feel his helmet tilt down to you, almost as if telling silently for you to go on. You close your eyes. “We can’t trust anyone.”

-

Mando’a Translation

Cyare - beloved, loved

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[happy-beeeps]

I don’t do droids

Pairing: translator!reader x Din Djarin

WC: 1,185

Summary: First part in a fic with Din and this fun translator. I see this being kind of long term, I want to give them some time to grow together before we even get to introducing the child. There will be pining.

Warnings: Literally none, woohoo!

A/N: I’ve been listening to this playlist on spotify by metalcorecore and I 10/10 recommend

(Gif not mine, credits to the maker)

_______________________________________________________________________Galactic basic is simple. Spoken in nearly every system across the galaxy, understood by almost every species. It was easy. It didn’t have the guttural sounds of Huttese, or the tradition of Mando’a, but it was easy to use.

It also had the privilege of being one of the few languages Din Djarin spoke, and understood fluently. Sure, he could butcher his way through a conversation in Bocce, and he knew enough Aqualish to get by, but not nearly enough to be there for more than a quick job. He meant to learn, really, but figured eventually he couldn’t be bothered to learn more.

After all, there were bounties to collect and weapons to clean.

Now, however, Din was starting to realize the error of his ways. Greef Karga sat across from him, sliding a bounty puck across the table. “This is it, the highest bounty I‘ve got.”

“Whose the target?”

“Politician’s kid, also a bail jumper. Should be a quick pick up.” Din turned the puck over in his hand and flicked the switch, “He should be hiding out in Devaron. Plenty of places to stop and refuel out there.” With this, he flipped the puck off and placed it down, “I don’t speak Devaronese.” He mumbled, leaning back into the booth across from the older man. Greef sighed and pushed the puck towards him, “Look, Mando, that last bounty should be more than enough to buy you a nice refuel, some supplies, and a translator.”

“I don’t do droids, Greef.”

“I didn’t say it had to be a droid.” He said, sliding him a flimsi with a few words and names scrawled across it, “might be worth it to check this out, lower levels of Coruscant.” Din eyed the small piece in his hand before grabbing his puck and turning out on his heel. “I knew you’d settle for a crew eventually!” Greef called out behind him, laughing and settling back along the bench.

*  *  *

He found himself now elbow to elbow with people of all species, bumping against him leaving the tiniest of marks along his already dirtied beskar. He hated it here, dark and damp smelling vaguely of musk and sweat. The visor in his helmet blurred the neon signs around him, beggars and merchants calling out to him shining faded lights near his face. He could see the criminals around him picking their teeth as he walked by. A Mandalorian could be valuable these days, he knew that better than anyone else. He hated Coruscant. The upper levels weren’t much better, all bright incandescent lights and people who thought they were better than everyone else. Like the worst parts of Canto Bight just slightly less flashy.

He let his feet carry him along cracked duracrete road until he found a rundown apartment complex. He followed the words on the flimsi and shuffled up to the lift, selecting the buttons to take him up to the apartment he was looking for. Beneath his helmet, he couldn’t help but small down at the older Rodian woman beside him, how she was hunched over from years of crouching and shuffling. He knew when she looked up, she’d never see a smiling face, just the cold, unforgiving glare of beskar.

Stepping out of the lift, he counted numbers outside doors until he found what he was looking for; 0382, 0383, 0384, 0385. Rapping lightly on the door, he kept his hand at his side until the door swung open.

Din was sure, at that moment, he’d never seen someone more beautiful. You were maybe a head shorter than him, hair fluttering around your shoulders as you stared at him with large, inquisitive eyes. You were humanoid, he was sure of it, but the side of your face was speckled with tiny tattoos, like starry freckles sprayed across your cheek. “I don’t know any Mandalorians.” You’d said, shutting the door quickly, until he kicked his foot out to stop it from shutting. “Greef Karga sent me. I’m looking for Y/N L/N.”

“Hmph,” you’d mumbled, opening the door for him to step inside. “Did he now. Hurry in, you’re letting all my incense out.”

*  *  *

Your quarters were small, a medium sized room with a small kitchen and living space, with a bed tucked in the back surrounded by sheer curtains. You had books stacked up along your walls from systems he hadn’t even heard of, and maps tacked up along your walls. You smelled faintly of florals and smoke, he suspected from the aforementioned incense you had burning near the door, and dressed unlike a woman he expected to be living here. Clad in flowy pants of many colors and a short, tight black long sleeve top, you pulled your hair up out of your face as you talked to him. He watched your nose scrunch as he started talking. “Greef told you to buy me? Did he mention I’m not for sale?” You spoke, sarcasm dripping from your words. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I expected when he said it wasn’t a droid, I wasn’t expecting-”

“A living, breathing, sentient being? With rights?”

“No, but I wasn’t expecting an android either.” This elicited a chuckle from you, and he watched as you pulled the cup up to your lips and took a sip. “You’re a Mandalorian, right?”

“What gave it away?”

“Your dashing personality, but I see there's a sense of humour in this one. I was going to offer you food in private, I can step out. But okay, I’ll hear you out. What do you want?”

“I need a translator. I don’t do languages.”

“You’d be better off with a droid, cheaper and more reliable.”

“I also don’t do droids.”

“I suppose you don’t,” you took another sip from your cup and looked back at him, “Alright, what’s your deal? Looking for a crewmate?”

“Possibly. Greef said you spoke some languages.” You scoffed and leaned back, “I speak nearly all the main forms of communication spoken in the main systems of the galaxy, plus the sneaky stuff I know you bounty hunters need, and twenty nonverbal languages. I dabble in the ancients too.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m good for what you need, and I can use some mean Huttese too for bargaining. Where are we going?”

“Devaron. We leave as soon as you can pack some things. I can pay handsomely.”

“Say less, I’m all yours. How long should I pack for? You gonna keep me around alor’ad?” You’d laughed as you hopped off the stool and made your way over to your trunk in the corner. You smiled as you watched his body respond to the sound of his native tongue, he smirked back and responded, “We’ll see how long I can put up with you mir’sheb.” You laughed back at him as you finished throwing a few small things in a pack and headed towards your door. “C’mon, I’ve already prepaid this place out with all that was left of my credits. I’ve got nothing keeping me here.”

You we’re going to be the death of him, that he was sure of.

[kittsfics]

Simple Touches

The first thing that Jaskier is conscious of when he wakes is a dull pain just above his left hip. The second is a warm hand resting on his chest, just above his heart. The third and last before he lets the darkness reclaim him is Geralt calling his name.

When he's next aware of his surroundings and finally manages to open his eyes, the sun is much lower in the sky and he can hear the crackle of a nearby fire. His side still hurts, sharper now than earlier, and he desperately fights the urge to shift closer to the heat. There's a quiet snort behind him and Roach snuffles at his hair from where she's lying at the edge of the camp.

In the absence of any sign of the witcher, Jaskier slowly gathers his strength to push himself up on one elbow, gritting his teeth and keeping his other hand pressed tight to his bandaged side. After a few moments and some ragged breaths he manages to sit up and shift over to lean back against a tree stump, carefully reaching over extract some food from one of the packs. For the next few minutes he focuses on breathing shallowly between bites, trying not to aggravate his wound, and misses the approaching footsteps.

Geralt clears his throat before dropping down next to him, setting a pair of rabbits beside the fire and regarding Jaskier carefully. Frowning he reaches out, slow enough to give the bard a chance to move away, to lift his shirt to check on the bandages. He's close enough to Jaskier for him to catch Geralt's relieved exhale and the slight relaxing of his shoulders. It's this that gives him the confidence to throw a dramatic hand over his face, "So Geralt, is my time up, are you going to be bereft of my glorious company?"

He doesn't get the immediate annoyed brush off or exasperated snarl he was expecting, instead Geralt's hand trails down to his hip and he leans forward to rest his head against Jaskier's shoulder.

"Um... Geralt?"

"Jaskier, what the hell were you thinking?" He pulls back scowling, but his thumb is still stroking bare skin and there's an edge to his anger that Jaskier can't identify. It's been a while since Geralt's initiated this kind of closeness and he hates how much he'd missed such little touches.

"I'm not sure I was." He breaks eye contact and sets his jaw, staring into the fire and trying to suppress his flush through sheer force of will. Geralt abruptly stands, with the growl that Jaskier had expected earlier, and moves away to start preparing the rabbits to cook.

Jaskier must have drifted off again because the next thing he feels is Geralt gently shaking him. There's the smell of cooked meat and he quickly forces on a bight smile to his face.

"Don't get too used to all this quiet, I've been working on a couple of new ballads that I need…"

"Jaskier." He doesn't think Geralt's ever used his name so much in the last decade, and isn't that sad. "Do not ever do that again."

His tone reminds Jaskier of a half delirious memory he was never sure was real; Geralt standing in front of a, then unknown but obviously powerful, sorceress and asking her to heal him 'whatever the price'. Calm and stoic as he always is, but with the slightest edge of desperation he can only recognise after so long knowing him.

"I fight monsters for a living. Do not get between me and a dagger again. And do not ever get between me and something worse."

To be honest Jaskier doesn't remember what happened, let alone what he was trying to do. There were men coming up behind them on the road as they paused at the crossroad, the sound of weapons being drawn, Geralt grabbing the back of his doublet and pulling his behind him, being surrounded, a snarling bandit charging at Geralt's back. But then nothing else besides a sharp pain in his side and a throbbing headache now thankfully receded.

"Aright. Aright."

"I mean it." Geralt sits back on his heels, regarding Jaskier carefully before turning back to grab some food. They settle carefully and he ends up leaning again Geralt's side, surprised he's still allowed so close. His head is resting on the witcher's shoulder and after a moment a tentative arm curls around his waist. It's comfortable but there's still a lingering sense of unease and pain that puts him on edge, and his appetite his non existent.

"What's wrong Jaskier? A wound has never stopped you talking before, usually the opposite."

"Just tired." He doesn't look away from the fire and can feel more than see Geralt's disbelieving snort, and he's right, that never stops him either.

It's a few minutes after they've finished eating before Geralt breaks the silence again, voice soft. "One day I'm going to go into a tavern and hear news of your death. The great bard struck down; stabbed by a jealous lover or attacked by bandits. You need to be more careful."

"That's not so different than what I expect of you at some point." He shrugs as Geralt's arm round him tightens a little, and a chin rests on top of his head.

"That's my job."

"So you've said. Doesn't make it any easier though."

There's a quick kiss pressed to his hair before Geralt pulls away, standing up to settle Roach for the night and set up their bedrolls. Jaskier hates that it takes such drastic circumstances for Geralt to show any part of the affection he feels. He's never been any good at it, but in the months apart and since meeting Yennefer he seems to have become even more closed off. There are times when Jaskier's half convinced to try talking him into returning to Cintra, to see if having a child around will teach him anything.

He's pulled out of his musings by a gentle tug on his hair and Geralt gestures towards bedrolls and blankets with a small pot of salve. He stays gentle as he applies it to Jaskier's side and rewraps the bandages, gentler still as he presses him down and after a moment slips below the blankets to join him. An arm comes round his chest, and Geralt settles warm against his back. "Try not to move too much." Like he possibly could. "Get some sleep and we'll head for an inn tomorrow."

He doesn’t examine too closely exactly how safe and content he feels right now, or the second kiss pressed to his shoulder before Geralt stills, ever watchful even as Jaskier drifts off.

Sequel here: x

Toss a coin to your writer

[awintersrose]

ObiKabu for kinktober #15 would be interesting.

Kinktober Prompt 15 - Impact Play (From this list of prompts)

This one is more rated M...

*

*

*

His skin is the first thing to draw the eye, genetically unique and begging for adornment. Adornment is something Kabuto can easily give. 

The true challenge is the pride in the older man's eyes, his stance, the line of his spine. It would require building up, breaking down. Exploration, study, and a trained hand. 

Working over a submissive is quite like a complex dissection at times - taking a specimen apart using the very building blocks of systemic response and release. Only these specimens, both precious and conscious, have the benefit of learning who they are, who they could be, who they would be under his control.

Kabuto is well accustomed to bestowing such gifts on deserving targets. 

From the moment he sets eyes on Obito, the decision is made, the plan formed, right down to the implements, namely a sweetly crafted leather martinet gifted to him by his first master.

Learning from the best has had its benefits. Namely exposure to Leather culture steeped in tradition and protocol, most of which he’s adopted as part of his chosen play style. The rest is all his own, and that’s what leads him here, with an especially wondrous specimen all too willing to be tied and plied with pain and the prospect of pleasure.

“I bet no one’s ever used that on you before.”

Kabuto pauses. There’s no need to allow anyone to see him ruffled by such a statement, and really, it’s a silly one.

“I was mentored by a leatherman, and thus spent a lot of time in that community. I’ve bottomed before.”

“Yeah, but did you enjoy it?” Obito’s lips quirk in a slightly cocky smile.

It’s annoying. It’s entrancing. It feels a hell of a lot like a challenge.

“I don’t see where that’s of consequence. It was educational, as it was meant to be. I take it you think you can do better?” Kabuto loops jute rope around Obito’s chest, threading the ends through the bight.

The taller man stoops slightly so that his mouth is close to Kabuto’s ear. “I know I can.”

Definitely a challenge. One that Kabuto would be apt to ignore were it not for the hairs standing on end along the back of his neck and the curiosity that runs rampant at a single thought.

“Then I suggest you put your money where your mouth is. Prove it.” He smirks, letting the rope fall. “I presume you know what you’re doing, yes?”

Somehow their positions are reversed against the wall and Kabuto’s not quite sure how it’s happened. All he knows is that Obito is very warm and very close, with fingers poised at his chin - staring him squarely in the eye.

“I know what I’m doing, cutie. Take your clothes off and I won’t ask you to call me Master.”

“I would have undressed anyway,” Kabuto grumbles, unbuttoning his shirt and laying it aside, followed by his pants. “And you’ve not earned the title so that’s a moot point.”

“Well now you get to undress for me. Same limits as we discussed, or do you have anything more I should avoid?” Obito’s right hand spans Kabuto’s throat, tracing the fluttering pulse there and noting its urgent beat.

“No, my list was comprehensive. I’ll safeword if I need to.” Kabuto peers up at him, rendering a dare of his own. “Shall we begin? Show me what you were so confident about.”

“Oho, aren’t you demanding? I will. One thing first,” Obito traces his jaw then deftly removes Kabuto’s glasses, setting them aside. “Now turn around and put your hands up on the cross.” He gestures to the St. Andrews cross nearby.

Effectively blinded, Kabuto reaches up to hold onto the rich mahogany with a slight sigh. The relief, however, is short lived as leather falls run the length of his spine, then pure warmth presses flush against his back. 

“If you safeword or take your hands down, I’m going to stop. Understood?”

“I understand,” Kabuto replies.

It takes active effort on his part to suppress the shiver that lingers somewhere around his spine, but when a hot exhale rushes across the nape of his neck, his ear, his reactions are rendered involuntary. He can practically hear Obito smile.

“I’m not going to expect you to count, but I am going to expect you to feel every. Last. Bit.” That teasing voice turns darker, almost purring, as if the man has become another person entirely. “And maybe, just maybe you won’t keep those sharp teeth gritted the whole time.”

At once, there is cool air at Kabuto’s back and the first strokes fall, criss crossed lashes laid one at a time across his shoulder blades, their warm points of impact radiating outward. The sensation steals his breath for all that the strokes are light. 

He’d nearly forgotten what a good flogging feels like. The martinet’s falls are shorter than is usually optimal, but they are lavish and well tooled - and they bring Obito closer in proximity. Besides that, Obito wields it well. 

Kabuto does own twin bullhide floggers that would be even more appropriate for the task, but as additional strikes are laid with almost mathematical precision several times over, he forgets all detail of the implements - too focused on the here, and the now. Obito seems to read his reactions in an instant, switching the pace, increasing it, laying incendiary stripes down the muscles of his back and his hips with near flawless technique.

Each fall leaves a mark, even if invisible, stealing away a piece of his sanity, his resolve. It’s as if the dark stranger is weaving a spell wrought in pain and slow-burning pleasure, turning Kabuto’s very nature against him. He had no intention of truly surrendering to his chosen submissive, merely enduring this little challenge, and yet he hears Obito laugh softly in response to something. 

It takes him a moment to realize it’s because he’s uttered a sound. 

“Kabuto - it’s alright if you like it. Let me hear you.” Obito’s broad hand runs the length of Kabuto’s spine and hot lips brush the skin of his neck just below his ear. “I want to.”

The unexpected softness leaves him reeling just before Obito draws away and lays another series of deft strokes across his buttocks and thighs, the martinet whipping through the air so swiftly that Kabuto can hear the tell-tale sound in anticipation. 

Like it? Is that what’s happening? He could yank his hands away from the polished wood, call red and stop the scene in its tracks. Could, but doesn’t. The way that his mental capacity is drifting slowly from his grasp is alarming to say the least.

As leather makes contact with skin, another sound, a gasping sort of cry, gets bitten off in his hearing. The husky voice behind him still urging him on confirms that he is in fact the one guilty of the utterance, and the slight humiliation makes him feel as if he’s teetering on the edge of something.

He just might fall.

It’s strange. Nearly discomfiting. A soft haze lingers short of his inner sight, blurring the edges of sensation and emotion - a bit too far to reach. This is just as well when he’s not so sure he wants to relinquish a logical headspace. Yet as the scene meets its pinnacle, it seems it’s no longer his choice; everything becomes gently fuzzed over, less sharp… better than he imagined. 

So, this must be subspace.

Obito’s hands, now free of the implement, trace the fiery heat glowing upon Kabuto’s skin, as if to soothe, never losing contact as they glide up his shoulders and slowly toward his wrists. His chest meets Kabuto’s back as he guides both hands away from the posts and secures Kabuto in a solid embrace. And just like that, the scene is over.

“Such a good boy.” Obito’s whisper is nearly tender, an unexpected anchor. “Thank you, Kabuto.”

Being called anyone’s boy should rankle and twinge, but somehow it doesn’t. Perhaps in combination with the play session, this is something to be documented in full, perhaps tested once more for the sake of confirmation. Being thanked, on the other hand, feels just right, and as he leans back against Obito, he turns to give him an imperious look. 

“You’re welcome. I admit your technique was satisfactory - you didn’t lie. But next time - I get to do as I like with you.”

A smug grin crosses Obito’s lips as he leans in closer, brushing lips against Kabuto’s cheek. He can feel his new play partner’s breath stutter in his lungs. “Something tells me we'll see about that.”

AO3 Collection

[mandadoration]

hound - vii.

summary: You head to Canto Bight to gather more information about a bounty of yours when you’re ambushed and drugged. Your relationship with Mando is ever confusing.  

word count: 3, 200

pairing: mandalorian x mandalorian!reader

Warnings: non-consensual drug use, swearing, sexually suggestive content, canon-typical violence

a/n: I know I said I wouldn’t update this until next week... But are you complaining? If you follow this story on AO3, you will see that I predict that there will be 14 chapters total!

chapters: i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi | vii  

Read this on AO3

You vaguely remember Mando saying that Canto Bight was nice this time of year, back when you were bleeding all over the floor of the Razor Crest and half delirious. As you fly in, the bright lights of the city almost make your head hurt. You’ve been here once a long time ago, you remember, for an emergency landing that had cost you an arm and a leg just so that you could leave your rented ship overnight. 

It’s a bit of a rough landing about a mile or so away from the city, landing somewhere in an unlit, grassy area, scaring some fathiers away. You head to the back to suit up, Mando trailing after you. 

“We’re looking for someone by the name of Desdre,” he informs. “He was a part of the same intergalactic gang as the bounty. He says he’ll tell us where Jahjon is in exchange for our word that we won’t turn him in.” You tilt your head. It seems suspicious that he was willing to give such precious information in return for safety. There’s no doubt the same thought has crossed his mind. 

“Will we?” you ask. Mando scoffs and slings his rifle over his shoulder and tucks ammo away. 

“We’ll see,” he says curtly, and leaves the ship. You tuck in a few more medshots into your vambrace and check the fuel for your flamethrower and follow him like a shadow. 

--

You don’t feel underdressed, exactly, but in the glitz and glamour of the glitter and expensive fabrics, you and Mando stick out like a sore thumb with your scratched up beskar and arsenal. If Mando is affected by the stares and whispers that follow you, he doesn’t show it. He goes through the alleyways and backstreets of Canto Bight, past the drugged-out spice users and teens using deathsticks, past the couples and trios and straight up orgies on the streets. You’re not quite sure where he’s going, but you stick close to him, warily watching the rooftops. Eventually, he stops at an ornate wooden door, and knocks three times. 

“Who is it?” a singsongy voice calls out. The door swings open to reveal a very scantily dressed man, gold paint rimming his dark eyes, face flushed from drinking and eyes red from spice. He pushes his curly hair up and out of his face, the bangles on his wrist jingling, eyeing you and Mando up and down hungrily. “Oh hello there,” he purrs, and practically lounges against the doorframe. “Mandalorians? What brings you here to my humble abode?” You shift your eyes away from his searching gaze to look beyond him and into the room. Moans and giggles drift into the open air. Did Mando just bring you to drug den?

“We’re looking for Desdre,” Mando answers. “Urgent business.” The man raises a carefully plucked eyebrow and squints his eyes. 

“Like what?” he questions. There are hickies and bruises lining his throat.

“None of your business, that’s for sure,” Mando says, and you think that the man is about to refuse you entry, but his face breaks into a charming smile and motions for you two to come in. 

“Be my guest,” he drawls. He doesn’t move from his position, and forces you and Mando to brush past him, and you grit your teeth as you feel hands feel you up. Judging by the sudden tense shoulders, the same has happened to Mando. The man’s voice leans in close and you do your best to try not flinch from the sudden wave of perfume and musk. His grip on your wrist is hot. “If you and your friend ever decide to come back, not on business, just ask for Pretre, hm?” he whispers, voice low and wanton. You quickly pull yourself away from him, ignoring how he laughs, and follow Mando to the back. “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Mando!” his voice calls out after you. 

The further back into the room you go, the less clothes there are, and the more blissed out the people look. Eventually, you come to an area of the room blocked off by velveteen curtains. You push through it, and wince.

You didn’t think that people wore those gold metal bikinis willingly. 

Still, it’s better than nothing, and your gaze settles on a man, sitting in the center of the pile of blankets and soft pillows, covered by a thin robe, pulling his face from the neck of an attractive Twi’lek whose hands are tangled in his dark hair, and grinning when he sees you and Mando. A few men and women peel themselves off of the floor to prowl around you. It’s hazy in here from smoke and stifling from all the bodies. The lights from outside are barely trickling in, heavy curtains on every window, and your eyes strain to adjust.

“Desdre,” Mando says. You scowl under your helmet as you grab the wrist of someone who was feeling up your leg. 

“Mando!” Desdre crows. He flourishes his arm out. “Come sit! You and your friend- please, relax.” Neither of you move, and Desdre at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. “Well, can I offer you something to drink? Some spice? Or a girl?” he offers, waggling his eyebrows. 

“We’re not here to waste time,” Mando says. Desdre sighs and gets up, soothing the girls that whine and ruffling the hair of a boy that kisses his calf as he moves to stand in front of you and Mando, pipe dangling in his fingers.

“Always business, Mando, and no play,” he complains in a lilting accent. “Who’s your friend?” He trails a finger up your armor before tapping it a couple of times. “Another Mandalorian?” He takes a deep drag from his pipe and blows sickly sweet smoke in your face. Although your helmet filters out most of it, the smell still makes your head ring. 

“Yes.”

“Hm, interesting,” he hums. He stares intensely at you. 

“Jahjon. You said know where he is?” Mando asks. Desdre nods, and goes back to join his harem, leaning back languidly as they crawl over him again. He teasingly smacks the rear of someone you can’t quite see.

“I do, my friend,” he says. “But remember what I asked for? My safety guaranteed for information.” At that, more people slip in the room past the dividing curtains. You count in your head. There’s seven people in here now, all looking at you like you’re their next meal. 

“You have our word,” Mando says, but Desdre clicks his tongue and shakes his head. 

“I need to hear it from both of you,” he orders, his piercing gaze looking straight at you. You clench your jaw, and you want to smack the smug grin from his face. “I’ve heard about you, you know? The Dog? Loyal to your master and hunting together. I’ve heard you’re ruthless in the field.” All the heads in the room have turned to look at you in unison, and you would’ve found it unsettling if there wasn’t a cold weight settling in your stomach. “Especially how that poor Gran came back in pieces, body mangled like he’d been bashed in.” He’s playing you, you know it, and you shouldn’t let it affect you, but your temper is uncharacteristically short. “Your bite really is worse than your bark, huh? I wonder what you’re like in bed. If you fuck as brutally as you kill.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Mando finally says frustratedly. He steps forward. “If you won’t help us--”

“You have my word,” you grit out, interrupting Mando. You hate this. You hate how you’ve become notorious and people have started assuming, more bold and daring, pushing your buttons and bending you, expecting you to break. You hate that people have started twisting the facts about you to make you more vicious, more blood-thirsty and unforgiving when that’s not anywhere remotely close to the truth. You don’t know how it’s come to this. You haven’t really even done anything remotely interesting. As far as you’re concerned, you’re nobody. A Mandalore without a clan who doesn’t even know why there are people so curious about you. You think the world is against you, using your moment of weakness where your nightmares have been gnawing at you to try and knock you down, degrading you down to a feral animal. You want to prove them wrong. You’ve bled for Mando to know you're human, and you really don’t want to bleed again.

“And so she speaks,” Desdre says, looking pleasantly surprised, and Mando glances at you. “Mando finally took the muzzle off you?”

But you decide to play the part of that mangy mutt, and bare your teeth.

You don't know what it is that made you do it, what possessed you to make such a rash decision, but you pull the blaster from your holster and point it at Desdre. 

“Jahjon. Where is he?” you demand, voice low and dangerous. The people flocking on either side of Desdre scramble away. 

“Dog,” Mando hisses. “Put that down.” You ignore him and stalk closer, your blaster still carefully trained. Desdre doesn’t even look fazed. He looks at you curiously. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Something’s wrong. Your limbs feel too heavy and the room is spinning. It’s too bright in here, even in low-light. 

“Answer me,” you bark. Your grip wavers, and Desdre smiles. 

“I don’t know.” 

“What?”

Mando walks up to stand close to you and tries to pull your arm back, but you wrench it out his grip, and accidentally fire into the ceiling. 

The room descends into chaos. 

Desdre stumbles back, and his little harem get up, looking alert, drawing their own weapons, and as more people flood into the room, surrounding you, you know what this is. 

Desdre never had the intentions to tell you anything. 

And this was an ambush. 

You fire your blaster a few more times, hitting Desdre in the leg and another shot going through the chest of a half-naked humanoid that you can barely make out from your blurred vision before it’s knocked out of your hand. You lash out, your fist catching the jaw of some other poor soul, sending them flying back and taking two more down with them. Your vambrace shoots out a medshot, knocking the Twi’lek he was kissing before out, and your grappling line tangles around their ankle. Yanking on it, another harem girl stumbles over them. 

A staff knocks you over the head, increasing the ringing that’s building up in your ears. You whip around to see Mando shoot them with his own blaster, their body falling limp at your feet. He’s got blood smeared on his chestplate as he fights around the small room. It’s too cramped and too risky to use his amban rifle, but overall, most of the attackers are already dead or knocked out, too drugged up and sluggish to take down two Mandalorians. A tap on your shoulder distracts you. You turn around, fists raised, but a sharp pain twinges in your neck. It’s Pretre, and the gold paint in around his eyes sparkles as you raise a hand and pull out a syringe. Your chest feels tight as you drop it. It shatters on the ground, red liquid seeping out and soaking into the carpet. 

“I forgot that your helmet filters,” he says. Pretre’s voice sounds slow and deep as the room starts to tilt. “I was wondering why it took so long for this to happen. Luckily I had this. My brother is too incompetent. Ah, well, hindsight, you know?” A smile plays on his lips, and you wonder why you hadn’t seen the resemblance before. A wave of pleasure rides over you, but then it starts dragging you down, making your eyelids heavy.

“You… what?” you ask stupidly. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and fire is dancing across your skin. “What did you…?” Everything’s muffled. He puts a hand on your chest and gives the gentlest of pushes, but it topples you over as you collapse on the ground. He stands over you, a pitying smile on his face, showing the barest of white teeth. You vaguely register Mando’s voice calling out to you, but it’s cut off and there’s more blaster fire. 

“I do hope I didn’t give you too much,” Pretre sighs. He bends down and crouches next to you, running a single finger down the length of your helmet, dragging a finger across your neck, nails digging in. “Oh dear. Maybe just a smidge too much… Just ride it out, and you’ll be fine.” He hooks a finger under your helmet, and you cry out weakly, but you’re arms are too heavy and your mind is too light to stop him. Just as he finds the button to release your helmet, something catches his attention. His head snaps up and he pulls away. “Next time,” he promises, “and my offer still stands.” He leaves you on the floor, and your vision is swimming, the ceiling and tapestries on the wall swirling together as you feel sweat dripping down your neck. Whatever Pretre put in you was making you burn up and feel sickly. You hear panting next to your ear. You turn your head--

-- and there’s a strill snarling in your face. 

You reel back, away from its dripping jowls as it pads closer to you. It bays at your sudden reaction, and more hounds appear, surrounding you as you gasp in shallow breaths and scramble away, tripping over bodies and pillows in your effort to get away. They follow you, eyes red and glowing as they bare their sharp teeth at you. Their claws are tearing up the carpet underneath them. The strills come closer and closer, but your back is already up against the wall, and your blaster is too far out of your reach. The one in the front, the biggest and angriest of the pack, goes right to your face, nose touching your helmet, and you close your eyes and curl into yourself as howling echoes in your ears. 

“Dog!” 

Your head snaps up. The hounds are gone, and Mando is hovering over you. He holds out your blaster for you to take. 

“We have to go,” he says, out of breath as he looks around. “That stupid kid who met us at the door- he took Desdre and left. We have to leave before more come.” You stare at him blankly. Where had the dogs gone? When you look, the carpet in front of you is intact and whole, and there’s no slobber. You slowly reach up to take the blaster, holding it in your hand. You pull yourself up, head swiveling as the howling picks up again. 

“Did you hear that?” you choke out. You wave the blaster wildly as you spin to try and find the source. 

“Hey, calm down--” You jerk back as his hand rests on your shoulder. His voice is loud and booming in your ears. Spots dance in your vision as Mando grabs your hand and tugs you along, through the curtains, through the now-empty room, and into the alley ways of Canto Bight. The lights are bright and sends piercing pains up your head as you stumble along. 

“Mando,” you gasp out. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your feet under you. You think you hear dogs running behind you, but every glance back comes up empty. 

“What?” he grunts, pulling you into another winding backstreet. Bile rises up in your throat with each yank. 

“Mando,” you call out again. There are phantom hands against your throat and you can’t breathe. “Mando.” He finally stops and pulls you into an alcove. 

“What? What’s wrong?” he hisses, and then he takes in you heaving shoulders, your choked out pleas, and hold your head in his hands. He calls your name, your real name, soft and pleading, and that’s when it peaks. 

You faintly register how your eyes roll to the back of your head and you collapse like a puppet with its strings cut, Mando just barely managing to catch you before you can hit your head. But his hands add on to your discomfort as it feels like there are thousands upon thousands of hand pulling, tugging, and scratching you, around your throat and holding your arms and legs down. A panic swells in you and you struggle to get away and push the hands off you. It’s smothering, the suffocation in your lungs and your head making you dizzy. It feels like they’re trying to pry your helmet off, but as you go through the streets of Canto Bight, jostling in someone’s arms, you realize it feels like they’re trying to rip your head from your shoulders and tear you limb from limb.

You think you hear screaming, and as more and more things come into focus, you realize it’s you. You shoot up from your cot, gasping and Mando shushes you and calms you down. You flail around, trying to make sense of things. 

You can breath, finally, as the recycled air of the Razor Crest buzzes over you. And you realize it’s light outside. 

“How long--”

“Just a day,” Mando answers, and he sounds exhausted. You wonder if he stayed up to make sure you were okay. “What happened?”

“Drugged,” you say. “I… I don’t know what it was.”

“You were freaking out,” he starts, “horribly. You were screaming and trying to claw your own skin off, talking about dogs and strills.” He eyes you warily, taking in your hunched stance and bouncing knees. “You wanna talk about it?”

And although you know you should, that those hallucinations are fresh and feels as real as memories, the words die in your throat as you clam up. “I can’t,” you admit. “I’m sorry, it’s not that I don’t trust you, I just--” Mando abruptly stands up. 

“It’s fine,” he says, but his tone is short and you can tell he’s irritated. “I’ve located the last of the bounties. We’ll be there in a few hours.” He leaves to go back up the cockpit and you tamp down the urge to bang your head against the wall. The emotional stalemate is driving you up the wall. You can’t understand why Mando is upset you can’t confide in him when he himself is the most closed off person you’ve ever met. If anything, you’ve given him more than he has. After a moment, you go meet up with him. 

You see a red liquid shimmering in a vial in his pocket. He follows your gaze to see what you’re staring at, and he pulls it out and hands it to you. “Mnemiotic drug,” he says. “Imps used it all the time. That’s what they gave you. Modified, but the base is the same. Hallucinations, raised body temperature, heightened aggression, increased sensitivity. Brain damage in extreme cases.”

“What happened to Pretre and Desdre?” you ask him. He doesn’t need to describe the effects if you’ve lived through them. 

“They got what they deserved,” he says, and leaves it at that. 

--

Hound Tag List: @knockbeforeyouspeak​​ @gothtechie​ @killtherandomness​

[zoawrites]

You're writing is fantastic and if you're still looking for prompts I have two. Either a commuter AU, they take the same train or something. Or, something mountain man Ben (or Rey).

Oh my gosh thank you so much!!! I love these prompts and honestly had such a hard time deciding which one to go for! In the end I went with the second. I hope you like! 

Rated Teen

Also on AO3

++++

Rey’s car stalled halfway up the mountain. And now here she was, trudging along a deserted highway, thunder rumbling overheard and lightning making her flinch. The air was thick with the promise of rain.

Rose had planned a beautiful wedding at the scenic Canto Bight Resort and Spa but Rey was probably going to die under a mudslide or get eaten by a wolf or something. And it was dark and getting darker. Night became an abyss due to the storm that was going to open up over her any minute.

She wouldn’t have been in this mess if her stupid boss had just given her the day off so she could travel with the rest of the wedding party. But no, Unkar had to be Unkar and be a dick about it.

The first patters of rain hit the top of Rey’s head and she groaned, checking her phone for the umpteenth time just in case, by some miracle, it had a signal. Nothing.

Lightning flashed and thunder clapped a few seconds later, alerting Rey that the storm was directly overhead. After about thirty seconds of self-pity, she decided the best course of action to go ahead and retrace her steps back to her car. Maybe she’d be soaked by the time she got back but at least she wouldn’t get electrocuted.

So she turned. Straight into the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

“Hey!” Rey yelped, jumping to the side and flattening herself against the rock face of the mountain.

The truck that had almost hit her screeched to a halt and she watched it reverse so that its headlights were directly on her. Rey raised a hand to her eyes and blinked under the onslaught. She heard a door slam and the silhouette of a person she was pretty sure was the size of a bear appeared in the light.

“Did I hit you?” A deep voice asked, laced with concern. Maybe it was her exhaustion, maybe she’d just finally gone crazy, but that voice did things to her insides.

“Almost.”

The figure took a step forward but Rey still couldn’t see the man who might be her rescuer and took a step back. He stopped. “Are you okay?” he asked

“I’m fine. It’s my fault for being in the middle of the road, anyway.”

She saw his head tilt to the side. “I’m guessing you’re the owner of that car sitting by itself a ways back?”

“Yeah. It stalled.”

“I figured.” The man looked up as the rain increased its tempo. “If you want I can give you a ride. Either back to your car or… where were you going?”

“Canto Bight Resort.” Rey shifted on her feet. She wasn’t sure about getting into a strange man’s truck but she didn’t like the idea of being alone in a mountain thunderstorm either. “I’m on my way to a wedding.”

Thunder clapped and she jumped. The man moved forward again but Rey took another step back and he halted.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t be too trusting either.” He said wryly.

“How do I know you’re not some kind of axe murderer? Or worse?” Rey asked, folding her arms over her chest.

She could see the huge outline of his shoulders shrug. “I guess you don’t. But I’m not. I just want to help.”

Rey hesitated. This could either be a funny story she told Rose and the others when she saw them or the end of her life. She didn’t like the 50/50 aspect of the situation.

The wind picked up and Rey swore she heard rock crumbling back down the road. The man must have heard it, too, because she heard him mumble a low curse.

“Listen, we need to get in my truck but I want you to feel safe. I have a gun-”

“You have a what now?” Rey squeaked, definitely thinking the odds were swaying in the worse direction now.

He put a hand up. “Calm down. You can have it until we get this sorted out. Do you know how to handle a gun?”

“Yes.” She did. Various life experiences had led her to learn out of necessity. But she didn’t own one. Her answer surprised him, though, from what she could tell from his voice.

“Huh. Let me get it and I’ll slide it across to you, okay?”

Well, he was either going to shoot her or he was being honest. She didn’t really have much of a choice except to see how it all played out.

“Okay. But if you murder me I’m going to haunt you.”

He laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that raised goosebumps on Rey’s arms, in a good way.

“I don’t doubt it.” She saw him walk back to his truck and a few seconds later he did as he said, sliding a handgun across the asphalt to her. Rey knelt, one eye on him, to pick it up and checked to see if it was loaded. It was and the safety was on.

“One point for you.” She said, her anxiety level lowering a bit now that she had a way to defend herself. By this time the rain was falling in earnest and Rey’s light jacket was almost soaked through to her shirt. She slipped the gun in her jacket pocket, took a deep breath, and walked forward to the opposite side of the truck from where he stood. “I’ll get in.”

The cab light was on, thankfully, and when he was done shaking his wet hair out, she finally saw the face of her possible rescuer might-still-be-an-axe-murderer.

He was definitely big, somehow seeming larger in his red flannel shirt. She really didn’t know how he fit in the truck, a fact which should have made Rey more nervous but the rest of his features and the gun in her pocket minimized her worry.

Features like his beautifully asymmetrical face, peppered with moles she couldn’t help wanting to trace. And his mouth. It was unfair that a man had a mouth like that. Full and begging to be kissed and framed by a little scruff. His dark hair hung in wet strands around that bewitching face, just brushing his shoulders, framing brown eyes that were flecked with gold and maybe another color; Rey couldn’t make it out. But she knew that she could stare into them forever. The only thing that cut through the smooth lines of his face was a sharp scar that ran from his right eye - by some stroke of good fortune missing it entirely - down his neck.

“The name’s Ben,” he said, in that voice that was definitely affecting her in ways it shouldn’t.

Ben. She like that. He was staring at her for some reason and it took Rey a full three seconds before she realized why.

“Oh, I’m Rey.” She berated herself inwardly for acting stupid. “Um, so how far is it to the resort?”

“I hate to break it to you, Rey, but the resort is on the other side of the mountain.”

“What?” Rey exclaimed. Had she really taken that many wrong turns? “I-I can’t believe this. Tonight is the bachelorette party and I’m going to miss it!” She groaned and buried her face in her hands, shaking her head.

“I’m sure they’ll understand.” Ben sounded sympathetic. “They’re probably worried about you.”

Rey jolted. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! I need to call! Do you have a phone on you? Mine’s not getting a signal.”

Ben grimaced. “I don’t own a cell phone. But I’ve got a landline at my cabin. I know how it sounds,” he said, responding to Rey’s obvious suspicious scowl. “But I swear I’m not trying to lure you there.”

A low, frustrated growl emanated from Rey’s throat. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

He had the decency to look contrite.

Well, at least if he killed her, he’d be sorry about it.

****

Ben’s cabin wasn’t too far from where he’d found her, but it was off the beaten path a bit, surrounded by a copse of trees that might look ethereal in the daylight. No one would guess a cabin was there if they didn’t know exactly where to find it, which made Rey nervous enough to keep her wits about her.

The building itself was small, with a chimney stack and porch that ran the length of the cabin. No lights were on inside, leading Rey to think he lived alone.

The storm had not let up one bit since Rey had joined Ben. The opposite. Lightening flashed in dazzling patterns across the sky, volleying thunder down on the earth along with a curtain of rain.

Ben drove his truck right up to his porch. There wasn’t really a driveway from what Rey could see.

“We’ll have to make a run for it.” He said, reaching for his door. “Let’s go!”

She jumped out at his signal and made for his porch but despite the run they were both soaked to the bone by the time they made it inside. Rey sighed. Perfect. She didn’t have a change of clothes with her because her suitcase was in her car.

Rey decided to linger by the door - just in case - while he went inside and turned on the lights. The cabin was, in a word, cozy. It had a small living space that consisted of a couch, an old, a coffee table, and a small dining table in the space between the tiny kitchen and the living room. There was a pot-belly stove in lieu of a fireplace; she guessed the door on the opposite side of the room led to the bedroom. What was weird was that there wasn’t a computer or TV in sight.

“It’s not much.” Ben looked around from the center of the living room, filling it easily with his own presence. “I don’t usually have guests over.” He frowned as he stared at her, stiff at the door. “Do you still think I’m an axe murderer?”

“No.” Rey cautiously stepped further into the cabin. “But maybe you’re just a regular murderer.”

He grunted and pointed at a black phone hanging on the kitchen wall before opening a draw and pulling out a phone book. “You can use that. I have the number for the resort here,” he indicated the book, “if you need it. I’m going to change. I promise I won’t come out with an axe.” Rey watched him walk to the door she’d guessed was his room but didn’t move to the phone until he’d shut said door behind him.

She called Rose and explained the situation.

“Are you okay? Are you safe? Is this guy okay?” Rose asked, shooting out questions faster than Rey could respond.

“Yes. Yes. And I think so.” Rey answered. She glanced toward the bedroom. “He’s… something.”

“Wait. Is he hot?”

Rey hesitated, a little guilty for thinking the guy was attractive at the same time she thought he was a psycho. “Maybe.”

“Rey! Did you find a hot lumberjack?”

“He’s not a lumberjack,” Rey retorted. “At least, I don’t think he is. I don’t actually know what he does. Maybe he’s…”

The bedroom door opened to reveal said not-lumberjack with hair brushed away from his face in a dry pair of jeans and a green flannel shirt which was somehow better than the red one and Rey got distracted.

“Radio said the road back down the mountain is washed out,” he announced unceremoniously, as if it wasn’t Rey’s nightmare situation. “We won’t be able to get out until tomorrow.”

Flannel forgotten, Rey groaned and repeated the news to Rose. “I’m so sorry,” she said, on the verge of tears. “I wanted to be there tonight and have fun with you.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You need to be safe, first and foremost. You’ll be here for the rehearsal tomorrow.” Rose’s voice took on a sly note. “But maybe you can have a little fun with the hot mountain man.”

Rey choked, earning a raised brow from her host and turned her back to him to hide her red face. “Rose.” She hissed only to receive a guffaw in return. “That’s not happening. Anyway. I should let you go and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Okay. Be safe. Love you, girl.”

A fond smile broke out on Rey’s face. “I will. Love you, too. Bye.”

After she hung up the phone there was a soft cough behind her and she turned to see Ben holding up a folded flannel shirt - blue this time - and a pair of sweatpants. “You can borrow these tonight.” He said, a little gruffly, Rey thought. “So, uh, your clothes can dry.”

A wracking shudder went through her body and Rey remembered that she was cold and wet and probably looked like a drowned cat. Anything warm and dry was a blessing at this point so she met him in the living room and gratefully took the clothes.

“If you want you can take a shower, too.” He cleared his throat and Rey imagined his ears -what she could see through his hair - were tinged pink. “There’re clean towels in there. Through the bedroom on your right.”

Rey nodded. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Um.” Rey blushed again. “Really, thanks.”

He waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

She smiled and, yes, there was definitely a rosy hue on his ears. Rey’s heart did a funny patter and she walked as calmly as she could to the bathroom to avoid doing something stupid.

****

When she emerged - swimming and feeling a bit too comfortable in Ben’s huge clothes but warm and clean - she smelled something delicious coming from the living room and her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since getting a bag of M&Ms at a gas station. Seven hours ago.

She followed her nose and was met by the sight of Ben leaning over a pan on the pot-belly stove.

“You actually use that thing to cook?” She asked, padding into the room and wincing. Her shoes and socks were currently sitting in Ben’s shower along with the rest of her clothes to dry, so the bare wood floor was cold on her feet. Ben looked back and she watched his Adam’s apple bob when he took her in before quickly resuming his position.

“Yeah.” He replied. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

“Starved.” Rey joined him by the stove and breathed deeply as she peered down at the pasta and meat concoction he was stirring. “What is it?”  

“Uh, Hamburger Helper.” He seemed embarrassed. “I don’t really have much.”

“Hey, that sounds great.” She assured him. “Honestly, I’d probably eat the entire pan if you let me.”

“You can if you want.” Was his simple reply. A small smile lifted Rey’s mouth. He meant it, she could tell. Which made the offer rather sweet. “So,” he added. “Did you manage to get through to your party?”

“Yeah. They were relieved that I’m okay. Is there anything I can do to help?” Rey looked about, swinging her arms a little.

Ben shook his head, already ladling the food into bowls sitting on the stove. “I’ve got it. Sit down. You’ve got to be tired.” He handed her an almost overflowing bowl and a spoon.

“Thanks,” Rey murmured. “Oh, by the way, I put your gun on your dresser. I don’t think I need it.” Ben’s shoulders seemed to relax at that and he gave her a nod and a slight smile. She slowly made her way to the dining table - where there were a couple of cups of water already sitting - and sat at one end. He joined her at the opposite side and for awhile they ate in silence. Rey was halfway through her bowl when he spoke again.

“So, uh, how’d you and your fiancee meet?”

She almost coughed out the mouthful she’d just taken. She quickly took a deep drink of water to swallow down the food. “My what?” she gasped, patting her chest. “I don’t have a fiancee.”

“Oh.” Ben blinked, evidently surprised. “I thought… the wedding… and you told the person on the phone…” he stopped, this time flushing across his face. “Sorry.”

Rey burst into laughter. “Don’t be. It’s my best friend’s wedding. That’s who I was talking to before. Rose. I’m one of her bridesmaids. I’m, um,” she looked at her bowl and stirred her pasta around. “I’m single.” Her eyes flicked up to his and down again.

“Oh.” Ben repeated and picked at his own food, almost thoughtfully. But there wasn’t any other reaction. Rey didn’t know why she was disappointed.

Over the next few minutes of silence, Rey took the opportunity to look around a bit more, observing a small desk by one of the front windows, covered in paper and pens and books. There was a bookcase, too, stuffed to the edges. When she finished her food, she put the bowl in the kitchen sink and meandered back to the bookcase.

“I hope you don’t think this is a rude question,” she picked up a book -Crime and Punishment - to idly flip through its pages. “But why are you living out here?”

Alone?

Ben was in the kitchen, placing his own dish in the sink. “I needed the quiet.”

It was such a non-answer answer Rey couldn’t help that her curiosity was piqued. “It must be lonely sometimes,” she murmured, strolling over to the desk. There was a stack of empty pages there and expensive-looking ink pens. “Do you write?” she asked. She didn’t see any marked pages.

“A little.” He seemed to admit it begrudgingly.

“What do you write about?” Thunder shook the house and the lights flickered, reminding Rey of the storm outside. “Are the lights going to go out?” she asked, unable to hide the fear that caused her voice to waver.

“They might.” He frowned, apparently catching her tremble, and joined her at the desk. “The house is on an old generator and in a big stor-”

A bright flash of light blinded Rey and the loudest thunderclap yet that night shook the house and that was when the cabin went dark. Rey inhaled a sharp breath and hid herself against Ben’s broad chest, gripping his shirt in tight fists.

“Whoa, whoa.” She heard him exclaim, but he gentled nearly immediately and she felt his hands land on her back. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Rey took a few deep breaths, inhaling his scent - woodsy and warm - before she forced herself to take a step back. It was still dark. Even the lightning had disappeared. She struggled to find light anywhere but there was nothing and she’d left her phone in the bathroom. “Okay, I’m not fine.”

“What can I do?” he asked.

“Light.” She whispered. “Anything with light.”

A moment later she heard a lighter click. The little flame was like a beacon of hope and Rey let out a shuddering breath of relief at its presence. The light also revealed Ben’s worried face and Rey took another step back, wrapping her arms around herself. He didn’t make a move, giving her the space she needed.

“I, um, I’m claustrophobic.” She explained, hating that she had to say it in the first place. “So when it goes pitch black like this…” She swallowed. “I’ve been doing really well, actually. But when I’m stressed it kind of… it gets worse.”

Something like understanding flickered across his face. “I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll go out and-”

“No, please!” Rey’s heart did a jump start at the thought of being alone in the dark. “I don’t want to be alone…” she winced. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so needy. Damn it.” She shook her hands out, anxiety doing its unsavory worst and feeding all her insecurities.

“Rey, stop.” He slid his free arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. For some reason she let him. “It’s okay. We’ve all got something.”

She wasn’t used to this. Another person comforting her in the middle of an attack. Normally she was alone. It always happened when she was alone. Rey pressed her forehead to his shoulder and rested her hands on his waist. His flannel shirt was soft against her skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Ben’s arm tightened just a bit, drawing her further into his embrace. She didn’t mind. “I write poetry.” His voice was low and close to her ear.

Rey smiled. Poetry.

“About what?”

“About everything.”

“Will you… will you read me some?”

There was a pause. “Yes.”

****

“They’re amazing,” Rey said. Ben had just finished reciting a few of his works, using a battery-operated emergency lamp. He’d also lit a few candles and stoked the fire in the stove. Altogether there was enough light now that Rey didn’t feel as anxious. All the same, she was sitting close beside him. He had the lamp, after all and Rey had no interest in being further away from it than necessary. Or maybe it was him she didn’t want to be parted from. She didn’t want to think about it too hard. “Are you published?”

The lamp revealed a blush. “I don’t write for that.”

“Nor should you. But they’re truly beautiful, Ben.” Rey tried to put as much earnestness in her voice as possible. “You should be recognized for them. Something to think about.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugged.

Rey could listen to him read his poems all night, but she wanted to know more about him. The strange, large flannel-wearing poet who lived on a generator in the mountains. “What did you do before living here?”

“I, uh, I was in the military.” He cleared his throat. “Retired a couple of years ago.”

That might explain why he wanted to be so far away from civilization. And the gun. And the scar. But the fact also deepened the enigma.

“What branch?”

“I…” he paused and pressed his lips together. “Marines.”

Rey got the sense he didn’t want to talk about whatever those experiences were. So she didn’t press, even though she wanted to. She understood wanting to keep certain parts of yourself a secret. “I guess it makes sense you wanted some peace and quiet, then. And, wow, you found the perfect place.”

He huffed out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I guess. What about you?” he tilted his head to the side. “Rey. Who are you? What’s your story?”

The question was deep and inane at the same time. “I’m a small town girl living in a lonely world,” she replied and he snorted. “I don’t really have a story.”

“Everyone has a story.”

Rey rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true author.”

“Hm. You’re avoiding.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a little bit away from  him, defensive. “Your life, from what I can tell, is about avoiding literally everything.”

He gave a nod. “I’m not avoiding anything. You are.”

Now he was just insulting her. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

A muscle under Ben’s left eye twitched. “Yeah. You’re right.”

He didn’t apologize, only looked her in the eye, as if he could see right through her. Could read her thoughts.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Ben obediently averted his eyes, looking instead at his poetry notebook. Rey felt a little bad for snapping at him. He may have been a little rude but she hadn’t needed to be rude back. She was going to apologize when he spoke again.

“I was in covert ops,” he said quietly. “I did… I was a part of things that I can’t talk about and wouldn’t talk about even if I could.” Rey hadn’t excepted the sudden candor and certainly hadn’t expected the content. “We all have something we want to run from,” he continued. He didn’t raise his eyes but his voice was steady. “That we want to hide from.”

“Is that what you’re doing out here?” she interjected. “Hiding?”

“No.”

“How so?”

“The quiet helps me think. I write to verbalize those thoughts. I read. I write about what I read. Then I write about what happened. Those notebooks aren’t for anyone but me, though.” He sighed. “That’s my burden.”

Rey wet her lips and took a deep breath. He’d shared. A lot. She didn’t know why. But for some reason she wanted to reciprocate. Maybe she felt she owed him. She pulled her knees up and sat cross legged on the couch, folding her hands together tightly in her lap.

“I’m a middle-school teacher. For high-risk kids. I was one, once.” She swallowed past her racing heart, which seemed to have jumped into her throat. “I’m claustrophobic because, as a kid, I was in foster care. I had… I lived with someone who - as a punishment - would lock me in a closet. In the dark. For hours. Sometimes a whole day. I ran away a lot. And ended up in the closet a lot.”

She winced at the silence that followed; that usually followed after she revealed that part of her past. It wasn’t something she normally told someone the first time she met them. Even Rose hadn’t found out until two years after Rey had met her. But with Ben it was, not exactly easy, but like she was supposed to. Like he was meant to hear it just like this.

When she gained the courage to look at Ben and gauge his reaction, she saw he was still. Barely even seemed to be breathing. But his hands were curled into tight fists.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a thickness to her voice she wished wasn’t there. Crying wouldn’t help the awkwardness go away. “That’s a lot to lay on somebody. I mean, it’s not like ‘oh I had a dog and he died’. It’s… yeah, I’m sor-”

A large hand covered both of hers.

“Stop.”

Rey shivered and swallowed. He slipped his hand between hers and she closed around it tightly.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” he said. “Never for that.”

She released a shaky breath and nodded, looking at him. The sincerity - the caring - in his expression took her breath away. “Thank you.” She focused on their clasped hands and huffed a laugh. “You know, I’m never this deep with strangers.”

“I guess I must be special, huh?” She heard the smile in his voice and raised her eyes to his.

“Yes, I think you are,” she murmured. A heaviness fell into the room that had nothing to do with the humid storm and everything with the way Ben was looking at her. Even though it was dim she could still make out how his eyes dropped to her lips and without much forethought she leaned in. Their lips met in a brief, gentle touch but Rey was sure just from that she wanted more.

“Do you usually kiss people the first time you meet them?” he asked softly, their faces still close. She shook her head.

“Never.”

He nodded before he kissed her again with more heat, tugging her close, and Rey pressed her palms to his cheeks, holding him to her.

It seemed right, somehow, to have him hold her like this. To have his lips on hers and on her cheeks and throat; his hands at all the right places, leaving fire in their wake. It seemed like he was the only one who should.  Like it was the most natural thing in the world even though they’d only known each other mere hours.

She hoped in the morning he wouldn’t regret it. She knew she wouldn’t. If anything, she hoped there’d be more. More kisses, more days, more nights with him. More time to learn about him and for him to learn about her.

Maybe fate had finally - finally - decided to be kind.

As it happened, that was exactly what fate had in store.

[myriadimagines]

Misjudged

Star Wars (Sequels) One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Finn

Other Characters: Poe Dameron, Rose Tico, DJ, Phasma, Armitage Hux, BB-8

Warnings: violence, mentions of death

Requester: anonymous

Request: “One-shot request for Finn (sw), where reader is part of the resistence, when Finn is joining and first reader is really wary of him, don't trust him, but Finn saves them on a mission and after that they are drifting closer and closer and it turns out they both have feelings for each other. Maybe they confess their feelings during a no more hope situation, but in the end it turns out just right? Thank you very much!! You are an amazing writer!!”

Word Count: 2,872

A/N: finn and john boyega deserve so much better. anyway i hope you like it and thank you so much for your kind message!!!! this is basically situated in the last jedi plot since i didn’t know where else in the timeline to put this, and i felt like i started off okay then just.......... went downhill

please reblog/leave comments, they’re very much appreciated!

Your name: submit What is this?

You became familiar with Finn’s name and story long before you ever met him, his controversial switching of allegiance a popular story within the Resistance. You’d hear his name in passing, while mechanics passed tools to each other over battered droids they were repairing, over tables in the cafeteria during lunch, between squads of pilots as they jogged towards the hanger with their helmets tucked under their arms. He had quickly garnered quite the reputation, a Resistance hero, his inside knowledge of the First Order making him a valuable asset.

It was Finn’s knowledge, after all, that helped the Resistance to destroy the Starkiller Base before the First Order could use it to destroy you all. Without him, you have no doubts that D’Qar, alongst with the entire Resistance, would’ve been blasted into pieces, nothing but debris floating amongst the galaxy. 

And yet, you still can’t seem to trust him.

You try and ignore your suspicions as your gaze fixates on Finn, who explains to Poe logistics of the tracker the First Order is using to follow the Resistance fleet, Rose interjecting into every other sentence with additional details. You perch on the edge of Leia’s bed, the leather of your jacket creaking ever so slightly as you fold your arms across your chest, watching as Poe slowly nods, absorbing the new information Finn rapidly throws at him. Poe gets up, walking over to you and Leia, raising his eyebrows at you as he asks, “What do you think?” 

You let out a heavy sigh, shaking your head as you cast a glance at Finn. He stares at you, his eyes desperate, and you turn your attention back to Poe as you say, “It’s not like we have any better ideas.”

Poe nods, tenderly placing his hand over Leia’s as C-3PO pipes up, “If I must be the sole voice of reason, Admiral Holdo will never agree to this plan.” 

“Yeah, you’re right, Threepio.” Poe nods, before turning around to look at Poe and Rose. “It’s a need-to-know plan, and she doesn’t.” 

Ignoring C-3PO’s stammering, Poe waves you over as he orders, “Alright, you guys shut down that tracker, I’ll be here to jump us to lightspeed. The question is… how do we sneak the two of you onto Snoke’s Destroyer?” 

After a heated discussion with Maz, who insists the only way you can get onboard is by finding the Master Codebreaker on Canto Bight, the plan seems cemented in place. You watch as Finn and Rose quickly make their way to the main hangar to find a ship, and you frown as Poe shoots you a look before nodding in their direction, “You go with them.”

“They’re fine on their own.” you insist, shaking your head. “You need as much help as you can get here—”

“y/n, I know what this is really about.” Poe interrupts, and your lips flatten into a line as Poe takes a step towards you. His tone softens as he continues, “Finn is a good man, y/n, I swear on it, and I need you out there, helping him. You’re one of the best spies in the Resistance — him and Rose could use your help on this.”

“Fine.” you grit your teeth. Poe nods at you, and you head for the door as you add, “I’ll let you know when we get to Canto Bight. You better hope this plan works, Poe, for the sake of the Resistance.”

—

It seems no mission is complete without something going terribly wrong, you think, frustratedly pacing up and down the cell you, Finn and Rose have been thrown into simply because you parked in the wrong place. Despite its glittering, glamorous appearance, Canto Bight is anything but, rotting with corruption and ugliness below the surface. 

You step aside as the disheveled stranger you’re sharing the cell with leisurely walks up to the gate, and you frown as you watch him slip a card through the bars, somehow deactivating the lock as the bars slide open. You jolt just as Finn and Rose sit up from the bunk beds, and the stranger pushes the doors open before stalking off, offering you one last wave. You turn to Finn, eyes wide, and he looks back at you with a similar shock as he stammers, “Did he just…?”

You’re already running out into the hallway, and Finn and Rose quickly follow suit. Rose sprints ahead, urging, “We’ve got to get out of here, this way!” 

You and Finn run after her, ignoring the outstretched hands from other prisoners who shout at you as you pass. The three of you turn a corner, screeching to a halt as you’re confronted with a group of guards who stare at you in shock. Everyone freezes, before the guards quickly piece together the situation, aiming their blasters at you as they chorus, “Freeze!”

On instinct, Finn grabs your arm, dragging you in the opposite direction as the three of you run, desperately looking down every corridor for an exit. You come to a split in the corridor, and you jump down the right hallway as another group of guards confront you, dividing the three of you as Finn and Rose run down the left corridor. You hear Finn call out your name, but you don’t turn around, too focused on losing the guards closing in on you. 

Your heart drops as you duck into another hallway only to find yourself at a dead end. Before you can turn around to retrace your steps, you’re suddenly blinded by a flurry of flashlights, and you see the faint shadows of two guards as they instruct, “Hands above your head, and get down on your knees!”

You grit your teeth, desperately trying to look around for anything you can use for a weapon, but to no avail. Begrudgingly, you sink down to your knees, trying to plan a course of attack, and  you flinch as you hear the loud sound of a blaster being fired. One of the guards fall, crying out in pain as he clutches his leg, and you scramble to grab his fallen blaster just as someone knocks out the other guard. His unconscious body falls, and you look up to see Finn hovering above you, clutching a blaster he must’ve fought off another guard.

“You came back for me.” you stammer, and Finn blinks at you, as if confused by your surprise. “Th- thank you.”

“You would’ve done the same.” Finn responds, offering you his hand, and you can’t help but feel a wave of guilt wash over you. You take his hand, ignoring how your heart skips a beat as his hand squeezes yours, and he pulls you to your feet as he urges, “Come on, we’ve got to find Rose — she found a way out of here.” 

—

“Do you think this is going to work?”

Finn flinches at your question, looking up at you with surprise as you lean back in your seat. Rose is in the cockpit, monitoring the course towards Snoke’s Destroyer, while DJ, your unexpected savior, the stuttering stranger from Canto Bight, rummages around the back of the ship he and BB-8 commandeered for anything he can steal. 

“It has to.” Finn simply replies, and you slowly nod, running a hand through your hair as you let out a distressed sigh. Finn moves to sit closer to you, giving you a small nudge, his eyes full of earnest as he reassures you, “We’ll make it work.”

You chuckle slightly, finally looking up to meet Finn’s gaze. You’ve always acknowledged Finn to be handsome, but he’s even more handsome up close, and the thought startles you as you quickly look away, embarrassed. He’s sitting so close to you, arm ever so slightly grazing yours, and you suddenly blurt, “I was wrong about you.”

Finn blinks at you as you finally muster up the courage to look up at him again. You gulp, feeling flustered as you continue, “You… you confused me, and you don’t trust people easily when you’re a spy. But… I misjudged you, and I’m sorry.”

“Hey, I get it.” Finn grins, shrugging slightly. “It’s not like you’ve got a lot of stormtroopers joining the Resistance, right? But I promise you, I’m done with the First Order. You can trust me on that.”

You nod, smiling at him. Your heart flutters in your chest as you begin to wonder if your suspicions of Finn stemmed from something else besides his past, perhaps a coping mechanism for others feelings you’re unprepared for. Pushing the thought out of your head, you respond, “I trust you.” 

Relief seems to spread through Finn’s expression, and the two of you beam at each other before a newfound awkwardness seems to descend upon the two of you. Clearing his throat, Finn confesses, “I’m glad you’re here with us. Poe’s told me a lot about you. Good things, of course.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as you attempt to be nonchalant. “Oh, thank you—”

You’re interrupted as Rose suddenly steps into the room, eyes full of determination as she looks between you and Finn. She pauses, sensing she’s disturbed something between the two of you, but she promptly ignores it as she says, “We’re almost here. We should get ready.”

You turn to Finn, and he nods at you as the two of you get to your feet. Squaring your shoulders, you say, “Alright, let’s do this.” 

—

You nervously watch as DJ fiddles with the wires of the control panel, and you almost crush the communications device in your hand out of anxiousness as you feel your time running out. Sneaking onto the Destroyer seemed almost too easy, and now it’s only a matter of disabling the tracker for the Resistance to escape. You and Finn lean up against the wall as a group of stormtroopers marches down the corridor, and you bow your head as to not draw attention to yourself.

“y/n?” you hear Poe’s panicked voice through the device, and you and Rose exchange an alarmed glance before you turn to DJ. “We’re ready to make the jump!”

Finn comes up behind you, urgently looking at DJ as he insists, “Now or never.”

DJ startles, looking up at Finn as if momentarily forgetting what he’s doing, before he suddenly says, “Now.” 

The doors slide open, and everyone peers inside, the tracker almost blindingly bright. Turning to Rose, you offer her an encouraging smile as Finn says, “You’re up.”

Rose takes the lead, jogging ahead while you and Finn trail behind her. Your eyebrows furrow upon hearing a low buzzing sound, and a black droid rolls in front of you, and you stagger back as you’re suddenly surrounded by stormtroopers, ordering you to put your hands up. Finn stiffens upon hearing heavy footsteps approaching, a sound he’s all too familiar with, and all three of you turn around to come face to face with Phasma, who taunts in her metallic voice, “FN-2187, so good to have you back.” 

You let out a low growl as a stormtrooper roughly grabs your arms, and you attempt to fight back before one kicks you at the back of your knees, and you cry out in pain as you collapse to the floor. Finn lunges to help you before he’s held back, his wrists shoved into handcuffs as you and Rose are quickly restrained, too. You’re yanked to your feet, and you’re defeatedly forced to walk forward, the three of you being lead to the main hangar, where squadrons after squadrons of stormtroopers line up. 

You’re shoved to your knees in between Finn and Rose, before General Hux, who’s irritatingly satisfied smug makes you want to burn the whole Destroyer down. He marches towards Finn, jaw clenched, and he reaches out to slap him. Finn flinches, and you snap, “Don’t touch him!”

Hux chuckles, shooting you a dismissive look before he says, “Well done, Phasma.” 

In response, she looks over her shoulder, remarking, “Your ship and payment, as we agreed.” 

To your horror, DJ appears, and your heart plummets to the floor as you realise you’ve been betrayed. Rose’s voice trembles as she tries to jump forward to attack him, spitting, “You lying snake!”

She struggles against the stormtrooper holding her down, and your gaze falls to the floor, a feeling of helplessness swallowing you whole. This is it, you think, the end of the Resistance. This mission was the last hope, and you’ve failed, and the overwhelming burden of the whole situation crushes down on your chest. You can barely breathe, can barely process everything around you, and you barely muster out the conversation on how DJ cut a deal by revealing the Resistance’s plan to the First Order. 

“No!” Rose shrieks as Hux orders to open fire on the fleeing Resistance ships, and you almost collapse into the floor, tears stinging your eyes as your breaths become ragged. The stormtrooper behind you yanks you upright by the back of your collar, forcing you to look up at Phasma, who condescending looks down upon the three of you.

“Execution by blaster is too good for them.” she sneers. “Let’s make this hurt.”

Three more stormtroopers march forward from behind her, and you’re shoved to the ground on your stomachs as they activate their laser axes. You turn your head to face Finn right before the lasers hover right by your cheek, the loud buzzing of electricity ringing by your ear.

“On my command.” Phasma instructs, and you gulp, mouth parted as if you want to say something. 

There’s too many words, and not nearly enough time to string them together, let alone say them all.

All you can manage to whisper to Finn is, “I’m sorry. I wish we had more time together.” 

Melancholy flashes through Finn’s expression, and he mouths back, “Me too.” 

It’s okay, you try to reassure yourself as Finn’s eyes search your own, you’re okay with this. There’s nothing you can do, and you’re glad Finn’s face will be the last thing you see, and Finn softens slightly upon seeing your sad smile. He wishes the two of you had a chance to be together, wishes this could all be different—

It’s the last thought that runs through Finn’s mind before the entire world goes white.

—

“Finn!” 

Finn startles awake, vision blurred before it finally comes into focus, and he can see your relieved smile as you cling to him, your face hovering over his. Finn can feel an unbearable heat on his skin, which is sticky with sweat, and he looks around to see his surroundings engulfed by flames. Your own face is dirty with soot, hair disheveled, and his ears are ringing from an explosion he didn’t even realise occured, and you help him sit up, clutching his arms as you say, “Oh, thank God. Come on, we’ve got to go! Rose found a shuttle back this way!” 

He staggers to his feet, your arm looped through his for support, and his head pounds with a disorienting headache. He has so many questions, mainly about how the three of you are somehow all still alive, but he’s forced to push them aside as the two of you start running after Rose, who heads towards the shuttle ahead of her. Your breath hitches as you see shadows through the smoke in front of you, and the three of you stop as you see Phasma and a group of stormtroopers appear. She aims her blaster, exclaiming, “Traitor!”

Before any of you can duck, a blast suddenly explodes behind her, and you look up to see an AT-ST firing at the stormtroopers. It goes rogue, firing relentlessly, and your eyes widen in surprise as it steps forward, ripping the top off to reveal BB-8 inside. Finn grabs your hand, pulling you to the ground, the both of you narrowly missing a blaster bolt as Rose slides you a weapon before loading her own. You grab it just as Finn grabs a Z6 baton strewn across the floor, the both of you feeling instantly more prepared to deal with whatever fight lies before you. You can hear Rose call out your names in alarm, and you slowly turn to see Phasma standing behind you. Finn gets to his feet, the baton sparkling with electricity, and he turns to you as he says, “Cover me!” 

Before he can lunge into action, you grab him, all your words jumbled on your tongue as you struggle to elaborate yourself again. You know now’s not the time, but it’s now or never as you start, “Finn, I—”

Finn places his hand over yours, stopping you. You trail off, smiling at him as he already knows everything you want to tell him, all the feelings and emotions you want to express, and from his smile, you know he feels the same way. “Don’t worry. I know.” 

You have to stop yourself from grabbing his face in your hands, from kissing him right in the middle of the battle, so you instead reach out to squeeze his hand before letting go. Raising your blaster bolt, you nod at him, “Let’s end this.”

tag list: @proudchocolateaddict​ / @myfriendmagislit​ / @dragon4123​ / @fire--pheonix​ / @gofandomsandotherstuff​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @fairytalesforever​ / @emmacata​ / @hauntedpocdreamer / @fangirlsarah16​ / @adaleya​ / @floup-doodles​ / @batfam16​ / @multifandomwriter121​

[darylstorey]

@colanom

Shame on you, making me hurt poor Stan he doesn’t deserve this treatment

inspired by Cypher Wheel of Misfortune 

It’s All Fun and Games Till......

Stan’s stomach churned, he might as well be strapped to that blasted wheel. That steady clacking getting slower and slower, his stomach flipped. common keep it together Stan, you can take it. To think he used to enjoy game shows, in a kind’a mindless half paying attention kind of way, with the bright lights and goofy sound effects, the ham-handed showmanship.

He focused on his family, they were watching him, he had to be brave, he had to hold on. Ford would figure out how to save the kids, Stan just needed to buy them all some time. Pay attention Stan, Cypher had made some crack about the last punishment, Stan took a steadying breath grinned at his tormentor “I don’know, Bill I think another bath might be refreshing”

Bill lets out a high-pitched cackle, “you rouge you, figures you’d walk off drowning like a champ” Stan had nearly drowned a few times before this mess, it was nothing compared to the pain of actually drowning.

Afterward when Bill brought him back, the pain of the water being forced back out of his lungs and stomach, it had felt as if his insides had been on fire. Stan twirls his cane keeping up the caviler act, even as is heart hammered against his rib cage as the wheel slowed. “You know me Bill one tough son of a…” Stan caught a glance at Mable “Gun” tears were streaming down her face.

It had been her team this time, she had almost made it to, but in that final stretch the last pillar had collapsed and that stupid little egg had plummeted into the chasm below. Stan suspected Bill had cheated, but what could he do about that, at least Mable had made it, at least she was safe. He smiled, a real smile, not for the lights, and cameras, not for the psychotic nacho, a smile for his grand nice, for his family. Stan would go through hell for them, he would walk threw fire tap-dancing and laughing all the way, and that’s what he was going to do now.

Silence.

Stan’s heart plummeted into his gut as he was yanked backwards and pined to an angled table. Bill was laughing, he hovered over Stan gloating one of his hands hovering over his face. Not for the first-time Stan noticed how sharp those black claws really were as they traced the tender skin under his right eye. Reflexively Stan begins to struggle to try and twist away, Bill grasps his chin locking his head in place. Bill lifts Stan’s glasses, “what do you think Maceral?” Bill purrs, gently he traces a finger around Stan’s eyes “should I take the right one or the left one”.

Bill’s body is blocking the cameras, and his voice is too soft for the microphones, this is just for him, just for Stan. Tears are welling up in Stan’s eyes, he can’t hold them back, he’s so powerless, Bill lovingly wipes away a tear “now, now, none of that, we have a show to do,” pain sears threw Stan’s brain as the claws dig in.

Stan convulses in pain as Bill dose his work, stubbornly Stan bights down on his tongue and swallows his screams of pain and panic. The world threw Stan’s right eye goes red, and the darkness.

Stan came to just as his bonds released him from the table and his slide to the ground, he struggles to stay standing as he trembles uncontrollably. Something hot and thick was running down his face, he couldn’t see out his right eye, in shock Stan lifted his trembling hand to his face.

Bill was talking “Don’t worry folks! Our co-host is doing just fine!” Stan can feel his tiny stick hands patting him on the head “Right, Stano?”

The deal, he has to keep up the act, “Right” his voice is to shaky, what’s he going to say, I’m doing great you fucking psycho, doing dandy dick head “I’m f-” feeling fan fucking tastic, “feeling completely fine…”

It isn’t his vice! it isn’t his words!

His one remaining eye goes wide with horror as his face is pulled into a too wide grimace of a smile, but it isn’t his. His family is watching pail with fear and terror, Ford is screaming, Windy and Roby holding him back as the flails and threatens. He can feel the tears mixing with his blood. He took my eye, Bill just fucking gouged out my eye, and me made my family watch, he made the kids watch, framed it like it was their fault.

“we’ll be right back after this commercial break” and the cameras blink off, the screens go black, and Bill grins at Stan triumphant “I think that went really well”

Stan doesn’t think he just lunges “YOU BASTARD, I’LL RIP THAT STUPID FUCKING HAT OFF YOUR HEAD AND CRAM IT DOWN YOU THROUGHT”

Blue glowing chains leap from the floor rapping around Stan pulling him to his knees, tears ran unrestrained as he ragged at Bill. “THEY’RE KIDS BILL!!!! THEY’RE JUST FUCKING KIDS”.

The chains tighten, until Stan is gasping for air, Bill floats in front of Stan a smug crinkle to his eye “you done yet” Stan strains, the chains burning him as he struggles “easy Stano, I know it feels good to vent, but I can’t have you going back on live air like this.”

Stan snarls as Bill pats him on the cheek “now Stan calm down, I can’t go on without a co-host, and if you can’t do it I’ll have to find a replacement” Stan freezes “Shooting Star has the right kind of energy, but I think Pine tree would be able to add some intellectual commentary what do you think”

“don’t you fucking touch them” Stan growls

“Then pull YOURSELF THE FUCK TOGETHER” Bill morphs into is towering red demonic form, “IF YOU CAN’T HOLD UP YOUR END OF THE DEAL, I HAVE NO USE FOR YOU”

Stan wilts slumping in his bonds, he nods “I…I’ll pull it together” Stan swallows the ash in his mouth, he needs to sell it “…….sorry” the chains fall away and Bill shrinks down to his friendly happy yellow form.

“good” he pats Stan on the cheek again, “now go get yourself cleaned up, a new round is about to start” he turns to leave.

“can…can I see them please, no lights no cameras, just a few minutes, that’s all I’m asking for is a few minutes with my family” Stan hated how pathetic he sounds, but he needs to see them, to talk to them, for real, just for a minute.

There’s a dangerous edge to Bill’s answer “that wasn’t part of the deal”

“please” it’s whisper a desperate plea.

“tell you what” Bill turns back to Stan with a too cheerful smile “behave, like the good little puppet you are, and MAYBE, I’ll let you have a little treat” I slight red tent colors Bills glow “know be a good boy, and change your shirt,” he turns to the Henchmaniac acting as stage manager, “watch him, I’m taking five”

As Bill storms off 8-ball studies Stan, he sees the trembling old man sitting on the flour, looking small and fragile on the massive darkened set. He snorts this pathetic flesh bag isn’t going anywhere “I’ll get you that fresh shirt, you better not have ruined that one” he snarls as if Stan had any control.

Stan is left alone, the big man peels off the glittery golden monstrosity of a jacket. He pops open the first button of his blood stain shirt, his fingers brushing the collar locked around his neck, the one his ridiculously massive bow tie hides. One button at a time he exposes his harry chest, covered in new healing wounds, burn makes, gaping wounds brutally cauterized, any one of these wounds should have been the end of him but Bill wasn’t done with him yet, wasn’t done with his family. He needs to stay strong, take the brunt of the punishment. “I’m trying Ford, I’m trying to keep it together,” He lifts a trembling hand up to the empty socket of his right eye “please, Poindexter, hurry up and save the kids,”

As he feels the persistent ace, the emptiness where there shouldn’t be one he crumples, weeping, in pain, scared, helpless, and very very alone “I don’t know how much more time I can buy you”.

In my head this is were Stan starts to crack, he’s withstood a lot up to this point snarking at Bill and being Cavalier about the punishments driving Bill nuts with his stubborn abstinence, but even tough sons sons of guns reach a breaking point