#ASSISTANT BOUNTY HUNTER (REPAIRS)

[djarincore]

The Name of Love

SUMMARY: You knew him by three names: Mando, Din, and finally, riduur.

PAIRING: din djarin x gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 6.9k

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, canon typical violence, blood, hypothermia, happy ending

A/N: a repost from my previous blog! i've only written 2 full din fics so far but this is def my favorite one <3 thanks again to @xiadeptus for beta reading this

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You first knew him as the Mandalorian, the stoic and aloof bounty hunter that drifted in and out of Tatooine looking for work or ship repairs. The glinting armor was hard not to notice under the scorching twin suns, along with his infamous reputation that followed in whispers—whispers which mainly revolved around the strange, green child he carried around in a bag and the fact that he never showed his face. 

When you first got the job at Peli’s garage, thanks to the favor she owed your mother, the sight of the Mandalorian descending the ramp of his beaten-up Razor Crest had you slipping behind a couple of stacked crates with the rest of the quivering pit droids. He strode down the ramp toward your boss who was already reaching for the green child trailing after him. 

“There’s my little guy!” She exclaimed, scooping him up and cradling him in her arms. The child cooed and clasped her finger in his three-fingered grasp. His keeper watched on with hands on his hips; the helmet remained solely focused on the child. 

“We need a repair,” he said, the rasp in his voice still remaining despite the modulator. 

“Sure thing but, just so you know, it’ll cost you a little extra this time. Got a new hire.” She jerked her thumb in your direction. 

You took it as your cue to reveal yourself, noting the way his helmet turned, carefully looking you up and down, and his hand slowly moved toward the blaster at his waist, like he wasn’t above shooting the harmless mechanic’s assistant and a couple of droids. You lifted both hands, stained with oil, as a show of goodwill.  

“Aw, relax, Mando,” Peli drawled, swatting the air with her nonchalant attitude. “They’re not a droid.” 

His hand slipped off the handle, but remained at his side, ready to draw if necessary. 

You sent him a friendly half-smile and his gloved fingers twitched. 

“Fine.”

The remainder of the day was spent repairing the left wing and engine of his ship, which looked like it had seen the losing side of a gunfight, and you couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to limp down to Tatooine without crashing and burning once he broke through the atmosphere. 

The job would have been faster if you had some assistance from the droids, but Peli made it clear they weren’t allowed anywhere near the ship or the Mandalorian, making his disdain for them abundantly clear. You wondered the whole day what a droid could have done to make him hate even the smallest of droids. The theories you built in your head ran wild, ranging from a nasty betrayal by a trusted ally to tripping him in a crowded cantina, embarrassing him so badly he vowed to never show his face ever again.

You leaned against the rope of the swing suspending you off the ground, taking a break from welding metal back together, and watched the Mandalorian move below your feet. He walked with purpose, something a fearsome bounty hunter with a widespread reputation was expected to do; every step was carefully calculated like a predator hunting prey. Behind him was the child clumsily waddling, as fast as his legs could carry him, after the man. 

Your lips curved into a soft smile while observing the dichotomy of the two. It warmed your heart to see how attached the child was to his guardian. More questions formed in your mind about their relationship; the rumors didn’t contain the exact details of how the two came to be together. 

Maybe the child is his biological son and beneath all the armor is green, wrinkly skin and comically large ears tucked into the helmet, you joked to yourself. 

You pressed one of the buttons on the side of your swing to lower yourself to the ground. Your feet touched the floor, but you didn’t get up. 

“Your ship should be up and running in no time.” 

“Thank you for your help.” 

“No pro- Oh!” You exclaimed when something poked at your leg. A three-fingered hand was tapping your leg; large black eyes gazed up at you. You cooed, “Hello there, little guy.” 

He tugged at the cuff of your pants, waving his arms in the air. You waved back, fighting back the urge to smooth your fingers over his floppy ears.

“He wants you to hold him.” 

“Ah,” you chuckled, cheeks warming. You didn’t have much experience with children; in fact, you didn’t know the first thing about caring for one. They had so many needs, so many different ways of communicating them too. The pressure to mold them into upstanding beings—it was just too much. But, you could definitely hold a child, especially one as cute as him. 

You pulled him into your arms and he immediately found the strings of your shirt vastly entertaining.

“I think he likes me,” you quipped. 

The child’s babble sounded like a positive response. 

“Me too,” the Mandalorian said, leaning against a crate and watching the two of you. 

There were multiple rotations between their visits. Each visit brought a new scratch, ding, or completely wrecked engine that made you look on in disbelief, but you were eager to see the two nonetheless. They brought stories of their adventures, bounties, and new people they met. 

You would be the first to greet them, standing at the base of the ship’s ramp with a wide grin and many questions budding on the tip of your tongue. 

“Hey.” 

The modulated voice made you snap out of your thoughts. 

“Yes, sir?” 

You could hear him huff behind the modulator. He said to just call him Mando the first time you called him sir, but you never picked it up, finding it too entertaining to hear his exasperated sighs. 

“Want to get off this planet? I’ve got a job proposition.” 

Your goodbyes were easy—a hug for Peli, head pats for each droid—and suddenly, you found yourself sitting in the cockpit of the ship you had been repairing for the past few rotations. 

You quickly learned space was cold and you were not prepared. The thin clothes you were used to on Tatooine wouldn’t cut it anymore and it left you shivering in the passenger seat. 

You sunk down your seat, wrapping your arms around yourself to find a semblance of warmth. 

You weren’t sure what your purpose was in the time between ports, but even if you knew, you were frozen to your seat and unable to move without feeling stiff. 

Soon, you fell asleep, lulled by the stars and the sound of beeps and hollow groans of an old ship.

You woke to fabric being draped over your body and a glimmer of beskar. 

The hands over the fabric paused; the Mandalorian stepped back, hands returning to his side, flexing at his waist. “Should have told me you were cold.”

You gripped the fabric and realized it was one of his thick, woolen capes which smelled of caf beans and leather. You resisted the urge to nestle your cheek against the wool and savor the comfort it offered.

“I didn’t want to be a bother.” 

“You’re a part of my crew now,” he said firmly. “We take care of each other.” 

Your heart stuttered, fingers curled tighter around his cape, and you muttered a pathetic, “Yeah.” 

From the kindness he offered, you made a silent promise at that moment; as long as the three of you were together, you would do anything to protect them. 

It wouldn’t be long before you realized he felt the same. 

—

Then, you learned his name, his real name—Din Djarin. It had been a while into your partnership. You learned far more about the two than your theories could have imagined—his Creed, his force-wielding child. 

The three of you had a good routine. He would scout out bounties while you either worked on the ship or found other mechanic work elsewhere if the ship was (miraculously) undamaged. Grogu would be passed between the two of you. If Mando’s bounty was too dangerous for him to follow you’d take him for the day, letting him pass you random tools and praising him for helping. And at the end of the day, the three of you reconvened with separate checks that would go toward supplies and other basic necessities. If it was a particularly rough day, you would be forcing him onto a crate and checking his wounds. 

“I’m fine,” he would insist, attempting to push your wandering hands aside. But, you could see the unsteady shake of his hand and the sliver of skin and blood showing on his waist where he was cut. 

It was a simple routine, but it worked. You had no complaints… 

…Well, just one.

“ Kriff, we’re gonna crash!” You cried, shutting your eyes to avoid seeing your imminent doom that took the form of two towering cliffs of ice far too close together for the ship to slip through. The two tailing bounty hunter ships had followed you from Nevaro, after accusing Mando of stealing a bounty from them, which he rightfully caught. 

You knew working for a bounty hunter wasn’t going to be easy, comfortable, or safe—but, you trusted him. He was good at what he did and you never doubted it. 

The ship turned on its side, jerking your entire body to the right, and left you at the mercy of the belt across your body to keep you in your seat. You could hear the scrape of ice across the bottom of the ship and cringed, knowing you’d have to repair that (if you even made it out of this alive). 

When the ship slipped free from the narrow gap and straightened. you let out a breath and opened your eyes. Snow, miles, and miles of it, touched everything your eyes could see. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder. If you could see his face, you’d guess it was smug. 

You were getting better at reading your faceless partner. He didn’t say much but his body did with every head tilt and shrug. And you would catch yourself spending a lot of time just observing him. 

“You’ve gotta stop piloting like that,” you huffed, cradling your head when you feel the slightest throb. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”

“Don’t plan on it,” came his monotone response. 

The ship cruised, his helmet scanning the horizon, and kept low in the meantime. There was no sign of the other two ships. 

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stood; a wave of dizziness had you staggering. When your hand flew out to catch on to something, you found his, already reaching out to steady you in his strong grasp. The brush of his thumb over your knuckles made your breath catch.

“I have to lie down.” To stop your heart from racing at his subtle touches. 

You thought you had gotten used to it by now—the way he made you feel safe. Whether it was his hand hovering over the base of your spine as he guided you through a crowded market or how he would always position himself between you and whatever shady character he had dealings with. The small gestures piled up and toyed with your mind. You understood the signs—heart racing, nervous tension in your chest—the budding symptoms of love. 

“We’re not in the clear yet.” 

You brushed the heat crawling over your neck off and said, “Can’t we land somewhere and wait them out a while? I’m gonna be sick if you start flying upside down.”

The beginning of his argument was cut off by the cockpit door opening. You slipped out and down the ladder into the cargo hold. Some crates shifted to the right of the ship as a result of the sharp turn. You weren’t concerned with them as much as you were with your makeshift bed space, a flimsy sleeping bag and some blankets, which were also flung off to the side. One of your blankets was stuck under a crate, too heavy for you to lift by yourself. 

You groaned, weakly tugging at the fabric peeking out beneath. You were cold, tired, and sick—you already hated this planet. 

You heard a curse from above and Mando shouted, “Hold onto something!” 

You didn’t have time to react before the ship was nose-diving, throwing you against the wall. You clung to the ladder as the ship's sporadic movements jostled your entire body. It continued for a few more seconds before settling and the engines cut out. Everything was finally still, except your heart. 

You heard the creaks of ice settling beneath the ship, then cracks. It wasn’t long before the ice gave way to the weight, shattering into a cavern below and dragging the ship with it. 

You don’t remember hitting your head, just the scream that came before it. But, when you finally came to, numb and confused, Mando was rattling your shoulders with a panicked voice.

“Wake up.” 

You could have sworn in your daze there was a desperate ‘please’ added at the end. 

You groaned, peeling your eyes open, “Mando?” 

He sighed like a massive weight was lifted off of him. “Yeah,” he said, there was a hint of a smile in his voice. He carefully slipped his arms behind your shoulders and knees. “It’s me. I’ve got you.”

You were half aware of him lifting you, too dazed by the cold settling under your skin and making a home deep in your bones.  

The hull was dusted with snow and frost. You spotted a large hole in the side of the ship, crudely covered with a tarp and some crates. 

“Got t’ fix,” you mumbled, leaning your head against his shoulder pauldron. You didn’t even know where to start with something that large on this barren planet. If you weren’t so cold, the dread would have set in, realizing you were stranded on a barren planet with little resources to dig yourselves up from a cold grave. 

“Not right now,” he grunted, kicking your toolbox aside—the one he gifted you on Nevaro after you eyed it at a stall for too long. He approached the small corner beside his bunk, which was caved in, where there was little snow piled. He set you down, supporting the back of your head with his hand as he laid you against the wall. “I’ll be right back.” 

You could’ve protested if your mouth or eyes didn’t feel frozen shut; all you wanted to do was drift off.

“Hey, hey,” he said. He ripped a glove off and pressed his warm hand to your cheek. “Don’t fall asleep.”

You moaned, pushing closer to the warmth, and tried to focus on his visor. 

“There you go. Good.” 

With your thoughts slowly catching up, you glanced around his shoulders, not seeing a floating pram anywhere. You wanted to get up and rush around him in search of the child, but all you could muster was a sharp turn of your head that still sent pain down your neck. “Where’s-”

Mando brought your face back to him. His steady voice pulled you out of your panic. “He’s fine. He’s up in the cockpit; I’ll bring him down after I get you some blankets.” 

“Okay.” You rested your head against the wall and watched as he untied his cape and slipped it over your shoulders, tucking it close around your body. 

He disappeared up the ladder. You heard his faint footsteps, scouring the upper level. He returned soon, a few blankets slung over his shoulder and Grogu tucked in his other arm. 

He set Grogu down and moved you forward just enough for him to sling more blankets over your shoulders.

If you could feel your face, maybe you’d laugh at how ridiculous you looked and felt, like a small child being coddled by a worried parent. But, he wasn’t a worried parent, he was your employer—your incredibly kind and caring employer, who you often dreamt of as more than an employer, more than a friend. 

“Aren’t y-you,” you chattered, “cold, too?” 

You worried about him under all that shining armor; he could be hiding an injury like he always did, pretending he was fine and limping off somewhere else to lick his wounds alone. You wished he wouldn’t be so stubborn all the time. 

Grogu crawled into your lap, playing with the tips of your frozen fingers. Mando said something about his armor keeping him warm, but you didn’t register any of it when his hands enveloped yours—calloused and warm.  

“Try to keep your arms and legs moving,” he said, massaging the palm of your hands. Then he directed his attention to Grogu. “Okay, kid, keep your buir warm. I’m going to repair the ship.” 

“Hm?” You cocked your head at the word. Sure, he liked sneaking Mando’a words into his sentences from time to time—sometimes calling you mesh’la or cyar’ika, which made you blush because of how sincere he sounded—but you just assumed they were nicknames. You assumed buir meant babysitter or something along those lines, too. “Stealing my job, Mando?” you quipped instead. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When his hands slipped from yours, your fingers twitched, almost asking him not to go. You would warm up faster if he were with you.

He slipped past the tarp, into the cavern of snow. Grogu’s babble drew your attention; his arms were raised.

You apologized, “Sorry, kid, I’d lift you up, but my arms are a bit sore right now.”

He continued to babble as he found comfort nestled in your lap instead. You rested your head against the wall and stared at the opening where Mando left, still feeling the ghost of his warmth on your hand. 

The minutes you spent slowly flexing your hands and feet paid off; your strength was slowly returning. Grogu crawled off of your lap and watched as you, with the grace of a newborn calf, pushed yourself onto unsteady feet.

“Okay, kid, let’s go help your dad.” You scooped him up and braced yourself with Mando’s cape, making sure the two of you were snug beneath the fabric before pushing aside the tarp and stepping outside into the frigid weather. 

The cold winds were the first to greet you; already, your cheeks were growing numb. Grogu let out a disapproving grunt, clearly not favoring the cold either. 

You stayed close to the side of the ship in case your legs gave out and rounded the tail end before finding Mando, with frost coating his armor and hands on his hip, staring at a jumble of wires hanging from an open panel. 

Upon seeing his father, Grogu cheered in your arms, alerting the Mandalorian whose head snapped in your direction. 

He was already approaching you before declaring, “You need to rest.” 

“I can’t cozy up in there while you’re out here all by yourself. Look at you.” You drew a line in the frost coating his chest plate. “You must be freezing under all that.” 

“I said I’m-”

“Fine,” you finished. “I know, I know—you’re always fine, Mando.” 

You were growing tired of his stubborn attitude concerning his well-being and of standing for so long. You were beginning to sway without realizing it, but Mando’s quick hand on your shoulder steadied you. 

“I got you,” he murmured. He took Grogu from you and moved to your side. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, silently guiding you back into the ship’s hull and onto the spot where the blankets were piled. 

Once you were settled, you expected him to wander back out but, to your surprise, he began detaching pieces of his armor. 

You watched, mouth agape, as one by one the shining beskar revealed a dark flight suit that molded with the contours of his body. The helmet, of course, stayed.

He eased himself onto the floor beside you and wrapped the three of you beneath the blankets. Your eyes widened when his arm pressed against yours. You dared to rest your head against his shoulder; you relished in the comfort of his presence, finally feeling warmer than ever. His body began to relax gradually with your head on his shoulder and his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. 

With Grogu resting in your lap it almost felt like the three of you were a family, settling in after a long day. 

“You’re always protecting everyone,” you said, exhaustion beginning to creep over you once again. “We’re a crew, right? Let me take care of you too.” 

You knew the irony in saying that while he was taking care of you, but you hoped he would remember it. 

He slipped his gloves off to flex the stiff muscles. “I’m,” he started, “just not used to this.” 

“Having a crew?” You guessed. 

“Having someone care.”

Your mouth dropped open with a response dying on your tongue. Instead, you resolved to take his hand and curl your fingers through his. They were stiff from the cold, but relaxed once your thumb ran over the ridges of his knuckles. 

“You’re a good man and I trust you with my life. Don’t think for a second I don’t care about you, Mando. I-” You cut yourself off.

You what? Loved him? Kriff. He just started opening up to you. Telling him you were in love with him right after would surely make him run in the other direction. You doubted he felt the same. You could read him, but not that well. 

“Din.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, relieved he didn’t attempt to figure out what you were going to say. “What?” 

“My name’s Din.” 

He was looking at you now. Maybe if you squinted hard enough you could catch a glimpse of his eyes behind his darkened visor, but you wouldn’t disrespect his Creed and you didn’t think you could handle seeing his strong gaze, boring into you. 

So, you turned your eyes down toward your intertwined hands; you tested his name on your tongue and smiled. 

Getting off the ice planet took work—a mix of frustration and determination—and you swore to get a nice vacation on some far, far away planet, preferably with a warm, sunny beach. 

But, the ship needed heavier repairs, forcing the three of you to find the nearest planet, Trask, for maintenance. A dock worker was quick to offer his services, charging more than necessary, once you landed. 

You frowned when Din agreed without hesitation, dropping the credits into his slimy hands. You could have rolled up your sleeves and got to work yourself with better equipment at hand, but Din insisted on the three of you getting some real rest after the stress of the past three days. 

The place was seedy, smelled of fish, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of unwanted eyes stalking the three of you as you passed through the quiet harbor. You and Din walked on either side of Grogu’s floating pram. 

You, with a scowl glued to your face, pulled your cape, one of Din’s, tighter around yourself. The toolbox Din gifted you was clasped in your hand, deemed too precious to leave behind while strangers fixed the ship. You leaned into Din and whispered, “We should just go back to Tatooine for the repairs; I can do it.”

“I know you can, but the ship’s too damaged and you know it.”

You huffed. 

Grogu mimicked your huff, putting on his best grouchy face, and your frown lightened into a smile, pointing at the boy. “See—even he agrees with me.”

Din let out an amused hum. “When did the two of you decide to team up against me?” 

“We hold secret meetings when you’re out and conspire against you.” 

“Guess I should watch my back,” he deadpanned. 

Night fell quickly on Trask and before you knew it, the streets were oddly quiet, only lit by dim street lights in rounded sections. 

Din’s stride grew cautious; his helmet subtly turned to scan the area. 

You also took caution, straining your ears for anything out of place, but all you heard was the nearby tide pulling in and out. 

There was a shift in the gravel behind you. Din’s hand shot out to shove aside Grogu’s pram, sending him off to a nearby stack of crates, and he could only brush your shoulder before turning and deflecting a blaster shot with his vambrace. The heat from the blast radiated in the air around you. 

“Run!” He barked, ripping his blaster from its holder and firing off a shot into the dark. 

Your feet hesitated and your heart stuttered when another blast hit his chest plate, forcing a grunt from him. But, the sound of worried coos snapped you out of it. You turned and ran toward Grogu who watched the fight with large eyes.  

Three figures emerged from the darkness, dressed like pirates, and armed with unrelenting blasters all aimed at Din.  

“Give up the armor, Mando.” One of them demanded.

“It’s time to hide, okay?” You said, tucking Grogu into the pram. Your thumb brushed over the mythosaur necklace he always wore like a lucky charm and you were praying it would work. You pressed the button on the outside of his pram to shut it. 

The fight was coming to a close by the time you turned back, much to your relief. Two were knocked out cold, sprawled across the floor while the remaining one continued to fight. Both of them resorted to hand-to-hand combat after they managed to disarm one another. 

Just when you thought you could relax, the remaining pirate pulled out a blade and took a swipe at Din, plunging it deep into his side and back out. Your breathing stopped when Din staggered and fell to his knees. 

The pirate grabbed him by his cowl, pressing the bloodied blade to his throat, and sneered, “Give up.” 

Your hands shook. Not like this, you thought. You couldn’t— wouldn’t —lose him. You dropped your toolbox and fell to your knees, wrenching it open to look for anything that would help. You pulled the largest item free, the hammer, and ran. Adrenaline pushed your feet toward the two and, putting all your weight into it, you swung at the pirate's head, sending him stumbling back.

Only dazed, the pirate sent you a menacing glare, lips pulled back into a snarl, and spat out curses, promising you’d regret it. 

Your hand clenched the hammer, heart racing, ready to swing again as he prepared to lunge at you. Not even fear or the promise of death would stop you from saving Din.  

Then, something ignited, cold and droning like echoes of the abyss, behind the pirate. 

You smelt the smoke before the nauseating burnt flesh. It made your stomach roll.

A haunting glow emitted from the pirate's chest before it was sliced clean through. He fell—lifeless—with a thud, crimson leaking from the gash and pooling around him. 

Din stood over him—one hand clutching his waist and the other holding the darksaber. His chest rose and fell; his helmet was fixated on the body. You could hear the leather of his gloves cry as his hand tightened around the hilt of the saber.  

You never saw him use it before. It looked more like an accessory on him rather than a weapon. He once explained its bloody history and how he came to acquire it. The weight of its importance haunted him, a burden he never wished to bear. 

“Oh, Maker,” you cried, rushing toward him. The darksaber unignighted; the heavy atmosphere disappeared along with it and time continued. You dropped the hammer and pressed your hand to his wound. Blood seeped through his fingers and onto yours. 

He grunted, “I’m…” 

Your wavering voice saying his name made him pause. 

“Let’s get out of the street,” he said instead. He waved Grogu’s pram forward with the controls on his vambrace. It opened, revealing the whimpering child. 

The three of you limped all the way to an inn. When the innkeeper sent you a weary look, you demanded the first room available and a medical kit—whatever the price. After slapping the credits on the counter, you snatched up the kit and dragged Din toward the room, not caring about the drops of blood staining the hallway.  

The room was small and gray; a single bed set in the middle of the room, a nightstand on either side, and a fresher. You eased him onto the bed, where he slumped and groaned.

The medical kit was meager; a suture kit, antiseptic wipes, and a few bacta patches, but it would do. You dashed to the fresher to wash your hands. You scrubbed them viciously, watching his blood run down the sink. Tears blurred your vision. The red wouldn’t stop running. 

When you emerged from the fresher, his shirt was already rolled up and he was attempting to clean his wound. Grogu was asleep in his pram, wiped out from all the excitement. 

You released a tired sigh. “Let me.” 

You moved to take the cloth from him, kneeling at his feet and wiping around the area of the wound gently.

“Don’t do that again,” he rasped.

“Save your life?” The playful tone you attempted fell flat. As much as you wanted to be amused, the fear of losing him still suffocated you. He was safe, your thoughts repeated.

Once the wound was cleaned you pulled the needle from the kit. You were in over your head and a bit nauseous. Cleaning wounds was easy, but stitching them up was something else. 

You’ve seen him cauterize his own wounds and pinched your nose when the smell became too much. He didn’t deserve the scars they left behind and this was your opportunity to finally take care of him. 

You willed your hands not to tremble as you notched the needle through his skin, apologizing when he sucked in a sharp breath or flinched.

“I told you to run.”

Your voice was finally firm when you said, “I’m not going to leave you.” 

He was your partner, through and through, and you cared for him. 

When you were finished, you unwrapped a bacta patch and laid it over the suture. You smoothed over the patch and withdrew your hands. 

He was already sitting up taller, no longer hunched over or wheezing. You knew it was a good sign but you still trembled all over.

You raised your head, but your eyes were stuck on his cowl where a sliver of his blood was left from the blade. The tears were returning, flooding your bottom lashes. 

Would that pirate have killed him right there on the street, stripped him of his armor, and left him like trash? You would have had to drag his body back to the ship—would have to tell Grogu his father was dead. 

“Cyar’ika, look at me,” he said, finding your cheek with his palm. “Just breathe.” 

You didn’t realize you were gasping for breath, tears running down your cheeks until your eyes finally connected with his visor. 

“I just can’t lose you, Din,” you cried. “I can’t .”

There was so much you wanted to say—so much he needed to know. You were so close to losing him and losing the chance to admit how you’d grown to feel over the course of your partnership.

He guided you onto the bed and held you until the tears stopped and subsided into sniffles. Your face was buried in his cowl and your arms were thrown around his shoulder. 

“I can’t lose you either,” he admitted, a waver in his voice. You were so close you could almost hear the sound of his real voice. His words were tender and sincere. 

Your breath hitched and a realization washed over you. 

He pulled back and you pulled yourself out of his neck with wide eyes. Cold metal met your forehead. 

“You mean far too much to me.” 

For a man of few words, he still said so much. Your hand brushed below the rim of his helmet. “I love you, Din,” you confessed.

Your heart pounded as you waited for his response—for even the sharpest intake of breath. But, it was silent—all but your heart remained still as he processed your words. Your hand slipped away, back to the safety of your personal bubble, which was beginning to shrink as the silence became an oppressive weight on your shoulders. 

Say something, you wanted to shout. Did you read his words wrong? Was it just appreciation for his… employee? 

“Close the curtains and turn off the light.”

Your brows furrowed and you cocked your head to the side. “What?”

“Please.”

You stood with a frown and shuffled to shut the curtains, then made your way to the light switch. You took one last glance over your shoulder, before flipping the switch and submerging the room in darkness. You could hardly see his silhouette as you shuffled back to the bed with your hands out in front.

A calloused hand found your wandering ones, carefully pulling you down to sit beside him once again, not letting go. Then, you heard a click and a hiss, like he was detaching his—

Your eyes widened when you realized what he was doing and you tried pulling away. Even in the darkness, where shadows fell across the silhouette of his body, you couldn’t risk seeing him—no matter how curious. 

“Din, no-” 

“It’s alright,” he reassured. The low rasp of his voice was no longer modified by his helmet. He chased after you in the dark; his hand moved to the back of your neck, drawing your face closer to his. You could feel the warmth of his breath brushing across your lips. 

The smell of caf and leather drew you closer you and you fell into its embrace. It was your safety, your haven—the home you found in him, along with his son and his beaten-down ship. 

“ Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner cyar’ika, ” he whispered into the darkness, gentle devotion laced in his words. “ I love you .” 

When he kissed you, it was slow, a tender meeting of lips which you both relaxed into. The weight off your shoulders disappeared and all you could do was smile against his lips and draw him closer. 

That night you traced his features in the dark, committing every outline and curve to memory, with a content smile and full heart while he held you close. You didn’t need to see his face to love him; it could wait—forever if it meant you’d still have him.

“You know,” he said in the darkness with you tucked close under his arm, “you wield a hammer well. It reminds me of someone I know.”

“Really? Who?”

It was nearly a full cycle before you met the Armorer, the mysterious figure Din would mention from time to time, a woman he seemed to respect. 

You were nervous. Though he never said it directly, she was like a maternal figure and you wanted to make a good impression. 

Ever since Trask, the two of you were closer than ever. He had no reservations when it came to you. His hand would lay firmly against your lower back as he crowded around you, guiding you through busy markets, pulling you close whenever someone bumped into you. You no longer slept alone, trading out your flimsy sleeping bag for a cozy spot in his bed. At night when the lights were out, you’d finally get to kiss him and share dreams. 

The covert was located on a barren planet. You wouldn’t have guessed there was any life if it weren’t for the scattered Mandalorian sparing at the mouth of a cave. 

By the time you landed near the lake, only two Mandalorians emerged to greet you. 

“It’s been a while.” A large, blue man said upon approaching, greeting the three of you with a simple nod. He towered over everyone, a mass of muscle and armor that radiated intimidation. 

As he approached, your foot slid back as you bent your neck to meet his visor and you bumped into Din. He rested a hand on your shoulder. “This is Paz, my brother.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said, sticking a hand out. 

The hand that takes yours is firm; he shook once and let go. The hand on your shoulder squeezed. 

“It seems your clan has grown.” The figure to Paz’s right spoke, her visor trained on the hand over your shoulder. You needed no introduction for her. It was obvious in the way she spoke, authoritative and clear, that she was the Armorer. 

Your lips quirked. A clan, huh? 

She welcomed you briefly and Din requested a private audience in her forge. When Din handed Grogu off to you, he said, “Stay with Paz, cyar’ika.”

“Cyar’ika?” The Armorer paused. “Have you claimed them as your riduur?”

You cast Din a curious glance. Riduur?

“I… haven’t,” he said carefully.

“I see.” She resumed her pace and disappeared into the cave.  

Din followed, not before pressing his forehead to yours. It was like a kiss, he explained once. You were fine with it. You knew as soon as the day was over, he’d make up for all the kisses you’d missed out on.

“He seems to like you.”

“I would hope so,” you quipped, turning to Paz once Din was out of sight. “He loves me, after all.”

You finally got your well-deserved vacation—on a planet called Pabu, with bright blue skies and a sparkling blue ocean—and more than you could have ever wished for. 

Gentle waves lapped at your bare feet as you leaned back against the palm of your hands to soak in the last of the dying sun. 

Relaxing like this felt rare and fleeting; part of you was worried some other danger would rear its ugly head and ruin the tranquility. But, a quick glance toward Grogu, who was splashing in the water, and Din, standing watch to make sure he didn’t snatch up any crabs as a snack, dispelled any worry and replaced it with a warmth that spread through your chest like the sun's rays. 

You cracked a smile at the Mandalorian who was barefoot as well, after you convinced him to step into the waves, with his pants rolled up to the bottom of his knees. 

“Stop that,” came Din’s chastising demand. Grogu was levitating a poor crab toward his mouth before letting it fall back into the water with a grumble, his ears pulled back as he looked up at his father with a pout. “You’ll ruin your dinner,” he reasoned, reaching down to scoop the fussing child from the water. 

You stood, wiping away sand clinging to your thighs, and walked over to the pair. Din’s helmet followed you as you approached, his shoulders were far more relaxed than you’d ever seen them. 

Even when you stood in front of them, finger brushing along Grogu’s ear as he cooed, his gaze did not stray. You just thought it was your bathing suit; it showed off more skin than usual. Which, you admit, you hoped would catch his attention.  

“Problem?” You teased, looking at him with a sly smile. 

He shook his head slowly. He was uncharacteristically quiet, more so than usual. Ever since his private chat with the Armorer, he’d been distracted. Staring more than usual—at you, the controls of the ship, the floor—like he was lost deep in thought. 

You looked out at the sunset, a wash of orange and gold against a glittering sea. You let out a wistful sigh. “I could spend forever here with you two.”

“You mean that?” 

“Nothing would make me happier.”

His hand drifted toward the pouch on his belt, fingering the hem. A nervous habit, you assumed, he picked up after visiting the Armorer. 

You rested your hand on his and asked, “Are you sure there’s no problem?” 

“Marry me.”

You froze, mouth agape.

“M-marry you?”

“I wish for more days like today, too—safe, peaceful days together with our son.” He opened his pouch and pulled out a silver ring that glittered against the setting sun, reminding you of his armor. 

Your hand slipped from his to your mouth, covering up the shock written across your face. Your watering eyes moved between the two who’ve grown so close to your heart. They were your life, your home, and you’d spend forever with them. You knew your answer—you’ve always known, ever since he asked you to join them. In your heart it was always—

“Yes,” you cried, throwing your arms around the two of them. “Yes, absolutely!” 

You stayed tucked in his arms with Grogu nestled between the two of you. And, in the foreground of a golden sky, he asked if you would cite the Mandalorian vows. 

Riduur, he said, you would be mine, and I you. Our hearts will be written together in song.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.”

Finally, he was no longer just the Mandalorian or Din, he was your riduur. 

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #gn!reader #my works

[sp00kymulderr]

Silent Genesis

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+, PWP, voyeurism kinda, masturbation, light choking

Word Count: 2k

A/N: Another old one!

The Mandalorian is watching you.

Watching silent, leaning against the rear wall of the cockpit with his head tilted slightly as he regards your form splayed out on the pilot seat. He’s partially veiled in darkness, a stoic and unmoving figure in the shadows while you are illuminated by the soft light shining into the cabin from the repair dock the Razor Crest is currently sat in. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, caught in a place you shouldn’t be by a man who won’t hesitate to throw you off his ship for breaking the rules.

But that’s the game.

This is the thrill you’ve been chasing ever since you first met the mysterious armoured bounty hunter several weeks ago. He had taken you on board the Crest out of pity, that must’ve been it. To him you had been simply a poor lost girl, and he was the fool who needed an assistant of sorts. Perhaps he needed the company too, or something more, but he’d never admitted it to you.

Now he finds you a breathless, half-naked mess in his seat on his ship. Your breasts freed from the caging fabric around them, rising and falling with your careless breath. Your dexterous fingers dipped below the waistband of your pants, but stilled with your clit pinched between two of them under the fabric. Your gentle, too-quiet mewls of pleasure coming to a halt as he moves.

The game had started by accident, because you were too careless and liked him too much. It had very quickly become clear to you—after settling in to your role on the ship like a duck to water—that he was more than his profession, than his armour, than his creed. He wasn’t just some strong brute hunting quarry for credits. He was powerful and astute, a man of honour and of heart no matter how much he tried to bury it.

So naturally you wanted him more than anything.

You weren’t sure of his desire for you, although you had some inkling from the way he paid attention to you as you worked on the ship. Most likely he thought you didn’t notice him staring, thought his helmet made it impossible to tell, but you felt it every time. So you knew he had walked in on you as you thought of him, hands working underneath the fabric of your clothing, even before he realised what was happening.

“I- I’m sorry” he had stuttered in shock at the realisation, turning immediately but hesitating to leave.

“Stay. Please” was your immediate, unthinking response and you swear you heard his breath hitch at your request.

“Is that what you want? Me to- To watch?” he responded eventually, slowly, turning back towards you.

“Yes. If it’s what you want”

And it was.

So he had stayed, and watched. Again, and again, and again. It played out the same every time; him catching you in some immodest display, though no longer by accident, and watching rapt and unspeaking each time you brought yourself off for him. Never touching you, never asking you for more. Just watching, and never speaking of it.

“Keep going” he tells you now, bringing you back to yourself. He crosses his arms, leans back again and tilts his head nodding towards the place your fingers are splayed inside the fabric of your pants.

You gulp down dumbly, throat dry, before pulling back your hand to help you shimmy out of the pants and toss off the shirt that had been bunched up above your chest. You spread your legs wide, hoping desperately that the sight of you naked and spread for him on his seat will be driving him wild inside the mass of metal covering him. You let yourself imagine him wanting you, taking you. Think about his skin; it would be hot under you. How would he touch you? Would it be gentle, like you’re a glass ornament he’s afraid to shatter. Or would he lean in to his strength? You think about his large hand around your throat, squeezing. The image of it makes you moan and slide your hands back down your body.

It’s difficult to discern exactly what his reaction is to you. The man gives nothing away – always able to hide any slack-jawed admiration, reddened cheeks or looks of desire behind the helmet that never comes off. He’s not much of a talker either, choosing the simplest answers and instructions and rarely making real conversation with you. He has the advantage there. It makes you feel like he holds all the power, he is able to keep calm and collected where even the simplest brush of your body against his covered frame would cause you to stutter and stumble even when you were so sure of yourself.

This, now, is a rare moment when you perceive that you have at least some command. At the very least you know he’s captured; following your movements and paying attention only to you for once. The action of your hands, fingers gently grazing over your skin to return to their place between your legs while your other palms at your breasts, your touch frustratingly light as you tease your sensitive nipples.

The way the cool, dim light falls over you makes it seem like you’re bathed in ethereal moonlight, like some goddess of sin. The smallest gasp escapes your lips when you glide over your clit, and you know he can see exactly how wet you are. You keep your eyes firmly on him as you slide two digits inside yourself with ease, feeling the rush of heat as you curl them against your upper wall and desperately trying to hold on to the imagined eye contact you have with the emotionless visage before you. Odd, not to know the colour of the man’s eyes but still willingly give him this deeply intimate moment.

Pulling your fingers back, you hold them up to show him they are slick with you before bringing them to your lips. It’s obscene, opening your mouth and tasting yourself as he continues to watch in silence, statuesque. The slightest movement of his hand as you do so, balling up in to a fist, gives you more of a rush than any other person has ever provided you. So you keep going; saliva coated digits trailing between your breasts and further, down past your bellybutton, down to you slick folds to continue teasing that bundle of nerves that holds the key to your release.

So sensitive, more than you expect, you choke against the pressure of the small, concentrated circling motions. Throwing your head back until it bumps against the seatback and you’re whining, not just at how good it feels to touch yourself but how good it is to know he’s watching. Your other hand pinching the skin of your thigh hard, the tingle of pain mixed with the pleasure making you feel white-hot and on your way to the heavens.

“M- Mando” you whimper, wanting to make sure he knows it’s him you’re imagining.

But then he’s moving. You hear the slightest noise of his footsteps and open your eyes wide, stopping dead in your movements. He isn’t stopping, coming so close to you it would take nothing at all to reach out and touch the cool metal covering him.

This isn’t how the game goes.

Is this when he finally throws you off the ship?

“What…” you rasp out the beginnings of a question, unsure what to do with this unprecedented action. He’s never been this close while you’ve been this naked. Fuck, your heart is pounding and you’re frozen to the spot waiting for him to make his move, ready to be dragged out of the cockpit and left to fend for yourself.

Instead Mando drops to his knees with a muted thud onto the metal flooring, positioned between your open legs and his gloved hand hovers over your raised knee. Did you finally break him? The thought makes you shiver.

“Can I?” he asks softly.

You just nod, still wide eyed in shock, and when you feel his covered palm land gently down before moving slightly upwards you let out a breath you had no idea you had been holding. The caress is tender and slow, moving half way up the thigh then back down to where it started. You pray to the stars that this never ends, but too soon he’s moving away and leaning back slightly.

“Can you keep your eyes closed?” he enquires, something of a tremble in his voice as he pinches the fabric of the glove between the fingers on his opposite hand and pulls ever so slightly.

Another violent nod and you scrunch your eyes shut as tight as possible for him, never more eager for anything than what you think is happening now.

“Good” you hear him shuffle, something dropping to the floor.

You want to ask him what changed, why he’s offering you this unexpected gift. Want to know how this changes things. But instead you stutter in what you can only call absolute bliss when he lays his now-bare hand against your hip.

He sighs at the contact, and you nearly come undone at the sound alone.

“Keep going” he orders, but less commanding than before, with a squeeze where he’s touching you before he slowly starts to move.

You had almost forgotten about what you had been doing, slowly starting to move your fingers again at his request. Your entire body is buzzing, the places his palm roams scorching with the touch of his skin on yours. Finally. Your imagination is nothing against the real thing. There is nothing but this in your mind now, you want to stay in this moment for the rest of time. His touch will be the only memory you keep from now on.

When his fingers dance across your stomach then down to the opposite hip it’s feather-light and tender, but reaching your other thigh he lets his fingers dig in to the soft flesh making you cry out. He touches you everywhere but the place you don’t dare to even think about him touching, where you still work towards your peak. And oh you’re close, inching closer with every movement of his, every reminder that he is real and here and touching you.

His breath is heavy through the modulator, hitching as he reaches your breasts and kneads the pliant curve of flesh to his will. You groan, zoning in on that feeling but too soon he’s moving on, upwards, hand hesitantly settling around your throat.

“This is what you like?”

Of course, he knows it. Has seen you do this to yourself enough times now, always wishing it was him.

“Yes. Yes. Please” you murmur out, momentarily stilling the ministrations against your swollen clit to ensure you keep you eyes closed when he acquiesces and presses down just slightly at first – making sure it’s safe – then with a tiny bit more pressure and it’s enough.

It doesn’t take anything more than that; you choke, swipe twice more over your clit, and unravel in an instant, falling apart from an orgasm stronger than any other in your life. Your legs shake hard, muscles tensing then releasing. Calling out unintelligible expressions of sheer ecstasy, barely even aware of the fluid gushing from you in your overwhelming pleasure that goes on and on with no beginning or end in sight. Rapture, truly.

Eventually you slump back, completely undone and weightless. Your skin tingles where Mando now lightly caresses, soothing you as your heart-rate slowly comes back down.

When he pulls away, you let out a quiet sob, keeping your eyes shut waiting for him to tell you what to do. There’s some noise, but you can’t move through the thick fog in your mind to know what it is.

“Wait…stay. What does this-” again you try to ask but you’re cut off.

Soft, plush and sweet, you must be dreaming when you feel his lips press against yours. Stars, this can’t be real.

But his lips moving against yours like this, the quiet moan coming from him when you kiss him back, you would never torture yourself with such a beautiful feeling only for it to be completely imagined. Making yourself experience this knowing you could never really have it, that would be more cruel than anything else you’ve thought about with him.

This kiss, this is real. It’s the truest thing you’ve ever know.

And it changes the game forever.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #fanfic #reader insert #gideon writes again maybe #*repost

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 5: Insight

During the Clone Wars, the Bad Batch is tasked with a variety of missions across the galaxy. An unexpected addition to their team throws a wrench in the mix, particularly for Tech, who finds a particular connection with this disillusioned Padawan-turned-mechanic named Vel throughout the events in this action-adventure romance.

COVER ART BY @zaana!! And this was my first fanfic ever, y'all! :D

Master List of Chapters

Another mission, another risky departure. This time, the hyperdrive wasn't working, and as a last resort, Tech asked Vel for help. Once again, she came through, in another impossible situation. The team was amazed at her mechanical knowledge. As soon as they had a break between missions, though, they had their orders to drop her off. But she had so much knowledge. All mechanical, delivered dryly and peppered with laments about her now-useless status to both the Bounty Hunter's Guild and the Jedi Order. After much deliberation, the team asked her to stay, as a ship mechanic, until she decided where she wanted to go.

At this point, it had been long enough that she agreed, having grown accustomed to the ship's little nuances and quirks. But it came with one stipulation: she wasn't to be a prisoner anymore. She had no reason to turn against them and she was grateful for their help, though still hopelessly jaded about her future and resentful about her past.

She fashioned some makeshift quarters in the hold, still dark but better than bars and a stark cell. She had no personal items except a pouch with some credits, a basic medpack, and the multi-use weapon that Crosshair had relieved her of upon her capture, which wasn't returned to her just yet. The ship was under constant need of repair or maintenance, so she worked frequently alongside Tech, as well as the others, depending on what was needed. She was quiet and efficient, grateful for the lack of conversation when she assisted Hunter or Crosshair and chagrined at the constant questions and thoughts that accompanied any project with Wrecker.

Tech, however, was hard to discern. He spoke factually -- only when needed and immediately applicable. He did sometimes tend to explain a single topic in far too much detail, but she found it preferable to any questions or conversation directed at her, so she didn't make any effort to stop it. She found her interests piqued at his different approaches to certain processes, and they both shared an endless curiosity for the various intricacies of the galaxy.

They spoke of past missions, of their childhoods and experiences. Vel divulged bits and pieces here and there, and Tech began constructing a mental map of her story. Born on a lush forest planet, she was taken to the Jedi temple as a youngling when her Force abilities had surfaced, but throughout the Padawan training, it became painfully apparent that she was insufficient.

"Diplomatically dismissed," Vel said, rolling her eyes and waving the spanner in front of her, "Although I'd just call it what it is -- I wasn't good enough."

Tech remained silent, considering the ramifications. He was lying flat underneath a control panel, welding some rough edges while she rerouted the wires to avoid damaging them. "I went back to my dad, but he had moved to Corellia," she continued. "He tried to hide his disappointment, but it was apparent. So he thought he could make me the best mechanic in the shipyard instead. He hired me out as an apprentice to every specialist he could find. I worked during the day and studied in the evenings." "It sounds quite intensive," Tech responded, momentarily pausing from the flying sparks in front of him. "He was trying to do whatever he could to make me useful," Vel answered, her voice tight to conceal the deep pain. Tech remained silent, keeping his thoughts to himself, partially due to the emotional precision required and partially due to the discomfort of the situation. He lifted the face shield to rest atop his head, patiently awaiting any further revelation.

"Anyway," Vel continued, clearing her throat and regaining an air of carelessness, "It was never enough. I made him so much money, got him known throughout the system for ship modifications, but I made one small mistake on a Techno Union transport, and he kicked me out."

She shared the story factually, as if it meant nothing to her, but the constriction in her throat was unmistakable. "His own daughter -- imagine that," she said, returning to her work with a clenched jaw. 

Tech felt deeply unsettled, not having much training on this sort of situation. He racked his brain, searching through the literature and studies he had consumed regarding human interaction and family dynamics before settling on his best attempt at encouragement: "The hardcell-class interstellar transport was a notoriously unique model, especially since it did not use conventional repulsorlifts for flight but opted for--"

"--rocket propulsion for atmospheric and stellar travel," Vel interrupted, "I know... Now."

"Ah," was his only response. He regarded her for a moment, and considered returning to his welding, but felt a compulsion to try again. He considered what she had shared, noting her body language, and decided on a different approach. 

"I am sorry that your father failed to exhibit the loyalty one would traditionally expect from a birth parent," Tech said. "I would posit that it had more to do with his own ethical shortcomings than your perceived incompetence. If I had been born in the traditional human method, I would likely feel similarly disenfranchised by a lack of a secure attachment."

Vel didn't expect to laugh at this, but a chuckle burst out nonetheless. First of all, she had never expected to be sharing her aches and pains with a random clone engineer, and second of all, she had never guessed she would be comforted by a factual analysis of her developmental psychology.

She looked at him, staring solemnly right back at her without a trace of sarcasm or judgment, and couldn't help but smile. "I don't even know what to say to that," she said.

"No response needed," Tech responded matter-of-factly, pulling his face shield back down and returning to his work. Sparks began to fly again, and not just in the literal way this time, yaknowwhaddimean? ;) 





Tag List: @merkitty49 @vimse @arctrooper69 @dystopicjumpsuit @starrylothcat @ghostperson69 @dreamie411 @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff (If you're on my regular tag list, let me know if you want to be tagged in this; I didn't want to spam ya!)

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#the bad batch #tbb #star wars fanfiction #the bad batch fanart #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tech fanfiction #tech romance #tech x oc #slow burn romance #tech #tech bad batch #tbb tech

[voukkake]

Cyberpunk Universe of Blade Runner (and based on the movie Alita: Battle Angel).

Dream or Morpheus Endless is a scientist/ technician who is in charge of creating technology for Dreaming, a very important part of the floating city, he comes from a powerful family in which he is the third son of the family's eight successors. His closest sisters being Death and Delirium (don't ask me what the parents did when naming them, idk) and his "rival" Desire, the fifth. Morpheus works day and night prioritizing the advancement of society above anything including his health and emotional stability, being repeatedly forced by his assistants to eat and even sleep for his sake. His attitude is cold and rough, however he tries to be kind to those he trusts. One day he discovers that his most precious and valuable creation "Corintio" has escaped, being helped by his brother Desire.

Despite expressing his tremendous annoyance at letting his creation go to wreak havoc on the underworld, his parents ignore him instead of helping him, arguing that it should have been more careful knowing how playful his younger brother used to be. With no one else to rely on, Dream travels to the underworld with his sister Death and one of his assistants Matthew, to hunt down Corintio, who despite his elaborate development is presented with quite hostile and psychopathic attitudes.

On his trip he meets someone he does not identify firsthand but later recognizes as Robert Hob Gadling, a former mercenary, now a bounty hunter, who comments on the commotion that has been going on in those days and the madness of walking through such insecure places. Dream collides with Gadling's outgoing and flirtatious personality, whom he only "uses" to find Corintio more quickly.

In one of those outings, Dream decides to continue on his path, since he works better "alone" and in his meeting with Corintio he is kidnapped by Roderick Burgess, owner of a large part of the bars and motels in the area, who plans to use Morpheus as a tool to return to the floating city. Hob, upon learning of the decision, comes to his rescue with the help of Death and Matthew, confronting Roderick and losing his robotic leg in the process due to the fight. After saving Dream and putting him in a safe place, Hob angrily expresses to him how worrying it is that someone like him would get lost in a place like that, since Dream's life is considered more worthier than all the cities in that place and that his attitude was going to end up with him dead sooner or later and the same with those he loves along with that fate. Dream reflects and decides to accompany Hob so that together they can get Corintio and end the terror that exists in the city.

-------

Robert Hob Gadling is a former mercenary, now bounty hunter, who lives in one of the devastated cities of Iron City.

Hob was an orphan since he was 12 and was taken in by a Blade Runner who ran a small hospital to repair androids in exchange for food or pay. This man raised Hob to try to be someone, however at an early age Robert stood out for being good at stealing and running away, becoming a young mercenary at 22.

He met his wife Eleanor, having a son with her and promising to lead a better life. One stormy night and due to past enemies, Hob found himself cornered in his house by a crazy android who murdered his pregnant wife and son Robyn, leaving Hob injured with the loss of his left leg. Hob returns to his mentor, defeated and begging for forgiveness, admitting his mistakes and seeking help. The man helps him because he feels that paternal affection towards Hob and gives him a robot leg, showing him the art of being a bounty hunter and what it entailed the responsibility of helping others.

Hob decides that he will avoid death at all costs and earns the nickname "The Immortal or the Lover of Death" for being the one who faced the most dangerous wanted people and emerged victorious in each of the encounters. With an extroverted, flirtatious and confident attitude, he gains a fairly implacable reputation.

On one of his outings he notices that on the huge screen a particular wanted person is described with an almost laughable reward of 10 million credits plus an exclusive pass to live for life in the floating city. Hob decides to go out in search of it to finally have an excuse to get out of that dump. On his trip he meets Morpheus, and is fascinated by his bearing, frivolous attitude and terrible sense of humor, although at first he feels that he has no choice, little by little he empathizes with him since he relates him to a little kitten who seeks to trust someone.

Having to rescue him from Roderick and losing his leg for the second time, Hob is enraged by Dream's lack of importance in his own life and confesses his past to the Endless so that the Endless will trust him (but not the part where he confesses to being insanely in love with him), gaining his trust.

Together they decide to go in search of Corintio, Desire and end the terror that exists in that city.

#ferdinand kingsley #dreamling #the sandman #tom sturridge #neil gaiman #dreamling au #battle angel alita #cyberpunk au

[ghostofskywalker]

Chance Meeting

Din Djarin/Reader

Fictober Day 17 of 31

Words: 928

Summary: When Boba Fett brings a newcomer to your repair shop hoping that you can fix his ship, you're startled at how much you're drawn to the Mandalorian.

Din Djarin Masterlist

“Boba! Long time no see!” you said brightly as the bounty hunter/crime lord walked into your shop, with another person by his side that you didn’t recognize. The newcomer was evidently a Mandalorian based on the gleaming beskar armor he wore, and he was holding the cutest child you’ve ever seen in your life. “What can I do for you?”  

“My friend here needs assistance fixing his ship,” Boba Fett said, gesturing to the Mandalorian, who sill stood stoically as the child in his arms smiled and waved a tiny green hand at you.

“That’s definitely something I can help with,” you said. “What kind of ship is it?”

“It’s an N-1 Starfighter,” the Mandalorian cut into the conversation. “I’m having some issues with the accelerator and the person I usually go to isn’t around.”

His tone wasn’t aggressive, but you still found yourself slightly nervous when speaking to him. It didn’t help that he had what you could only describe as the most attractive voice you’ve ever heard in your entire life. Once you pushed any distracting thoughts down, you cleared your throat before responding. “Why don’t we move it into my workshop area and I’ll take a look? I think that should be an easy enough problem to fix.”

It was a beautiful ship, and you couldn’t help the way your mouth dropped open when you saw it. Once you got underneath it and took a look at the engine though, you could see some places where it could have been assembled better, and that was what most likely caused the problem with the accelerator.

“Can you fix it?” Boba asked as you stood up and looked at them.

“Yeah, it shouldn’t take me long either, if you want me to go ahead and fix it now,” you responded.

“Please,” the Mandalorian said. “Take as much time as you need.”

Boba Fett bid you goodbye and disappeared, leaving you alone with the Mandalorian and who you assumed was his child (though you were still really unsure about that one). You had offered them both food and water, but he didn’t accept your offer, so you just started to work on the ship.

After about half an hour of laying under the ship and trying to repair the accelerator’s wiring, you were startled from your focus by a voice. “How do you know Boba Fett?”

“I only met him a few months ago, since he took over the territory,” you said. “But since then I’ve worked on a few projects for him, and I’ll occasionally fix the speeder bikes for his security detail. What about you?”

“I met him when trying to bring the child back to his own kind,” he said.

“Obviously you haven’t succeeded at that then.”

“What?” Since you were laying on a rolling platform underneath the ship, you couldn’t see his body language, and even if you could the helmet would have hidden his expression from the rest of the world as well.

“The child,” you repeated, pausing what you were doing. “He’s still with you, so are you still looking for his kind?”

There was a pause before he spoke again. “I did find one of his kind,” he said, his voice much softer than you had heard previously. “But it didn’t really stick I guess.” You smiled. “That’s okay, he seems to be happy with you.” As if to back up your statement, you heard the child coo and giggle.

“Yeah.”

***

Halfway through your repair he had to step outside for something, and he didn’t return until after you were finished with the ship. The child had stayed, and he entertained you with his ability to make your tools float in midair with the wave of his hand. Up until this point, you had only heard rumors of the Force and those who spent their lives learning to use it, but seeing the way this little creature could just change things with a wave of his hand was wild. You wondered if the “kind” the Mandalorian had wanted to return him to was the Jedi, but you didn’t know of any Jedi left, not after they had been wiped out at the end of the Clone Wars, when you were only a toddler.

You weren’t too worried about being blown off when it came to payment, because you had both the man’s ship and his child. He didn’t make you wait too long either, eventually stepping back into the shop with a small pouch in his grip. “This should be enough to cover everything,” he said. You knew by the weight of the bag that it had more than enough credits to cover labor and repairs, and you tried to give some of them back. “No, I insist,” he just said, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so eventually you had to just shut up and take the money.

“If you have any trouble with it, feel free to come back and I’ll take a look at it. Free of charge,” you said as you walked him out of your shop.

“Thank you very much,” he responded, and you could hear the sincerity in his voice. “If you ever need anything, please feel free to reach out to Boba. He knows how to contact me.”

Not sure what that meant, you just nodded as he got into the ship, placing the child in a modified astromech port. And as he took to the skies, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were ever going to see him again.

- the end -

#ghostofskywalker.fictober #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars fanfiction

[nightmdic]

Since I added the star w.ars verse to the car.rd, have some headcanon stuff:

worked as a medic in Ryloth where she was born and raised

once she was old enough started to travel, and thus got caught up deeper within the war first patient she assisted was a clone worked more during the war and learning about the medical droids as to work herself as well as assist them when needed can use a blaster fairly well and fight like a soldier well; stronger in long distance combat versus hand-to-hand/close quarters her mother was the one most force sensitive between her and Marie’s father marie's family was born on Ryloth, and though her parents still live on the planet, her brother's traverse all around the galaxy in their own pursuits. Charles a bounty hunter, Riley a wealthy politician, and Seamus a fighter in underground rings Marie's lekku are known to be on the more sensitive side, and though rarity it has been seen for her to grab a nearby tool with them whilst either aiding a patient or working on a medical droid. Her droid knowledge came from her father growing up, and thus is utilized to help repair medical driods when they obtain any damage

She speaks the galactic basic standard, Twi'leki, and Mando'a, primarily in the GBS, using her twi'leki more around those close to her/when needed if having to go undercover

#✚ medical records ( hc ) #✚ REPUBLIC MEDIC ON DUTY ( SW VERSE ) #(added the two images cause i couldn't figure out how to add) #(the markings to the second one)

[biblicallyaccuratebeskar]

Metal Home

Read Chapter 12 Here

Also on AO3

Chapter 13/22: ~1.2K words

Saved

Despite my protests, Mando, Din, came out with me to asses the damage.

It was luckily less than I feared, mainly just exterior paneling. The only issue was there was no civilization within eyesight in every direction. Just sand and rock. At least we were that far away from any hunters then, too. I could tell he was hurting, but I did take comfort in the fact that wasn’t, you know, actively dying anymore.

Seeing him like that stirred something deep and primal within me, a new and horrifying fear. Din was covered in armor, but he wasn’t as invincible as he let on. He was still human. Achingly so.

“Hello there!”

We both rapidly looked around for the source of the voice, blasters drawn.

I saw the figure, silhouetted on the hill. It was bizarrely shape, a tiny head and enormous, bulbous body with a pointed tail.

Only when it approached us did I realize it was actually a small rider on a bizarre looking creature. It was an Ugnaught wearing comedically large riding goggles.

“A bit of a rough landing, I see?”

Din suggestively tilted his helmet towards me in agreement. I was never going to live this down, was I.

“Uh, well yeah, had to find somewhere to land. This isn’t your property, is it?”

“Oh, no. It’s just when you see a ship fall from the sky one tends to be curious. You will be needing repairs,” he said gesturing to, well, everything.

“If you could point us in the direction of the nearest trading post, it would be appreciated,” Din said.

“Well I can tell you it is in that direction,” he began, pointing east, “but it is not attainable on foot. You will need assistance. Come. You must take blurrg.”

“Uh, I don’t think-“

“I have spoken.”

He gently pulled on the creature’s saddle, the aforementioned blurrg I assumed, and turned away before we could say anything more.

What other option did we have? We begrudgingly followed him over the hill and came to a small hut surrounded by animal pens and moisture pods. The pens contained other blurrgs, frolicking around and trumpeting.

“We have to ride those things?” Din sighed.

I smiled. “Big, bad bounty hunter scared of a little blurrg?”

His helmet turned to me as if to go, “Really?”

The Ugnaught led us over to a pen. “These two are already saddled and accustomed to a rider. Now, they must become accustomed to you. Approach them cautiously. They are carnivorous.”

Amazing. To my secret relief, Din tried first, squatting lightly as the blurrg squared to face him. With a bellow the creature ran towards him with the swing of a snout knocked him across the pen.

“Mando!”

He waved up a hand to indicate he was fine. “He doesn’t seem,” he groaned, “pleased.”

“It is a she,” the Ugnaught interjected. “The females eat the males during the mating season.”

“That sounds about right,” Din replied, looking at me. My jaw dropped and I could see him chuckle.

After a few more rounds of them running in circles around each other, Din finally mounted the blurrg. My turn.

I tentatively approached the other one. Steam blew from its nostrils and its giant eyes flashed at me.

Ok. I’m not here to hurt you, I thought. I’m relaxed. You’re relaxed. Let’s all be relaxed, ok?

I swear it was like she listened. As I got closer she didn’t budge, even when I gently rested a hand on her snout. At the touch she grunted, wagging her tail.

I laughed. “Friends? Yeah, friends!” I slowly got in the saddle and the blurrg didn’t protest. Beaming, I looked over at the Ugnaught. He was clapping politely. Din seemed slightly peeved, but still impressed.

The Ugnaught opened the gate, saying, “I would say to tell the vendor that Kuiil sent you, but I would hope that the blurrgs speak for themselves. Keep moving. The night is not a good time to ride in these parts.”

“Thank you, Kuiil,” Din said. “We have credits for when we return.” “That is unnecessary. I have everything I need,” Kuiil replied hands waving in refusal, nodding courteously as we passed through the gate.

“That’s very kind,” I said.

“Kindness is in short supply in the galaxy these days. I must do my part.”

——

The vendor had what we needed, minus just a few things that could wait another trip or so. We tied the bags to the blurrgs and made our way back to Kuiil’s hut as the sun dipped over the horizon.

We were almost back, when suddenly the blurrgs became skittish, swaying their heads and refusing to walk any further.

Din and I both dismounted. I walked to the front of mine, rubbing her snout.

“What’s up, girl? Something got you spooked?” I could feel the fear rolling off of her in waves, her pupils constricting.

“Din, something’s wrong, I think there’s-“

The sand exploded behind us and the blurrgs took off squealing.

A monstrous sand creature emerged from the ground, at least six legs waving in the air as its toothy mouth bellowed into the night. It towered over us as its scaly body unfurled.

We both started blasting, but the shots bounced off its thick skin. It hissed, a deep rattling sound echoing from its abdomen as it scuttled towards us.

“Run!” I screamed, and we took off, it quickly catching up to us. One leg swung out, knocking Din off his footing and he went down. The creature was about to strike, but I shot it in the face before it could do so, distracting it and sufficiently pissing it off.

I ran in the opposite direction, feeling the ground shake as it came after me. Behind, I heard Din activate the thrusters of his Rising Phoenix. I looked back just long enough to see him grab on to the creature’s neck, flame thrower spitting fire into the air widly as it tried to shake him off.

I aimed my blaster, but couldn’t get the shot, afraid I’d shoot him instead. The blaster didn’t work anyways. I flicked out my knife. “Din!” I yelled showing it to him. Then, I threw it with all my might at the creature. It made its mark, sinking in to the flesh on its chest. It roared in pain, but it was like giving it a paper cut. Din reach down and yanked it out, and the creature took advantage, flicking its neck and sending him falling to the ground. He was pinned, only a knife lifted up as the creature’s jaws flew down to crush him.

No. I couldn’t lose him like this. I wouldn’t.

Like it was instinct, my hands flew up and the creature stopped mid motion, jerking and twitching.

I shook as I got a hold of it, never before able to latch to anything’s energy on at will. Well, I’d never really tried.

Muscles shivering, I motioned upwards and I watched as its feet left the ground. There was a tide between us, ebbing and flowing and I felt myself being pulled out into a great sea of nothingness.

In one fluid movement, Din reached up and slashed its throat with my knife. It gurgled and screeched as if shuddered to the ground. He was safe.

My knees gave out and the world went dark.

#metal home #din djarin #din djaren #din djarin fic #din djarin x oc #din djarin x female oc #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x female oc #mandalorian fic #mandalorian x oc #mandalorian slow burn #mandalorian x female reader

[ingloriousmuses]

An introduction to the muses:

— Vivian Kennedy, Inglourious Basterds. Known as the Lady Basterd, she is like a sister to the Basterds—- but don’t let her pretty face fool you. With sixty-seven scalps under her belt and a knife sharpened and poised for the sixty-eighth, she works to bring an end to the war, and glory to her brothers-in-arms.

— Tessa Nashton, The Green Hornet. Tessa is a socialite who finds herself entangled in the crime of her beloved city, and, finding herself in a serious bind that threatens her reputation, turns to none other than Benjamin Chudnofsky to eliminate the problem and clear her name.

— Tahlia Leigh, Water for Elephants. The Benzini Bros. Songbird is a singer with a heart of gold, and eyes only for August Rosenbluth, the recently divorced ringmaster who’s working to rebuild his circus and his life from disaster. She is a talented performer and a gentle soul, and, perhaps, the key to saving the circus from failure. (Bonus: I have an individual roleplay account for her! @benzinis-songbird . But I also write her here.)

— Delilah Raine, Django Unchained/Dead for a Dollar. The wife of an abusive, high-class man, Delilah lives a life of deception: by day she plays the role of a happy wife, and by night she cries herself to sleep while her husband drinks and curses. It is not until a bounty hunter rides into town that she begins to see hope —- and perhaps, a chance at true love.

— Stella, Epic. Stella was once a trusted servant of Queen Tara, before her death. In her grief, Stella swore to get revenge on those who killed the beloved queen. Her attempt at revenge was thwarted, and she was captured by Boggans, given to their warlord Mandrake as a gift. He had just lost a son, and yearned for an heir to his kingdom—- when he saw Stella brought before him, a recognizable member of the Queen’s handmaidens, a plan quickly formed.

— Matilda “Tilda” Leth, Spectre/No Time to Die. Tilda is the personal assistant-turned-lover of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, head of Spectre. As the keeper of many of his secrets, she finds herself tangled deeply in Spectre’s web. . . and soon finds herself carrying a secret of her own.

— Eleanora Sandvoort, Tulip Fever. Eleanora is the third wife and last great love of Cornelis Sandvoort. A dedicated and loving woman, she wants nothing more than to fill his quiet home with their children. Cornelis desires a legacy, and she’s prepared to give it to him.

— Lorraine Blight, Downsizing. Lorraine downsized with nothing left to lose. She worked a dead-end job; she didn’t have friends, and didn’t have a partner. Downsizing was a chance to start over, to perhaps move forward in life, and moving into a complex with lots of interesting people — including a certain Serbian playboy — gave her hope for everything she had yearned for.

— Ophelia Rom, Alita: Battle Angel. An ex-Zalemite who left to escape an abusive relationship, Ophelia is kept alive by technology on the back and base of her skull. She is very reclusive and withdrawn, but when she finds herself in need of repairs, turns to the well-loved Dr. Dyson Ido for help.

— Evelyn Warner, Most Dangerous Game. Little is known about Evelyn —- if that’s even her real name; nobody knows for sure. She’s a part of the Tiro Fund, and works alongside Miles and his crew to put on successful hunts all around the world. Her talent for theatrics makes her a valuable asset to the sport.

— Evangeline Rush, The Consultant. Evangeline’s job as a personal assistant is a difficult one, but with such an enigmatic and charming new boss as Regus Patoff, she finds coming to work gets a little more interesting each day. She begins to learn more about the man behind the name, and finds herself enamored with him.

— OC FOR GUILLERMO DEL TORO’S PINOCCHIO COMING SOON !

— OC FOR THE PORTABLE DOOR COMING SOON !

— OC FOR KOPFSTAND COMING SOON !

#oc: vivian kennedy. #oc: tessa nashton. #oc: tahlia leigh rosenbluth. #oc: delilah raine. #oc: stella. #oc: matilda leth blofeld. #oc: eleanora sandvoort. #oc: lorraine blight. #oc: ophelia rom. #oc: evelyn warner. #oc: evangeline rush. #inglorious introductions. #inglorious writes #; ooc tag tbd.

[littlemisswaltz]

an introduction to my ocs :

the Christoph Waltz movies/TV edition .

Feel free to ask me anything you’d like about them!

— Vivian Kennedy, Inglourious Basterds. Known as the Lady Basterd, she is like a sister to the Basterds—- but don’t let her pretty face fool you. With sixty-seven scalps under her belt and a knife sharpened and poised for the sixty-eighth, she works to bring an end to the war, and glory to her brothers-in-arms.

— Tessa Nashton, The Green Hornet. Tessa is a socialite who finds herself entangled in the crime of her beloved city, and, finding herself in a serious bind that threatens her reputation, turns to none other than Benjamin Chudnofsky to eliminate the problem and clear her name.

— Tahlia Leigh, Water for Elephants. The Benzini Bros. Songbird is a singer with a heart of gold, and eyes only for August Rosenbluth, the recently divorced ringmaster who’s working to rebuild his circus and his life from disaster. She is a talented performer and a gentle soul, and, perhaps, the key to saving the circus from failure. (Bonus: I have a roleplay account for her! @benzinis-songbird)

— Delilah Raine, Django Unchained/Dead for a Dollar. The wife of an abusive, high-class man, Delilah lives a life of deception: by day she plays the role of a happy wife, and by night she cries herself to sleep while her husband drinks and curses. It is not until a bounty hunter rides into town that she begins to see hope —- and perhaps, a chance at true love.

— Stella, Epic. Stella was once a trusted servant of Queen Tara, before her death. In her grief, Stella swore to get revenge on those who killed the beloved queen. Her attempt at revenge was thwarted, and she was captured by Boggans, given to their warlord Mandrake as a gift. He had just lost a son, and yearned for an heir to his kingdom—- when he saw Stella brought before him, a recognizable member of the Queen’s handmaidens, a plan quickly formed.

— Matilda “Tilda” Leth, Spectre/No Time to Die. Tilda is the personal assistant-turned-lover of Ernst Stavro Blofeld, head of Spectre. As the keeper of many of his secrets, she finds herself tangled deeply in Spectre’s web. . . and soon finds herself carrying a secret of her own.

— Eleanora Sandvoort, Tulip Fever. Eleanora is the third wife and last great love of Cornelis Sandvoort. A dedicated and loving woman, she wants nothing more than to fill his quiet home with their children. Cornelis desires a legacy, and she’s prepared to give it to him.

— Lorraine Blight, Downsizing. Lorraine downsized with nothing left to lose. She worked a dead-end job; she didn’t have friends, and didn’t have a partner. Downsizing was a chance to start over, to perhaps move forward in life, and moving into a complex with lots of interesting people — including a certain Serbian playboy — gave her hope for everything she had yearned for.

— Ophelia Rom, Alita: Battle Angel. An ex-Zalemite who left to escape an abusive relationship, Ophelia is kept alive by technology on the back and base of her skull. She is very reclusive and withdrawn, but when she finds herself in need of repairs, turns to the well-loved Dr. Dyson Ido for help.

— Evelyn Warner, Most Dangerous Game. Little is known about Evelyn —- if that’s even her real name; nobody knows for sure. She’s a part of the Tiro Fund, and works alongside Miles and his crew to put on successful hunts all around the world. Her talent for theatrics makes her a valuable asset to the sport.

— Evangeline Rush, The Consultant. Evangeline’s job as a personal assistant is a difficult one, but with such an enigmatic and charming new boss as Regus Patoff, she finds coming to work gets a little more interesting each day. She begins to learn more about the man behind the name, and finds herself enamored with him.

— OC FOR GUILLERMO DEL TORO’S PINOCCHIO COMING SOON !

— OC FOR THE PORTABLE DOOR COMING SOON !

— OC FOR KOPFSTAND COMING SOON !

#my ocs #my writing #tags tbd

[hrpickens]

i'll let you | fem!reader x din djarin

Chapter 1: a new life

18+ | reader is an ex mercenary that's forcefully retired and now working for peli motto at bay 3-5 as her live-in guard and mechanic's assistant. everyday is boring and monotonous till the mandalorian and his odd companion show up needing help. reader is now swept up in their chaotic life.

word count: 697

**this is a work in progress, it will be explicit and i'll add tw's and tags as needed later when things progress**

read on ao3

Ending up on the driest, dustiest planet imaginable was not the plan. In fact, Tatooine had to be the last place on earth I’d ever wanted to visit, let alone live. I’ve had enough bad run-ins on this planet to know that for sure. When I pictured retiring from the mercenary world, I thought of settling down on a nice quiet planet in the Outer Rim. Somewhere I could keep to myself, where others minded their own business and didn’t know who I was. What I didn’t picture for my long overdue retirement was crashlanding on Tatooine, home of my dead ex-boss and at least a handful of people who wanted me dead too.

But we don’t always get what we want, do we?

Things could be worse and believe me they have been. When I first got here, naïve bounty hunters came searching for me left and right. Easy to dodge, easy to take out when needed. But annoying pests none the less. Now that I’m not constantly hunting or being hunted, I find that I spend as much time as possible asleep. That’s one thing I love about retirement: sleep. Sleep was a rare commodity as a mercenary, almost as rare as water on Tatooine.

After about a year, they finally stopped coming after me. I think it’s because every hunter I encountered either ended up dead or horrifically injured by my hand, and honestly my bounty wasn’t high enough for the risk. The last job I took, I killed the wrong guy. Well, he was the right guy, but…you know what I mean. He had a lot of friends. And I pissed them off, bad. Bad enough that this time I couldn’t come back from it. I laid low, changed my name, found a new occupation. Basically reinvented myself. And I have to admit, it feels good. I go by Kalena now, my late sister’s name. My actual name is Y/N.

I wasn’t looking for a new flashy job, just something to rake in enough credits to keep me alive. I have enough stowed away from my last job that I don’t have to worry about saving extra credits. Finding a job was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Turns out I’m pretty much useless at anything besides killing. Tried my hand as a barkeep at the local cantina, was fired within the day for “instigating a fist fight”. All I did was point out that the Mon Calamari in the corner was making eyes at this moisture farmer’s wife and now I’m fired? I was just lookin’ out for the lady.

Luckily some local mechanic was there and witnessed the whole thing and kindly offered me a job. Talk about convenient. Turns out this gig is a lot better than that bantha fodder cantina job anyway. I’m not much of a mechanic, but I’ve learned a lot and help out where I can. Peli pretty much hired me to be her live-in guard and extra hand. She’s a tough cookie herself but I think if she ever got in a blaster fight, she’d pass out.

I actually have my own room and everything! It’s surprisingly cozy; rounded ceilings, a cot with a heavy wool blanket and soft pillow, a dresser to keep my (count ‘em) two whole outfits. More than I’ve had in a long time, and I’m genuinely grateful. Laying low has given me the chance to look inward and reflect on what I want from this galaxy. I still have no idea what that may be, but at least I have time to ponder now. No more racing heartbeat, constant adrenaline rush, crippling anxiety.

Peli doesn’t really have any enemies so being her live-in guard is a bit of a snooze fest. My day-to-day life working for her pretty much consists of her finding odd jobs in the hangar for me to do, and me learning how to repair ships, droids, landspeeders, you name it by assisting her. The most excitement we have around here is the occasional starship that comes in for a refueling or for an overpriced quote on repairs. That is, until he showed up.

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

a/n: a bit cheesy and short, i know. it was the vibe i was going for. i wanted a very expressive main character. im going to try my best to make this a slow burn but i am impatient so we shall see what happens. drop requests for specific situations in the comments because i'd love some inspo!

#din djarin #the mandalorian #baby yoda #grogu #din djairn x reader #reader x din djarin #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #reader x the mandalorian #reader x mandalorian #my works #fanfiction #star wars #fem!reader

[isthatmanahimbo]

This is one that this author sees a lot in various circles, so let's set the record straight once and for all about the Mandalorian himself, Din Djarin!

Din Djarin, aka Mando, is the main character in the Mandalorian, a Star Wars spin off property released on Disney+ in 2019. Digging back to Star Wars classic roots, the Mandalorian is an incredible mixture of space western and classic samurai tale, pulling from such inspirations as Clint Eastwood's Man With No Name and the manga series Lone Wolf and Cub. It details the story of a single Mandalorian who works as a bounty hunter and discovers a lost child, for whom he then takes responsibility and goes on a quest to reunite the Child with his kind to fulfill the creed of the Mandalorian people, stopping along the way to work small odd jobs.

Now, if this were your first time seeing a Mandalorian in the flesh, you'd be forgiven for being intimidated, because there's no flesh to be seen – as a people, Mandalorians live their lives covered head to toe in armor, and the helmet offers a distinctive silhouette. So while Din himself may not be a very beefy individual, as we do see people Mandalorian and not who are larger than him, he does get points for basically carrying a hulking mass of pure Beskar steel with him everywhere he goes – and as he mentions, it's not just the armor. Weapons are part of his religion. You can safely assume he's carrying around 100+ pounds of deadly on any given day. Beefy, not particularly – strong? Definitely.

Once you get past the armor, literal and metaphorical, the most striking and memorable trait about Din is his kindness. He tries to pretend that he isn't, of course – he's got a reputation to maintain – but he is polite and deferent in his speech, and ultimately a pushover when it comes to running errands for strangers. He might give an exasperated sigh, but yeah, he'll do whatever needs doing. And if he needs to call in further assistance, he's got well enough connections to do so – and he's always happy to step down and let a woman do the heavy lifting, literally or metaphorically, if he knows she's better suited for the job than he is. He just works here, man.

And boy, does he leave a trail of satisfied customers behind him. He has built up a vast history of jobs and connections, and you wouldn't be able to call in a job reference for this guy without the other person gushing about him. He doesn't show much consistent interest in romance, but this is only by virtue of the weekly storytelling model – the narrative makes it clear that if Din could settle down, he would. And his peers respect and love him for it. He might not be a Slut, but a Chad he certainly is.

But alas, this is not the himbo we are looking for, for Din is also incredibly intelligent and resourceful. This seems to be the largest misconception about him in himbo spaces, but although Din is hopelessly out of his depth when it comes to a supposedly long-extinct secret society of sorcerers, he is shown often and loudly to be competent and capable in every area he requires. He maintains a working understanding of numerous languages and cultures, a high-level knowledge of weaponry down to components and techniques (as he may need to clean or repair the tools on the job), and a more than functioning knowledge of engineering and mechanical repair in order to keep his ship running. To say absolutely nothing of his spatial and bodily awareness, or presumed knowledge of various species anatomy for medical care. With his huge breadth of knowledge and experience, Din's no dummy.

Total Himbo Score: 16

#is that man a himbo? #false friends! rating: not a himbo #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin

[freesia-writes]

The Bad Batch: Tech and Vel [Part 5]

A fun action/adventure/romance with Tech and an original character, set during the Clone Wars. Rated PG-13 for passion and peril. ;) And just a heads up -- so far, it's got about 27 parts, and I anticipate about 30-32. It kinda got away from me. ;)

Also, I did my best to keep a steady plot line and tried to think of all the potential plot holes or questions or whatnot, but ultimately, this was just an excuse to indulge in imagining a little romantic adventure for Tech. So forgive any inconsistencies or inaccuracies and enjoy the ride. ;)

(STORY IS BELOW THE PHOTO) Also, I'll publish the rest on Wattpad for those of you who want to read it all at once. But I probably won't finish it til the end of the month; want to see how Season 2 ends!

The Bad Batch: Tech and Vel - CT-9902 - Wattpad

Another mission, another risky departure. This time, the hyperdrive wasn't working, and as a last resort, Tech asked Vel for help. Once again, she came through, in another impossible situation. The team was amazed at her mechanical knowledge. As soon as they had a break between missions, though, they had their orders to drop her off. But she had so much knowledge. All mechanical, delivered dryly and peppered with laments about her now-useless status to both the Bounty Hunter's Guild and the Jedi Order. After much deliberation, the team asked her to stay, as a ship mechanic, until she decided where she wanted to go.

At this point, it had been long enough that she agreed, having grown accustomed to the ship's little nuances and quirks. But it came with one stipulation: she wasn't to be a prisoner anymore. She had no reason to turn against them anymore, and she was grateful for their help, though still hopelessly jaded about her future and resentful about her past.

She was fashioned some makeshift quarters in the hold, still dark but better than bars and a stark cell. She had no personal items except a pouch with some credits, a basic medpack, and the multi-use weapon that Crosshair had relieved her of upon her capture, and that was not in her possession just yet. The ship was under constant need of repair or maintenance, so she worked frequently alongside Tech primarily, as well as the others, depending on what was needed. She was quiet and efficient, grateful for the lack of conversation when she assisted Hunter or Crosshair and chagrined at the constant questions and thoughts that accompanied any project with Wrecker.

Tech, however, was hard to discern. He spoke factually, only when needed and immediately applicable. He did sometimes tend to explain a single topic in far too much detail, but she found it preferable to any questions or conversation directed at her, so didn't make any effort to stop it. She found her interests piqued at his different approaches to certain processes.

They spoke of past missions, of their childhoods and experiences. Vel divulged bits and pieces here and there, and Tech began constructing a mental map of her story. Born on a lush forest planet, she was taken to the Jedi temple as a youngling when her Force abilities had surfaced, but throughout the Padawan training, it became painfully apparent that she was insufficient.

"Diplomatically dismissed," Vel said, rolling her eyes and waving the spanner in front of her, "Although I'd just call it what it is -- I wasn't good enough."

Tech remained silent, considering the ramifications. He was laying flat underneath a control panel, welding some rough edges, while she rerouted the wires to avoid damaging them. "So I went back to my dad, but he had moved to Corellia," she continued. "He tried to hide his disappointment but it was apparent. So he thought he could make me the best mechanic in the shipyard instead. He hired me out as an apprentice to every specialist he could find. I worked during the day and studied in the evenings." "It sounds intensive," Tech responded, momentarily pausing from the flying sparks in front of him. "He was trying to do whatever he could to make me useful," Vel answered, her voice tight to conceal the deep pain. Tech remained silent, keeping his thoughts to himself, partially due to the emotional precision required and partially due to the discomfort of the situation. He lifted the face shield to rest atop his head, patiently waiting for any further revelation.

"Anyway," Vel continued, clearing her throat and regaining an air of carelessness, "It was never enough. I made him so much money, got him known throughout the system for ship modifications, but I made one small mistake on a Techno Union transport, and he kicked me out."

She shared the story factually, as if it meant nothing to her, but the constriction in her throat was unmistakable. "His own daughter -- imagine that," she said, returning to her work with a clenched jaw. 

Tech felt deeply unsettled, not having much training on this sort of situation. He racked his brain, searching through the literature and studies, before settling on his best attempt at encouragement: "The hardcell-class interstellar transport was a notoriously unique model, especially since it did not use conventional repulsorlifts for flight but opted for--"

"--rocket propulsion for atmospheric and stellar travel," Vel interrupted, "I know... Now."

"Ah," was his only response. He regarded her for a moment, and considered returning to his welding, but felt a compulsion to try again. He considered what she had shared, noting her body language, and decided on a different approach. 

"I am sorry that your father failed to exhibit the loyalty one would traditionally expect from a birth parent," Tech said. "I would posit that it had more to do with his own ethical shortcomings than your perceived incompetence. If I had been born in the traditional human method, I would likely feel similarly disenfranchised by a lack of a secure attachment."

Vel didn't expect to laugh at this, but a chuckle burst out nonetheless. First of all, she never expected to be sharing her aches and pains with a random clone engineer, and second of all, she had never guessed she would be comforted by a factual analysis of her developmental psychology.

She looked at him, staring solemnly right back at her without a trace of sarcasm or judgment, and couldn't help but smile. "I don't even know what to say to that," she said.

"No response needed," Tech responded matter-of-factly, pulling his face shield back down and returning to his work. Sparks began to fly again, and not just in the literal way this time, yaknowwhaddimean? ;) 

#tbb fanfiction #tech simp #tbb tech #the bad batch tech #the bad batch #tech #star wars tbb #tbb #tbb crosshair #tbb headcanons #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #clone force 99 #bad batch #the bad batch headcanons #the bad batch crosshair #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fluff #the bad batch fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars the bad batch #star wars

[mandospace]

Ride (Din Djarin x F!Reader Smut)

Summary: Inspired by Episode 5 of The Book of Boba Fett, you help Din Djarin fix his new ship.

Word Count: 3,131

Warnings: SMUT! If you are under 18, DNI! Implied age gap, PinV sex (don’t be silly wrap your willy), fingering, language, spoilers for tBoBF ep. 5

A/N: I know I haven’t written anything since October (sorry work was crazy for a few months!) but after watching the newest episode of tBoBF, I just had to write this! I hope you all enjoy! Also, big thanks to my friend @catnip987 who helped me brainstorm!

MASTERLIST

It was hot and sunny like it always was on Tatooine. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape the twin suns or the sand that found its way into every item of clothing you owned. Even though you were born on Tatooine, deep down you knew you were supposed to have been born on a cooler, water planet. Like Naboo. Why couldn’t you have been born on Naboo? 

It was cooler in the shady areas of Peli’s hangar and often the spaces you took refuge in to hide from the suns, like you were doing now in the control tower. Peli had ordered you to fix the wiring on the control panel so that she could better receive messages and signals from ships that wanted to dock and find repairs. 

You tried to tell her that you had fixed the panel last week, but she wasn’t having any of it; so here you were again: cramped under the control panel at an awkward angle and rewiring everything you had fixed the week before. 

You were loving being Peli’s assistant.

Since you were cramped under the panel in the control tower, you hadn’t seen a ship fly in but you heard the voice of a man talking to Peli. Once you untangled yourself from a mess of limbs and wires, you peeked over the panel and saw that the man she was talking to was a Mandalorian. 

A Mandalorian.

You had never seen one before, only heard the stories about their prowess as warriors and bounty hunters. Looking down at the man donned in shiny silver armor, you wondered which one he was—warrior or bounty hunter. 

Probably both, considering the amount of beskar and muscle on him.

You continued your work on the panel but listened more carefully now, curious as to why this Mandalorian showed up at Peli’s hangar with no ship. You peeked over the panel when you heard his deep voice echo through the hangar. 

“Where’s the ship?”

“Right this way,” Peli led the Mandalorian through her hanger and spun back to face him, arms spread wide. “Ready to have your mind blown?”

The mechanic walked up to the ship that was covered with a sheet and ripped it off, the fabric sending dust and sand cascading to the ground. She held out her hands in presentation of the bare-boned ship and smiled at the bounty hunter.

“Where’s the Razor Crest?” The Mandalorian’s voice was colored with disbelief and his arms flopped to his sides. The ship before him was nothing more than scrap metal.

Peli pointed a finger at him. “I never said I had a Razor Crest, I said I had a replacement for a Razor Crest.” She emphasized the word and patted her hand against the thruster. 

He went to walk away. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Hang on a second!” She threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. “Do you have any idea what this is?” She didn’t wait for him to answer before continuing. “This is a N-1 Starfighter, handmade for the Royal Guard and commissioned personally by the Queen of Naboo!”

“This—” he pointed at the ship. “—is a pile of junk.”

“I beg to differ!” you walked down from the hanger’s control tower where you had been watching the whole ordeal. Brushing off the dust from your mechanic’s jumpsuit, you looked at Peli. “Who does this guy think he is?”

The Mandalorian appraised you, noticing your youth and the way you confidently entered the conversation as if you owned the place, all the while insulting his knowledge on ships. He looked to Peli for an explanation.

Peli introduced you as her assistant and sighed. “Do you want your credits back?”

“Yes.”

“No skin off my dip-swap,” Peli leaned around the Mandalorian. “Droids! Bring this lovely man his money.” 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes at the shiny Mandalorian before you. He obviously has no vision or appreciation for classic ships. 

Peli put her hands on her hips. “Here you go. It’s that easy. Sorry to waste your time. Okay?” She sighed again and nodded at the so-called pile of junk. “While we’re waiting, can I tell you a little something about this honey? I know she doesn’t look like much but you got here a lot earlier than I expected and we didn’t get a chance to finish. I mean, clearly, you can see all the parts right here.” 

Peli sifted through a bin, metal clanking as she showed him what she meant. “It all has a home! Oh, look—a family of scurriers, let’s not disrupt the nest.”

Peli shooed the little critters away and you took over her sales speech. “You know how hard it is to find original parts from way back in the Galactic Republic? I mean, these are all handmade, no droids!”

Peli nodded along with your words and moved around the ship. “And not only that, what I’m gonna do just because I like you, is I’m gonna add on some custom modifications that will make her faster than a fathier.”

You really didn’t see how Peli could like this man. He was arrogant and didn’t know a thing about ships, apparently. Plus, Peli doesn’t like anyone. She barely likes you, and even then it’s just above toleration because you are useful to her.

Peli continued where you left off. “AND because this baby’s pre-Empire, she’s off the grid. And did I mention, she can jump into hyperspace with no docking ring?”

You jumped in and finished the spiel. “I mean, come on! You’ve got to see the potential!” 

He walked up to the ship and ripped off a part before tossing it to the ground. 

What a scruffy little nerfherder! That took you an hour to get that part in place! 

“I’m telling you, Mando, you’ve gotta believe me!” Peli leaned against the thruster and patted it, knocking something loose. You cringed as it clanked to the ground. “This is a classic!” 

“Look, at least let us put her together before you decide. Can you give me that?” She nodded towards you and reached for a socket wrench from her tool belt and started working. You joined beside her and began soldering the pieces of metal together. “Get this baby up and going!” 

She looked up at the Mandalorian. “You know, it would be a lot faster if you helped instead of (Y/N) and I doing all the work.” She handed him a large wrench.

——

Hours later, and the three of you were dirty with engine oil and sand with parts scattered all through the hangar. Peli had gone inside to look for some parts and to get lunch while you and Mando laid underneath the ship trying to fix the main sublight engine. While you weren’t happy to be next to the Mandalorian, you had to admit that he had some knowledge of mechanics.

The sounds of tinkering filled the hangar, intermittently disrupting the silence between the two of you. You couldn’t take it any longer. 

“So… what brings you to Tatooine?” You inwardly cringed at the way you sounded, not only because of the awkward small-talk but because your voice was hoarse from hours of disuse. 

“Peli said she had a Razor Crest for me. This—” he motioned above him. “—is not a Razor Crest.”

“You’re right,” you reached for the wrench beside you before bringing it up to the engine. “It’s infinitely better.”

“I beg to differ,” he threw your earlier words back at you. 

You rolled your eyes and scoffed. “You’re telling me you’d rather have the equivalent of a space minivan rather than a classic Naboo starfighter?”

“Yep.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you rolled your eyes again and continued working on the ship while you tried to distract yourself from your annoyance.

“What do you even know about ships?” Mando challenged. “You look like you’re barely old enough to fly one.”

“I beg to differ!”

“Is that your favorite thing to say?” He cut you off before you could explain yourself. You could feel the heat rushing to your face in embarrassment.

“For your information, Mando, I am plenty old enough to fly a ship. Have been for quite some time. And I’m good enough that I’ve never even crashed one! Which, I’m assuming, is what happened to your last ship since you need a new one.”

“I didn’t crash it,” Mando protested. “It… got blown up.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” you sympathized with him momentarily until you remembered his earlier comment about your inexperience. A scowl settled on your face. “They probably thought no one owned it since it was a piece of junk so they used it for target practice.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Mando groaned and tossed his tool on the ground. He didn’t have to explain anything to you. After all, you were just some young mechanic that worked for Peli that had annoyed him with every breath. He wondered if you were always like this before or if the annoying qualities were refined from working closely with Peli. 

“Only when I’m sucking dick.”

Mando dropped the wrench he was holding above him directly on his face in shock. Thankfully, he was wearing his beskar helmet so there wouldn’t be a nasty bruise later. 

“Oh my gods, I didn’t mean that!” Heat flushed your face and you stammered over your words; not sure why that came out. “I—”

“Good to know,” he smirked beneath his visor, a similar blush coloring his cheeks. He chuckled and picked up the wrench that he dropped.

Embarrassment flooded your veins at his laughter. Trying to ignore the awkwardness that you accidentally created, you picked up your own tool to resume working.

“Do you always talk to Peli’s customer’s like that?” Mando teased. He could feel your embarrassment and frustration radiating off the metal underbelly of the ship. “Or just me?”

“I will throw this at you,” you threatened, waving your wrench at him. “And I won’t even be sorry when it dents that shiny head of yours.”

“Feisty,” he laughed. “I like it.”

“Oh my gods, do you ever shut up?” 

“Only when I’m eating pussy.” 

It was your turn to drop the wrench on your face now. Thankfully, you dodged it at the last second and it clanged to the ground. Your eyes were wide as you looked over at the Mandalorian, not sure if you heard him right.

“Lothcat got your tongue?” he teased and wagged his own wrench at you. 

“Whatever,” you swallowed, your mouth dry. You couldn’t look at him. “Let’s just get this ship fixed so you can get out of my hangar.”

“I think I’m ready for a break,” Mando dropped his tools and slid out from under the belly of the ship. He brushed off the sand from his cape. 

He waited for you to slide out from under too, but you never did. Instead, you focused on fixing the ship so he could leave. The sooner the better.

The Mandalorian wasn’t taking that, though. He reached for your ankle and tugged, dragging you out from under the ship with one strong pull. 

“Hey!” you protested, your shirt sliding up your torso since you had loosely tied the top of your jumpsuit around your waist earlier. 

“Take a break with me,” he said. The hand that gripped your ankle had begun to make its way up your calf.

You swallowed hard. “W-what kind of break?”

“The kind of break where we both shut up,” Mando now straddled your legs and undid the knot of your jumpsuit sleeves at your waist and unzipped it further down your legs. 

Your breath was caught in your throat when his gloved fingers undid the button of your pants. He made a show of slowly taking his orange leather gloves off and slipping one hand past your waistband. 

“Well, if it means I don’t have to listen to you and your awful taste in ships—” you gulped and looked down to see Mando palming the front of his flight suit where a large bulge rested behind. His fingers traced the outside of your folds, teasing. 

You gasped when he dipped a finger into your wet heat. 

Mando hummed low in his throat. “Already so wet. Did I make you this wet?”

“N-no,” you lied, avoiding his gaze. You weren’t about to admit that you had been checking out the Mandalorian since he walked into the hangar with Peli and started insulting the ship you found. 

“I can taste your lies,” he said and brought his wet fingers to the rim of his helmet, sliding them into his mouth. You could feel the pleasure pooling low in your stomach as he hummed around his fingers. “They taste sweet.”

Fuck.

Your head hit the sandy floor of the hangar as he pleasured you, his thick finger curling up towards your navel; your jaw dropping when he  brushed against that one spot inside you.

“There it is,” he grinned beneath his helmet and worked another finger into you. A moan slipped past your lips and he surged forward, clamping his free hand over your lips. “Shh. We don’t want Peli to catch us.”

You nodded your head and whimpered behind his hand. He swirled his wet fingers around your clit, stoking the fire that was building low in your stomach. The flame grew hotter and brighter until it was an inferno—you came long and hard as your muscles squeezed rhythmically around his thick digits. 

“That’s my girl,” Mando growled low in his throat, pleased. He withdrew his hand from your trousers and once again slipped them beneath the rim of his helmet, licking your pleasure from his skin. “Fuck, you taste good. I bet you feel good, too.”

Your head swam with pleasure and you nodded, insisting that you did feel as good as you taste.  You met his gaze under the visor, or you hoped you had when you let out a whimper. “Please.”

“Don’t worry,” Mando unzipped his trousers and freed his aching cock, pumping his hard length in time with your labored breathing. “I won’t leave you empty for long.”

His words spurred you on and you eagerly discarded your dirty jumpsuit, tossing it under the ship. Mando helped in getting you ready by yanking down your pants so that they pooled around your ankles. He grabbed your hips and tugged you on top of him so that you were straddling him, your clothed wet heat teasing his hard cock. Mando dragged you over him, a low groan sounding through his vocabulator and making goosebumps coat your skin. 

“I can’t wait any longer,” you said through gritted teeth and grabbed his cock with one hand and slid your panties aside with the other, sinking down on him with a moan. 

“Shit—” Mando groaned and laid back on the floor. His hands remained at your waist and he helped guide your movements, meeting every roll of your hips with a thrust. “You feel even better than I’d thought.”

“So do you,” you moaned when he gave you a harsh thrust, spearing his cock deep inside you. Unable to not tease him, you looked down at the warrior spread underneath you and smirked. “Even for a man with awful taste in ships.”

He growled low in his chest and thrusted harder, wiping the smirk off your face and replacing it with a look of pure pleasure. “Show me how much you know about ships. Ride me like your starfighter.”

It was your turn to growl now. You picked up the pace and rode his cock hard, circling your hips like you were taking the sharp turns in Beggar’s Canyon.

“I’m not gonna last much longer,” you moaned, the familiar fire of pleasure licking flames where the two of you met. 

“Me neither,” he agreed, feeling his balls tighten in preparation for his release. He couldn’t hold on any longer. “Where?”

“Inside me,” you rode him faster and chased after both of your releases. You wanted to know what it felt like to have the Mandalorian’s cum seeping out of you for the rest of the day. “I’m safe.”

Mando came with a shout that echoed throughout the hangar, his cum painting your walls. You didn’t even care that he was loud or that the droids or Peli probably heard. You followed him and relished in the heat that flooded your veins and clouded your mind. 

The two of you attempted to catch your breath in the aftermath of your release when you heard footsteps in the distance. You both met each other’s gaze and scrambled away from the other in haste, afraid to be caught in this compromising position. Mando pulled his softening cock from your swollen hole, his cum dribbling out and onto the sand-covered floor. You pulled your pants up your legs and he tucked himself back into his trousers just as Peli rounded the corner and entered the garage. 

“Geez, this place is a mess!” Peli exclaimed, kicking ship parts aside that were scattered on the floor. “You two have been in here for hours! I half expected the ship to be up and running but you haven’t even finished the sublight engine!”

She looked at the two of you on the floor. “Where’s your jumpsuit?”

Your eyes darted under the ship where it lay discarded and forgotten in the midst of your eagerness to remove your clothes.

“Oil spilled on it,” Mando answered, saving you from answering your boss and possibly revealing what had happened. 

“Aw man, that was your last good jumpsuit!” Peli shook her head. “Well, at least she’s good at getting stains out, because I’m not buying you a new one!”

“Good to know,” Mando smiled behind the visor and tilted his head down to your pussy where his cum was leaking from, most certainly staining your underwear and pants. 

You flushed in embarrassment for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

Mando stood from the ground and swiped the sand from himself before offering you a hand and pulling you up to stand beside him. He looked at Peli whose brow was furrowed and her eyes darted between the two of you, trying to figure out what had happened in the short time she left you alone. 

Once again, Mando saved the day by distracting Peli. “I’ve decided I’m going to buy the ship after all.”

“Oh really?” Peli raised an eyebrow at him. “What changed your mind?”

“Your assistant,” Din answered and smiled at you from under his beskar helmet. “She made some very good points.” 

Rolling your eyes at his innuendo, you grabbed the tools you had discarded and handed one to him. “Let’s finish your ship.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin smut #din djarin oneshot #din djarin one shot #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fan fic #din djarin fan fiction #din djarin drabble #din djarin imagine #din djarin masterlist #mando x you #mando x reader #mando x y/n #mando smut #mando fanfic #mando fan fic #mando fanfiction #mando fan fiction #mando oneshot #mando one shot #mando drabble #mando imagine #mando masterlist #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian smut

[queen-breha-organa]

I think the worst job in the Star Wars universe is definitely like customer service on Coruscant

Remember that arc where C-3P0 and R2 go to buy that fruit and then just a bunch of bullshit happens?? Can you imagine dealing with upper class droids or personal assistants all day long?? And their bosses are the most rich annoying mf in the galaxy and they’re all incompetent bc all mega rich people are and then sometimes a bitch with a laser sword comes in and just destroys your shop while they’re chasing a bounty hunter and then all the repairs come out of you paycheck like damn

#star wars #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #swtcw

[deewithani]

Baby in the Palace

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!Reader

Word count: Approx. 1.4k

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, childbirth, mention of sexual intercourse

A/N: Inspired by my friends in the Boba Fett chat. Fluffy slice of life fic.

“Congratulations, Sir. She has given birth to a healthy baby girl.”

Boba wasn't paying attention. The Kingpin of Tatooine was lost in thought, scared and unsure, but he wouldn't admit that sort of weakness to anyone. If anyone came into your private quarters at this very moment, they would see the Kingpin, the man who all feared and all respected. But no one would be coming, not right now anyway, not if they were smart. This was a private affair, and everyone knew it, so you would be left alone. Boba could let his guard down, just a bit, but he was wound up tighter than a coil.

“Sir?"

The medical droid's words finally pulled Boba from his thoughts. His mind had drifted to his own father, of Jango, taken from him so many years before. Bounty hunting was a deadly business, one Boba knew first hand, but it was also his father's trade, what he was trained in, and what he passed down to Boba. He listened to Jango's lessons, trained, learned, and worked as hard as he could to make him proud.

He hoped he was proud of him now.

Boba sat at your bedside for hours, the entirety of your labor, while Fennec took care of his business in the throne room. Just because he wasn't giving orders from his throne didn't mean he wasn't still in charge, though. Orders went out to any droid, staff member, or guest who was unlucky enough to be passing in earshot of your room. Everything from making sure your favorite reading nook was comfortable, to keeping fresh, cold water coming to your room in regular intervals, to double-checking that everything the baby would need was gathered, put together, or on its way to the palace. Excitement was bubbling over.

He had it in his power to give his family the life and comfort that he had never had himself, and he was going to make sure that it was done.

His family.

Family.

Ten fingers, ten toes, and a head full of curly black hair, laid out on her mother's chest. Perfect, and more than Boba could have ever imagined having in his life. He had long believed that he would never have a family, that his only family, his father, was gone, and all that was left was drifting around the galaxy for work, and surviving. That changed the day you came to the palace, stomping mad because some bounty hunters under his employ had made a mess of your stall while chasing after a target in Mos Eisley. They refused to make it right, so you were going to go to the boss himself, and come hell or a sand storm, your stall would be fixed.

Boba was impressed. Few dared to stand toe to toe with him before, and now that he ruled Tatooine? He was more likely to see a two-headed rancor than to see someone stand their ground against him. He fixed your stall, and started having his staff buy some of his supplies from you as recompense. He started visiting himself, on occasions he could get away from his duty, to see how his spunky reseller was doing.

He fell hard, and quick, and you did as well. He was tough, and set in his ways, but you saw a kindness from him that others didn't see or care to notice. He paid a premium for the parts and supplies that he would order from you, much more than what they were worth, but he insisted. Having extra money gave you more free time, so you filled it with volunteering at the school.

Your time went similarly once you had moved. Cleaning out rooms, doing inventory, rearranging storage, cleaning and repairing parts and droids, and making regular trips into town to visit the school, feed the kids, repair busted holopads. Anything that anyone needed done. You were gifted with the skill and the patience, and if it wasn't for the help of others you wouldn't be in the position you were in to give back.

Your life went this way for some time, buying interesting and useful items from travelers to the spaceport, reselling them, finding specifically requested items for Boba whenever he would come by your stall, and spending your extra time helping at the school whenever there was a lull in travelers or you were sold out of stock. One day Fennec stopped by your stall and asked if you wanted a permanent position at the palace. It was a promise of good pay, an extended network of contacts and traders to locate the products you were looking for, and guaranteed time off to continue your volunteer work in Mos Eisley. It also required a move to the palace, to a room of your own away from the spaceport. Boba was already your biggest customer, and Mos Eisley was rough. Dealing with the general rabble was difficult and the prospect of being able to help the kids of the town even more was tempting. So you took the job and moved into the palace.

Boba would never admit it, not to you or to anyone, but you really did a number on him the day you showed up at his palace and stormed to the front of his dias. You were yelling and pointing widely, accusing some of his men of not only wrecking your stall, but telling you, in no uncertain terms, that it was your problem, not theirs. A tilt of his head was all it took and they were running for the garage, picking up any tools they could get their hands on and running back to Mos Eisley as quickly as their speeders could take them.

And now here you were, holding his daughter to your chest, sweat dripping from your brow and unshed tears glistening in your eyes. He had never seen you look so radiant, not when you stood before his throne with fire in your eyes, not the first time he took you in his bed, not the day he married you and made you his Queen. Sweaty, naked, tired, and with a new baby that hadn't even been cleaned up yet, placenta still attached, and you were both more perfect than anything he had ever seen.

The medical droid spoke once again. “It is time to cut the cord now, sir. Do you want to assist?” “Just a minute, I'll be right back.” Boba left your side then, the only time during or after your labor, and went to a small closet at the far side of the room. You watched as he pulled something from a shelf at the top, looking at it with a odd look in his eyes and holding it carefully in his hands. Blue fabric of some sort, but it didn't look new like the stacks of baby blankets you had received from just about every person who had passed through the palace.

When he returned he began helping the droid, clamping the cord and cutting where he was told and cleaning the remnants of blood and birth from his child's tiny frame. The droid went to wrap the baby in a blanket before Boba quickly stopped it. “Wait. I'll handle this.” You watch as he gently laid out the fabric he had taken from the closet, quickly realizing it was a shirt. Light blue and faded, nothing like the soft fabrics that had been gifted for your child, but obviously important to Boba, as he took great care to spread the shirt out and smooth the wrinkles in the fabric.

Your daughter looked up at her father with tired eyes and yawned, letting a tiny mewl leave her throat. “Tired already little one? Being born is a hard job, isn't it? Let me sit down and tell you all about your Granddad Jango while you sleep.”

“Now, let me see my girl.” Boba handled her with care, holding her close to his chest and cradling her head as if he was born to be a father. He laid her down in the middle of the blue shirt and swaddled her gently, bringing the bottom hem up and wrapping the arms around her little body. “That's your granddad's shirt, little one. He would have been so glad to meet you.”

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

Taglist: @latenightsthoughtsnstuff @return-of-the-simp

If anyone would like added to my taglist, let me know!

#boba fett x reader #cw: pregnancy #cw: childbirth

[acourtofsnakes]

Kyr’am - Rogue Chapter 5| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Sick of the countless failures, Moff Gideon decides to call in the big guns. 

Warnings: Not many in this one, but mentions of violence(brief), brief mention of suicide, (literally barely touching on it), does another cliffhanger count as a warning?

AN: Ooooooo, new people 👀

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Wordcount: About 2184, a short one this time for introduction purposes

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar   @weirdowithnobeardo 

Rogue Masterlist | Introduction| 1: Solus| 2: Arir | 3: Tor | 4: Gaa'tayl | 5: Kyr’am | 

Mando’a translation: Kyr’am - Death 

The atmosphere in the light cruiser was… tense. Beyond tense, actually. The tension as almost a living thing, vibrating throughout the room and threatening to explode into destruction if someone said but one thing wrong. 

Moff Gideon stood at the head of the huge table, staring at the holo-image in the middle of it with a look of distinct distaste. His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the image, a young woman wearing a cloak, fire in her eyes and a ridiculously high bounty above her head. His anger and disappointment were evident, obvious to the men and women seated around the table before him. 

There was a break in the air, and then a young woman, Gideon’s Comms Officer and assistant, decked out in the dark grey green uniform walked in. Her even, regimented steps echoed on the floor and she stopped a little way away, offering a quick salute, “Sir, I have just received the report you requested from our spies in the field.”

The air tightened in the room, the people seated around the table holding their breath, hoping it was good. Hoping it wasn’t what had been rumoured. 

Gideon looked away from the table, seeing what his people were holding out for. He turned to his assistant, nodded for her to continue. 

The woman looked across the table, a glint in her eye and a faint smirk dancing across her lips fleetingly. “They got in touch with the contact who was representing you. Apparently, the hunter succeeded in finding the target.”

The collection of people around the table sagged in relief, one even going so far as to rub his eyes as he let out a sigh. 

The assistant couldn’t hide her smirk this time, allowing it for a few seconds, “And then he went rogue.”

Gideon knew this already, but this is a punishment for the people that promised him he’d get what he wanted “Rogue? What do you mean by that, officer?”

“He found the target and began to bring her back as requested. They got into an altercation at another planet, some witnesses said there was a fight in a back alley and the last they saw was the target dragging the hunter back to his ship.”

The table was still, dread beginning to curl around the room like a snake, twining around feet and legs and flicking out a tongue to taste the danger that lingered on the horizon. 

“And then?”

The assistant’s voice came out clear, almost disinterested, “And the next thing that we have, is the tracker and puck being destroyed. As of half an hour ago, no one knows where they are.”

Gideon dismissed her then turned to the table. He sighed, looking at the man who had recommended the Hunter this time, “’The best there is.’ That is what you told me, captain. ‘He’ll have her within a week and be back here to collect his reward.’ Well, captain, it’s been a week.” He spread his hands, his eyebrows raising in a mock expression of wonder. He looked around the room, then back at the captain, “Where is she? Are you hiding her under your seat?” 

The captain swallowed harshly, a sheen of sweat crawling over his skin. He kept his hands under the table because they were shaking, “N-no, sir.”

Gideon shrugged, that false wonder still in his voice too, “Then where is she? I took a great risk in following your advice. And it hasn’t paid off.”

“Sir, please! I didn’t know this would happen. I thought the bounty on her would be enough to keep him straight. My sources said he was running out of money, that he was exchanging favours instead of credits for the repair of his ship. He couldn’t have turned that money down. I don’t know what happened, maybe she tricked him. Used her power to-“

Gideon’s hands slammed onto the table, echoed only by his snarl, “Enough.”  

The captain cut off, unable to stop the pitiful whimper. No one moved, no one looked at him. They all knew what was inevitably coming. 

Gideon pointed at the pain, “Don’t you dare try to make a fool of me. It’s on your authority that this has gone wrong again.” He straightened up, “Every single one of you is to blame. Each one of you let me down. You will be punished. As it is, I have found other means. Expensive means.”

A lady lifted her hand, trembling. 

Gideon’s eyes slipped to her, his eyebrows raising just slightly. 

The lady swallowed, “Everyone knows she hasn’t used that power since she was a child. As far as we know, it doesn’t even exist in her anymore. I.. what’s the point?” 

Gideon looked at her, his dark eyes simmering but he said nothing. 

Only for a man across from the captain to speak up, “She’s right. They say if one of those types doesn’t use their power, they forget how to wield it. The Child repressed his powers for decades.”

Gideon was impatient now, waved his hand dismissively, “And then used it repeatedly in presence of the Mandalorian. It can come back. I have proof that it has. She used her power to heal him.”

“But, sir, we don’t know that-“

The atmosphere in the room noticeably shifted again. This time, the danger became something so much more. 

It became a truly living thing that pressed against the traitors around the table. It licked down their bones, caressed their minds but it sung a song of death and destruction. 

The door slid open, and then a figure walked into the room. 

He was clad head to toe in black, a black so dark it seemed to suck the light of the room. 

His tall, lithe body was armed with weapons of every variety, everything one could possibly imagine and more that were only rumoured, weapons that had been made just for him. 

He stalked into the room with all the ease of a predator walking into the den of some small, helpless animals. And relished in the sheer power he had without even trying. 

The harsh lighting of the room glinted off the blade sheathed down his back. The scabbard was engraved with symbols, symbols that had long since been used. The hilt was as black as his outfit, and intricately carved. If he had unsheathed it, the blade would have been as deep as obsidian, and so sharp it could have sliced off someone’s hand with a mere whisper. 

He stopped at the opposite end of the table to Gideon, shoulders back, posture tall and at ease, but coiled beneath the surface, waiting to strike. 

A hood covered his face, gold embroidery picked out by the lights and snaking around the edges of the hood. 

No light pierced the shadow that fell over his face, keeping him anonymous.  

Clearly the captain realised he wasn’t getting off this ship, because he suddenly broke the deathly silence by laughing. “Seriously? Is it dress up day or something?” He looked around the room at the horrified expressions looking back at him, “What? Are we supposed to be scared or something?” His arrogance was barred by the sweat pooling into the neckline of his uniform, the frantic pulse at his throat.

The night-clad figure said nothing. Merely rested his gloved hands on the table. A simple act. 

But the air in the room vibrated, a warning. 

Gideon inclined his head toward the figure, “Thank you for coming. You understand that I would have left your services be if these fools hadn’t failed me.”

The cloaked man nodded once, a slow incline of his head that somehow said everything he needed to. That he wouldn’t even have paid attention otherwise. 

Another woman at the table, a general, inquired quietly, “His services, sir? Does this mean-“

“Yes, General. It does. Never in my life have I been so spectacularly let down by a group of people before. You were supposed to the best in your fields, yet you couldn’t give me one tiny little girl.”

The woman swallowed, nodded and looked at the table in submission. 

Again, the Captain added another nail to his coffin, “You’re giving this freak the job? If we couldn’t find her, if even Trandoshans and Troopers and two Mandalorian’s can’t get her, what makes you think he’s qualified?” He stabbed a finger toward the figure, who remained silent, a predator watching their next mean. 

Gideon glared at him, losing his patience with this captain, “Because he is the best there is.” 

A snort from the foolish captain, “Oh? And why would you bring him in just now? Why not before?” 

Gideon’s glare could have cut through metal, his words clipped, “Because he has a very unique skill set that I would rather not be associated with using. However, because of this situation and the necessity of obtaining her, it makes him the most qualified.”

“Skill set? Like what? Is he going to bed the girl and then drag her in? Or does he have a-“

The captain’s words were cut off with a gurgle, and his eyes went wide. His chair pushed back and then he was rising from his seat, as if pulled up by strings. Every limb of his body was frozen, rigid. Like he was no longer in control. 

The figure had finally moved, lifting one of those gloved hands in a gesture that was almost casual. He tilted his head within his cloak, and a voice like silk slipped out, far too soft, far too seductive to belong to anyone good, “Perhaps you’ve been living under a rock and you’ve simply never heard of me.” His voice was crooning, desirable. It belonged to the deepest pits, full of monsters and creatures. It was the very darkness that plagued you, seduced you in a voice like honey – and then devoured you. 

Undiluted terror dawned on the captain’s face. He flinched, twitching, trying to claw at the invisible hold on his throat that was slowly crushing his windpipe. 

The cloaked figure lifted his head, like he was scenting the fear oozing from the captain. 

This man was a dark legend. A rumour that you had to be crazy to whisper, for fear of unleashing his dark wrath upon the speaker. Many, many people had heard the rumours of a hunter so precise, so ruthless that he left no trace. People went missing, and then showed up days later completely unrecognisable, bodies so destroyed that even the most advanced robots couldn’t extract enough DNA to give the victims a name. 

His work wasn’t messy though, that’s what made him so terrifying. 

It wasn’t just clean and efficient. It was beautiful. This was a man that relished in his skillset, lived for the hunt and the kill. Breathed it. It ran through his veins, worked the muscles of his heart. 

The fiercest warriors had dropped to their knees and wept for their lives before him. Mere mortals had died just from the sight of him.

As soon as he got the scent of someone, they may as well have ended their own lives to spare the pain. 

Many had. And it still didn’t stop him from finding the bodies and playing.  

The rumours also whispered that he wasn’t human. That he had sold his soul but even the vilest of monsters hadn’t wanted it. They’d taken one look and given it back. He wasn’t born by the Maker; he was something else entirely. He had no trace of soul in him aside from the Force, which he had twisted and utilised for his formidable beauty and indescribable actions.  

Gideon watched him play with the Captain, “You will receive the payment on her head and more. We know your prices and are grateful for your services, you may have whatever you need to assist you.”

The man flicked a finger and the Captain dropped to the ground, some guards dragging him away, “Just stay out of my way. You can keep the kid and the Mandalorian, but the girl is mine when you’re done with her.” The possession in his voice when said the word, “mine” sent a chill down the spines of everyone in the room. There was no room for disagreement, for challenge. They would finish what they needed to do with you, and then you would be given to him. Probably wrapped in a bow. 

Then he was gone, walking out of the room in a preternatural silence. 

This man… he didn’t just exude fear. He was fear. His were the eyes in the dark that watched you walk home.  He was the voice that whispered when no-one else could hear. His breath was the kiss of ice that licked down your spine when you were alone, making you lock the doors, pull the bed covers up higher. But he was like smoke, he seeped through the cracks, through carefully built defences and invaded, slumbering like a beast within, without his host even realising. 

He was death. 

And he was coming for you. 

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