#all those planets across the galaxy and she heard every single voice

[kittymaine]

Mayday

Summary: Kori, Roy, and Jason are stranded in outer space with life support steadily failing. Kori can survive without oxygen, but Roy and Jason cannot. And, Kori would do anything to save them.

Whumptober day elevel fill. Prompt: "all the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed" though I really used the whole song MAYDAY by TheFatRat and Laura Brehm.

The lights on the console flickered intermittently as the power cells in the ship struggled to keep even low levels of energy running through the circuits. The display screens shows the dark red swirling atmosphere of the planet RaeTha, the planet where they were meant to find a desperate resistance looking for their help. Instead, they had been fired on until their ship was as good as junk floating through space.

"Mayday, Mayday, please respond," Kori said into the long range radio. She then repeated that message in every language she knew, which was a painfully long list. It was the third time she had repeated her message, but she had yet to receive any response.

"Why aren't they coming for us," Jason rasped from the hallway behind her.

Kori spun around, panic swelling in her chest. "You shouldn't be up!" she chastised him.

"I have to do something," Jason tried to growl, but ended in a rough cough.

"No, you do not. Moving around and talking is only going to use up more air," Kori reprimanded him as firmly as she could, but she could hear the anxiety in her voice, which meant that Jason certainly heard the same. He could be perceptive about some things.

"Kori," he gasped, his voice suspiciously thin.

"No," she said, succeeding in sounding firm and immovable this time. She stood quickly and scooped Jason up in a bridal carry. He didn't respond with a squawk or a single protest. He just went boneless in her arms. The anxiety spun up tighter in her chest.

Kori strode down the familiar hallways of her ship at a fast clip, carrying Jason back to the big, comfortable bed that belonged to Kori but was of course open to both her companions whenever they wanted it. Roy was already spread across the blankets, looking pale. His chest was rising and falling shallowly. He cracked an eye when she walked in, but otherwise didn't move.

She tucked Jason gently into the blankets beside Roy and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. His brow creased in irritation, and he tried to wave her hand away, but he barely got his hand off the bed. She wondered how he managed to get all the way to the bridge in his condition.

"Oxygen?" Roy asked quietly, his voice a faint rasp.

Kori knew what he was asking, but hated to be the bearer of bad news.

"Ten percent," she answered solemnly.

Roy cussed and rolled toward Jason with a grunt of effort. He settled his calloused hand in Jason's. Kori watched him struggle to keep his breathing shallow and even. Any speeding up of his breath would just deplete the oxygen available to him and Jason all the faster.

They were dying. Kori was watching her boys die. HER BOYS.

"I'm going to fix this," she said, more for herself than for them.

"It's okay, Kori. Not your fault," Roy rasped.

"Love you. Fuck those assholes," Jason agreed blearily.

"Do not fear, my loves. Trust in me and I will protect you both," Kori said, her shoulders thrown back, and her face set in determination. She turned and left before they could say something to break her resolve. What she planned to do was risky, but she felt she had no other choice.

When the atmosphere contained less than 19.5% oxygen, any form of exertion could cause increased breathing rates, accelerated heartbeat and impaired thinking or coordination in humans. 12%-16% oxygen could cause the same symptoms even in people who were resting. At oxygen levels 6%-10% humans experienced nausea, vomiting, lethargy and eventually unconsciousness. Less than 6% caused convulsions, cessation of breathing and finally cardiac standstill.

Kori had been radioing for help for hours, but obviously the rest of the galaxy knew that the area they were in was dangerous and no one was answering. The oxygen in the ship was getting far too low for her to allow continuing with S.O.S. signals. She had one last thing she could try in order to energize the remaining power cells, but after she did it, she would be useless. She had to hope it would work and get the boys back on their feet. Once they were okay, they could surely work together to repair the rest of the ship and get them out of enemy territory.

She had to trust in them and in herself to do this.

Kori walked through the ship, turning down progressively more narrow hallways until she reached a ladder that led down into the bowels of the ship. She shimmied past the huge dark fuel cells to the hulking mass of the engine.

She had tried to fix things down there early in their predicament with Roy's help. But, they were in quite the predicament.

The engine needed energy from the fuel cells to get it started, but once it was started, it used antimatter in the core to keep running. Once the engine was running, it could recharge the fuel cells. When they had been hit by munitions from the planet below, a huge surge had run through the whole ship and fried all the energy cells attached to the engine. They had a few extra ones which they had switched out with the blown cells, but none of them were charged. The only way to charge them was to start the engine

So, the only option left was for Kori to start the engine herself.

Her hands started shaking as she opened one side of the huge cylinder that made up the casing of the engine. Inside the small door was a narrow opening leading to the core containing the antimatter. 

Kori looked at all the warning signs printed on the outside of the antimatter for a long pregnant second before taking a deep breath of stagnant air and climbing into the narrow opening. She had to tuck her elbows and knees against her chest tightly and twist her feet in awkwardly to close the shielding door behind her. She hesitated with her hand on the door to the antimatter core. What she was planning to do was going to be extremely painful, and she wasn’t completely sure she would survive it.

She squeezed her eyes shut and pictured Jason and Roy as she had seen them just a few seconds ago. Her boys, her best friends and sometimes lovers, laying in her bed, slowly suffocating. They were running out of air, and it would only get worse the longer she took.

She had to do this. She was a hero. She knew she could do this.

Taking another bracing breath, Kori reached out and flicked open the three locks holding the shielding to the antimatter core shut. Inside was a glass container with a strangely undulating black nothingness inside. Kori couldn't feel anything change, but knew she was being hit by a truly wild amount of radiation. It was then or never.

Kori clenched all her muscles as tight as they would go as she let down all the walls she had built inside herself to hold the solar energy inside. She had to take down the walls and then somehow still hold all that energy inside with sheer force of will. Hold it, she cautioned herself. She had to let it go all at once. It had to be a big enough shock to start the engine, to ignite the core with her still inside it. She was tough, incredibly tough, she would survive somehow. She had to trust it.

She let go.

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

Roy woke up and he could breathe. He took a deep breath, delicious air expanding in his lungs.

He opened his eyes and looked at Jason, his face slack in sleep, his chest rising steadily with big easy breaths.

God, she must have done it. She really fixed it somehow.

The relief was an intense balm over what had previously only been a heart full of defeat and despair. Then, Roy’s brain started to tick over with questions. Once he started to run through ways that Kori possibly could have saved them, he started to panic.

"Jason. Jay!" Roy shouted, shaking Jason hard. He started awake, sitting up quickly and then clutching his head and grimacing.

"Oh god, my head," he groaned.

"Kori, Jay. Where is Kori?" Roy croaked, trying to sit up himself and feeling dizzy from the head rush. He was lucky he didn't have the headache that Jason was dealing with, but then he hadn't tried to walk around the ship with barely any oxygen to breathe.

"What?" Jason said, squinting at Roy. "I don't know. Didn't she? Wasn't she at the bridge?" he asked in confusion.

"She got the engine running somehow, but she's not here," Roy said, climbing to his feet and only swaying slightly. "Something's wrong."

Roy had a suspicion, but he really hoped he was wrong. He hoped that the people who shot at their ship had shown up and hooked them into their own life support systems. He hoped that Kori had gone outside and pushed their ship down onto the hostile planet. Roy hoped that she had done almost anything other than what he suspected, but he couldn't risk waiting another second to find her either way.

He wanted to tear through the ship, run at full tilt, but after the oxygen deprivation he had been subjected to, he had to hold onto the wall and hobble along the hallways at the pace of an octogenarian. Jason followed behind him, peppering him with questions until they got to the emergency launch and Roy took down one of the exosuits.

"You really think she's in there?" Jason rasped, but got to pulling on the suit a lot quicker than he had been moving before.

"There are other possibilities, but this is definitely the worst one. I just want to make sure she's not in there," Roy said, pausing with his hand on the bulkhead to wait out a bit of spinning.

"Shit," Jason bit out. He yanked his suit into place with the kind of speed and violence that Roy hated to admit that he found incredibly attractive. Roy had barely had the thought before Jason was taking off back to the heart of the ship at a much faster speed.

"Jay!" Roy shouted, struggling to follow behind Jason and pull his suit on at the same time as he combatted his own dizziness and slowly mounting nausea.

By the time Roy got down the ladder to the engine room, Jason already had the engine open and was pulling an unconscious Kori out.

Roy's heart dropped through the floor. He had no idea how she had even fit herself inside the engine and closed the housing, since it was such a small space. But, it was obvious she had been inside while the engine was running, unconscious and almost empty of solar energy and slowly being roasted alive by the heat inside the casing. Her soft orange skin was roasted red and black everywhere it had been touching metal, and even the parts that weren't looked red and rippled.

"Get us out of here!" Jason barked, his face twisted in rage and hurt behind the glass of his exosuit.

When Roy hesitated, his eyes stuck on Kori's ravaged skin, Jason shouted again. "ROY!"

Roy felt something creeping up the back of his throat, and turned around with a force of will and threw himself up the ladder before whatever it was could crawl out of his mouth. He got to the bridge somehow, though he couldn't remember the path he had taken to get there, and started to plot a course to the closest friendly system, checking system status and available resources while he went. The ship was just limping along. They wouldn't be able to get there fast. Fifty-two hours was the earliest they could get to neutral occupied space. Kori would have to suffer for at least fifty-two hours with those burns before they would have a chance to get her real medical help. And even once they were there, there was no guarantee there would be a medic there with enough knowledge of Tamaraneans to be able to help.

Once the course was plotted and the ship was on its way, Roy put his head down on his arms.

She could have left. Kori didn't need oxygen to survive unless she was out of solar energy. She could have left them behind, she could have taken them down to the planet, she could have done something else.

Instead, she put herself on the line to save them. Two stupid assholes that most people on Earth wouldn't have pissed on if they were on fire.

"She's too good," he rasped into his arm. "Way too fucking good for us."

#whumptober2023 #no.11 #“all the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed” #red hood and the outlaws #fanfiction #starfire #koriand'r #roy harper #arsenal #red hood #jason todd #dcu comics #ot3 #jason/kori/roy #trapped in space #suffocation #burns #self-sacrifice #unconsciousness #kittywrites

[qaashaa]

Endless Skies

(Mild spoilers for Star Wars: The Old Republic - Knights of Fallen Empire)

He slammed the empty shot glass down on the makeshift bar. Torian wasn’t drunk. In truth, he could feel just the barest prickle of a buzz at the back of his eyes. It would have to be good enough. He still needed to stay sharp. It would be nice if that drink could have dulled the pain a little more than it had though. He briefly wished he could have the luxury of drinking himself senseless, and sleeping off the hangover later. Not tonight. He only had a couple of hours before he was headed out on another patrol, and there was still plenty to do before then. If he couldn’t drown his hurt in the haze of a bottle, he could at least throw himself bodily into every possible patrol, sortie, and shift on watch that Mand’alor would let him take.

Three years and fifty seven days. It had been three years and fifty seven days since the last time he'd seen her; since he'd watched that ship explode with her on it. Three years and fifty seven days since he’d heard her voice, and time hadn’t blunted the edge of that pain in the slightest. It still dogged his every step, threatening to crush him if he ever stopped moving, like a looming meteor, always hurtling in his direction.

Torian rubbed a calloused hand over the rough stubble on his jaw, as he stepped out into the cool night air. He turned his face into the wind, and closed his eyes. He tilted his head back, to enjoy the feel of the breeze rifling through his hair. For a moment, he could almost make himself believe that it was her fingers, brushing gently across his scalp, just the way that they used to.

He opened his eyes, taking in the stars splashed across the clear night sky. She’d loved the stars. It didn’t seem to matter whether they were viewed from the surface of a planet, or from the bridge of her ship, soaring out among them. She’d always been entranced. He’d always envied that. Time spent stargazing had been one of his most treasured memories with her. Those were the times when she seemed most herself, a brief moment caught out of time, away from the cares of the day, filled with boundless and honest wonder, a rare thing amidst the violence and chaos that their crew always seemed to get caught up in. That simple and unabashed joy seemed to be reserved only for the stars.

He wished desperately that he’d had just one more moment to watch the stars with her, losing all sense of time, just existing together in the stillness of the steady dance of the celestial realm.

Nights like this were still the worst for missing her. She’d love how sharp and close the stars looked right now, in the crisp night air.

Torian had seen plenty of people consumed by their addictions, but it was something he’d never really understood until he lost her. Nights like this, it felt like an itch inside his skin, eating him alive, and there was nothing he could do about it. She was still gone, and he still couldn’t make any sort of peace with that. All he could do was to keep fighting. Keep on throwing himself into every fight, hoping that someday he’d feel closure. Torian knew in the bone deep core of his being though, that even if he single handedly won this entire war, he would still not feel like she was adequately avenged. There was nothing in the galaxy that could bring balance to the loss he felt in her absence. It weighed on his soul, an endless mantra of regret. If he’d only stayed to fight by her side, if he hadn’t let her out of his sight, then maybe… Then maybe we’d both be dead.

Torian turned his eyes back toward the heavens. The position of the stars here was mostly unfamiliar to him, but then, he’d never been one to really pay the stars much heed anyway. His universe had revolved around a star that rested a little closer to the ground. He longed for her radiance, pressed comfortably against his side, radiating warmth against the chill, pointing out the stars she recognized, and guessing at the positions of the rest.

His musing brought to mind a phrase that Mand’alor had taught him, not long after he’d joined her company, on another night when missing her had overwhelmed him.

((Read the rest of the story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37475590

Enjoy!!))

#torian cadera #swtor bounty hunter #female bounty hunter/torian cadera #star wars #old republic #swtor #swtor oc #loss #grief #swtor kotfe #kotfe #married to torian #mandalorian #mandalorians #mandalorian romance #mando'a #mandalorians in love

[kitchenscene]

four chambers buck/eddie (minor), eddie centric, an analysis of the diaz house, (home is about the people, not the space), 1.6k ______________

Eddie holds his heart in physical spaces. Frames, photo albums, ticket stubs. It’s less about the sentiment and more about the proof, evidence of the better moments, and a tangible reminder that they won’t be the last. He carries an old photo of Chris in his wallet and a yellow sticky note from Buck in the back of his phone case, scratchy, all caps writing — “Had to leave early, didn’t want to wake you up. There’s coffee on the counter for you. See you tonight.” — with a heart scribbled at the bottom. He carries his love outside his chest, but hides it in his pockets, under his shirt, and around his neck.

It’s scattered throughout the living room, his heart is in a comfortable place. The warm brown coffee table and throw pillows on the couch. Soft lights, lamps in every corner. An ash filled fireplace and charred brick, as if to say, “yes, there is life here, believe me when I say there’s life.”

[ao3 link]

Out in the living room, his love is most evident on the bookshelf. Loved ones held not by the hand, but by mahogany frames and canvas wrapped photo albums. Two albums, to be exact. The first is from Texas, from his childhood. Family photos year by year, some members disappearing, new ones flooding in, staying whether they want to or not. Some people who only continue to exist in these four-by-six slots, neatly encased in plastic, notes and dates scribbled over the back.

There’s photos of young Eddie cradling a baby Sophia, photos of Sophia and Eddie with Adriana spread across their laps, and a particularly memorable one of Eddie spoon feeding baby Adri ice cream when a baby her age definitely should not have been eating ice cream. First days of school, weekend trips, and middle school phases he’d rather forget. Newspaper cutouts of his baseball stats, team photos with trophies in hand, and senior pictures of him in his jersey. Team captain. He never really wanted it, but he accepted the offer all the same.

Shannon starts to appear around this time, prom photos together, though she wasn’t his date, just a friend of a friend with some sort of connection. Selfies taken on an old film camera from her mother, candid shots of Eddie, smiling, laughing, free, a side of him kept hidden from everyone but her. A few more photos strangers were kind enough to take for them, some strangers proving to be better photographers than others.

Another family photo, this time with Shannon in frame. Off to the side, attached only by Eddie’s arm around her waist, but in frame all the same.

A sonogram of Christopher before they had a name, engagement photos because that’s what they were supposed to do, and a single wedding picture taken from a courthouse bench.

Shannon still makes herself known in the last few pages, though her and Eddie no longer exist in the same frame. Her and Chris. Him and Chris. Chris alone. He’s off to Afghanistan.

Blank pages, accidentally skipped. A photo of him accepting the Silver Star he never wanted, added to the album despite his better wishes, alongside a handful of army memories he’d rather not look back on.

It’s in his heart, all the same.

The last few pages are filled with the only pictures Eddie took himself. Every one, every single one is of Chris. The time lost in those skipped pages finding its way back into the album, one day at a time. First days of school, weekend trips, and all his childhood interests coming and going in phases.

The second photo album carries his second chances. It’s not a memento from Texas or a gift he’d rather not receive, no. This one he chose all on his own. He chose Los Angeles, he chose Chris, he chose the 118, and with them, he chose a fresh start, a blank page. Family photos of a different kind.

Second page, third slot down, Buck makes himself known. He first exists in Eddie’s heart somewhere along the bottom shelf. Three, four, five pages in, Buck never disappears. In the firehouse, after work, trips to the zoo, he never disappears. Christmas, Thanksgiving, New Years, he never disappears. The couch, dining room, and kitchen, Buck never disappears.

It always comes back to the kitchen. Before there was a home, there was a kitchen and dirty dishes. Eddie washes the dishes by hand, one by one. Buck sits on the countertop, stacking dried plates, sorting cutlery in the drawers. He leaves every cabinet open — “it’s way more efficient, Eddie,” — and carries three mugs in each hand.

His heart skips in the kitchen. Flinging soap bubbles while rinsing plates, stealing from simmering saucepans on the stove, his breath hitches when Buck swipes a thumb across Eddie’s cheek, brushing away the suds. His breathing stops altogether when his hand lingers a moment too long.

New beginnings are also found in the kitchen, heavy palpitations bleeding from the sink onto the dining table. Anticipation exists between the tiles, melting the glue he’s used to desperately hold himself together. Buck plays music while he cooks, varying from swing to classic rock. On the good days he sings, out of key, but he sings. He whistles along with the guitar or the saxophone or velvety voices he doesn’t dare to replicate. Buck dances too, waiting for songs to end and timers to ring.

Anticipation flooded the room when he asked Eddie to dance along, a soft blues tune playing over the speaker. Hand to the waist, to the shoulder, hand draped in gentle hand. It was an easy choice; Buck leaned in and he leaned back, holding Eddie like he would never have the chance to do it again, kissing him like there was no sweeter air in the world. The first, “I love you,” was breathed against the counter, just above a whisper. “I always have,” followed shortly behind.

The brightest piece of his heart is held in Christopher’s hands. Rainbow carpets and terrariums, posters plastered on every wall, solar systems and galaxies hanging above. Buck pinned the mobile to the ceiling, Earth, Venus, and Mars dancing around each other, glowing as the room fades to black. The planets spin and spin just above his bed. It makes sense, really, that Buck would hang the stars for Chris.

Eddie didn’t decorate his room, unlike the rest of the house. No, the color, the light, the books lining every shelf, all chosen by Chris, constantly shifting as his interest wean and wane. He’s more than willing to provide, because who is he to deny an action figure on the dresser or plant on the windowsill?

His heart is full with Chris. His heart is empty in his bedroom. Everything Eddie has he gives to Chris. (Where else would it go?)

Barren walls and flat sheets. Empty walls, empty frames. Clock on the nightstand, a lamp on either side, nothing more. A dresser, a closet, it’s a bedroom, nothing more. Most days the curtains are drawn. Most days the door is kept shut. It’s best to keep this hidden, best to leave it bare. He had a rug once. Never managed to unroll it.

It functions as a space, that’s all he needs. Eddie sleeps, and sometimes he dreams. Sometimes he wakes in a sweat, sometimes his hands shake until he’s too exhausted to shake anymore. He resorts to self soothing then; counting ceiling tiles that don’t exist and pacing about the room until holes bleed through his socks.

Buck moved from the apartment to the couch, and eventually made his way to the bedroom. They started out two feet apart but always woke together, somehow making contact and swearing it meant nothing. Even in his sleep, he finds his way to Buck. (Of course it means something).

He first kisses Buck in the kitchen. He kisses him again in the bed. His bed, their bed. He sleeps with his head against Buck’s chest, this time with intent, counting beats instead of ceiling tiles as he sleeps, no sweeter lullaby to be heard. He sleeps through the night, no dreams at all. Buck opens the curtain when he wakes up. Eddie leaves it that way.

The changes are subtle at first, and Buck plays it off like it’s all accidental. “Your room has the best sunlight,” he says, moving plants from the kitchen to the dresser. The ivy cascades down the sides and the cactuses bloom in the new light. In the silence, his heart begins to beat again.

Buck covers his own nightstand with receipts and chargers and photos and reminders. “Printed this for myself,” he claims, filling a picture frame with him and Eddie and Chris, “but I made an extra copy.” He leaves it on Eddie’s side of the bed. It’s less and less barren each day.

The rug under the bed is a welcomed addition. Soft and full, Eddie doesn’t question where it came from. A mirror makes its way to the wall. He can count his scars in the reflection; two in the shoulders, one on the hip. Wrist and thigh, hand and head. With each day the sight is more bearable.

Buck ripped off the sheets, the dark navy sheets, and swapped them out for something brighter. He claims they’re softer, claims they’re more breathable, though Eddie knows the truth, the truth being that they’re lighter on his chest and make his heart beat even. One, two, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

“Good morning,” Buck whispers, and Eddie, half awake, half dreaming, feels his lips brush against his temple before moving to the kitchen. One beat, two beats, three, he can climb out of bed each morning a little easier.

#nonsense plotless words but hey they're words !! #911 fox #911 #911 fics #911 fic #eddie diaz #the diaz house #evan buckley #christopher diaz #mine:911 #texas.fic

[ohmygoodnessgraciouss]

The Multiverse of Madness - Chapter 1

WARNING: This is a sequel to Reality Check! Should you go any further this is going to make absolutely no sense to you! I highly recommend reading Reality Check first!

Summary: After the events that unfolded in Westview, New Jersey, Wanda Maximoff had dropped off the face of the Earth. Now, Doctor Strange has found her traveling across the multiverse, destroying worlds in her path. To defeat her, he's going to need some help from the God of Mischief and the Phoenix themselves.

You rested in your hotel room on the outskirts of New Asgard. It was peaceful there, calm. A sensation you hadn’t felt in a long time. After the incidents with Wanda you decided it would be best to watch over New Asgard. In a way, it reminded you of the home you lost years ago. While you knew Loki had never been there you know he would’ve been proud of it. Well, your Loki would’ve been proud of what it had become. You weren’t sure about the Loki you had met in Westview.

You didn’t know what to call him. Technically he was Loki, but a different timeline of him. A different version. Not necessarily good nor evil, just Loki. At times you wondered where he ventured off to. Maybe he found a different timeline to settle in. A different universe maybe. It all sparked your imagination in more ways than one. While you were up in New York City to take care of a problem Nick Fury was having you ended up running into Stephen Strange. He hardly remembered you from the battle only a year ago, but he tried to explain the multiverse to you to the best of his ability.

Different galaxies were already a concept that was hard to digest but thinking about entire universes was a whole new idea. There’s no way to properly gauge it. It made you wonder what limit there was to the possibilities. Was there a universe where Thanos never existed? Was there one where everything was happy? Oh God, what if there was a universe where zombies existed? The final thought made you laugh every time, but you had to assume that it was possible much like everything else.

It wasn’t something you liked to think about too often though. After the chaos that had been the past 10 years, you wanted to settle down somewhere for a while, which was New Asgard. A home that mixed both worlds that you had once lived in into one place. It was quiet, peaceful, and certainly relaxing after what happened in Westview. Besides, Thor would probably appreciate it if you made sure to keep an eye on what was going on. While he trusted Valkyrie, it was nice to know that there were other Avengers protecting New Asgard.

Of course, that peace and quiet wouldn’t last for too long.

~

It happened while you were gathering ingredients from the community gardens with Asgardians. You had started teaching classes that involved recipes you had learned from your time on Earth to show them how to properly cook meals using ingredients they would find on this planet. Unfortunately, a lot of Asgardian meals couldn’t be made here due to missing meats and vegetables, so someone had to teach them how to cook. It gave you a reason to be there, to keep moving. It gave you motivation now that the universe was at peace.

Just as you were collecting a bundle of carrots you heard the portal behind you. The magic had a dull hum and shimmering noise as Doctor Strange walked through. You watched as he took a moment to breathe. The Asgardians around you quickly backed away, watching the sorcerer supreme in awe. “Y/N,” He greeted you.

“Strange, what are you doing here?” You asked, placing the basket down on the ground.

“It’s a long story. But I need you to come with me. Wanda has gone tampering with the multiverse. I need your help.”

“Strange, I don’t know about this-” You stopped yourself as you saw a man walk up behind Stephen. A permanent grin seemed to be on his face as he looked around at his surroundings. Finally, his gaze fell back on you and your eyes widened.

“Hello, darling.”

“Loki?” You finally choked out.

“The one of many,” He stretched his arms out, his grin widening.

“What are you doing with Doctor Strange?”

“There’s no time, Y/N! I’ll explain when we’re back at the Sanctum. For now, we have to go!” Strange interrupted, taking your hand and pulling you through the portal.

Loki quickly followed behind, letting the portal close behind the three of you. The Asgardians stood there for a moment, unable to register what had just happened in a matter of seconds.

“Was that Prince Loki?”

~

You stumbled as Stephen finally let go of your hand. Loki held an arm out trying to steady you, but you ignored him, straightening out your shirt. “What is the meaning of this?!” You asked the sorcerer. From across the room you could see Wong entering with a book. While you didn’t interact with Wong all that much, you enjoyed the few chats you’ve had with him. Giving him a small smile he waved at you before focusing back on Strange.

“I found the book,” He stated, handing a centuries-old book to the man. It was a hardcover piece, the size of a dictionary, though you were sure it held more information than a dictionary ever could.

“Good, thank you,” He replied, opening the book up and brushing through the pages. You watched as he quickly skimmed through the pages, looking for one in particular. “Y/N, what do you know about the multiverse?”

You shrugged. “Only as much as you’ve told me.”

“So, you remember what I told you about it? About how it includes all of the different ways events could have ended up?”

You nodded, noticing how he finally looked up at you, stopping on a single page. “The multiverse is being tampered with by Wanda.”

“Wanda?!” You exclaimed. “She hardly knows how to control her own powers, how would she know how to mess with the multiverse?”

Strange placed the book down, giving you easier access to viewing the page. It was an illustration of the Scarlet Witch facing off against three people. Behind her were wisps of magic and what looked to be two people behind her. “What is this?” You asked, letting your fingers brush over the page. The text was in a language you couldn’t read, but you were sure it was one Stephen had to learn and study.

“A prophecy.”

“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” You said, rolling your eyes. “You make it sound like we’re in some kid’s movie or something.”

“That’s exactly what it is, love,” Loki spoke up finally. You looked up at him, scanning his features for any hint of a lie. He was dead serious.

“Well, who is that with Wanda? And who’s fighting her?” You asked. You had a hunch on who the people fighting her were, but you weren’t sure about those behind her.

“It’s me,” He pointed to the figure on the left, donning a cape, “Loki,” He pointed to another, who wielded a dagger in one hand and glowing magic in the other, “And you,” He finally made it to the third figure, who seemed to be in the middle, fighting Wanda directly.

Your hand dropped as you scanned the drawing. “And those with Wanda?”

Strange looked at them, his eyebrows furrowing in the process. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice raising slightly in worry. Loki placed a hand on your shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out. But we need your help to do it,” Loki said.

“I hardly know what’s going on here though. All you two have told me is that Wanda is messing with the multiverse and that there’s some prophecy that makes it look like we fight her. Tell me everything that’s going on. All of it.” You said, backing away, forcing Loki’s hand to drop.

“You may want to take a seat for this one.”

#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #doctor strange #stephen strange #fanfic #fanfiction #romance #fluff #reader #marvel #mcu #Doctor Strange 2 #Multiverse of Madness #Wanda Maximoff #Scarlet Witch

[kingofkingdom-archive]

So Much Like Stars - Part ONE

Pairing: Boba Fett x Fem!Reader

Part ONE (read part two here!)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’ve known nothing but snow and cold wind your whole life. When a mysterious hunter arrives at your village, you find yourself drawn to him.

Warnings: Explicit sex, p-in-v sex, vaginal fingering, breathplay, power dynamics/power play, royalty kink (?), dom/sub dynamics, naked female clothed male, come marking, unprotected sex, mentions of death (no character death)

Word count: 8.2k+

A/N: This fic is entirely self-indulgent. No one asked for it, but here it is. Boba Fett fucks and we all know it. Or maybe you disagree, in which case you’re wrong. Anyway, enjoy! As usual, there’s no use of Y/N here and please heed the warnings before reading.

Across the windswept, snowy plain, you watch as the ship approaches its landing. It slows, rotates, and then lands face-up on the flat expanse. It’s maybe a kilometer and a half away from the outlook you’re perched on; your binocs are old, no longer reading distance, so the best you can do is guess. The wind blows the snow towards the east, blurring the landscape into obscurity for anyone without a trained eye.

Your cloak, woven from the heavy fur of the Kintur that roam your planet, keeps the driving wind from seeping into your bones. Every inch of your skin is covered, from your leather boots and thick leggings to your goggles and well-worn face mask. You carry a pack, as you always do, to which are strapped your net-shoes that allow you to traverse over massive snowdrifts. At your hip is an old Republic-issue blaster and at your side is your staff, which often acts more as a tool to clear paths and knock snow from tree boughs than anything else.

This planet is nearly uninhabited save for the village you were born in. Seeing a ship is rare, and it’s even rarer to see one that’s unaffiliated with a galactic government. You take note of its location and strain to see if you can spot the pilot as he emerges, but you have no such luck.

You sigh, the wind whistling in your ears, the drifts of snow shifting and growing around you. Father will want you back soon. The newcomer is undoubtedly going to head towards the village, and you’ll need to be there when he arrives. You stow your binocs away in your pack and unstrap your net-shoes, attaching them quickly to your boots.

The trek back is one you’ve managed countless times before - that doesn’t make it any less dangerous, but the sheer cliff faces and howling, punishing winds are not strangers to you. 

Your village is small by the standards of other planets in the galaxy, from what you’ve heard (the Elders’ stories of Coruscant never fail to amaze you), but in your eyes it’s vibrant and bustling despite the harsh climate. There’s almost always a tavern with its lights on and music flowing out, a friendly face and warm hearth never far.

It’s located in a secluded valley between towering mountains, out of sight of the vast plains from which the mountains seem to erupt without warning. There are no foothills; only flat land interrupted by harsh terrain. It’s very easy to find death in the mountains, but they have sustained your people for generations. Hunting is your main source of food, whether it be the Kintur that also provide their hide or the massive snow-bison whose fat and bones keep your diets regulated. In the warm season water flows endlessly - the streams that run from the mountain peaks are known to have healing properties, and often they seem to glow with a supernatural shimmer. There is a small mine some distance from the village where many men work, and though the job is a dangerous one, the mountains never run out of the ores you need.

Your people’s existence is not especially complex, but they are tougher than most. The landscape requires it.

You arrive back at the stone walls surrounding your village and greet the gatekeeper, a man who recently inherited the job from his father. 

“Hello, Isrwill.” You plant your staff next to you and lean on it, taking your weight off of your feet. “Have you heard anything of the visitor?”

The man nods. He’s about a decade older than you, but underneath the goggles and mask his face is youthful, eyes kind and always merry. “Savakya returned not long ago. She says he will make it here within the hour.”

“Did she say anything of his appearance?”

“Only that he wears armor, and a helmet. She could not make out any features, other than that he’s shaped like a man.” Isrwill leans back against the wall.

“Ah,” you reply. “Well-dressed for the weather, then.”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also well-dressed for battle.”

You can hear the concern in his voice. The question is one you’re sure your whole community is asking: what has brought this foreigner here? 

“Thank you,” you tell him, and he nods while pushing the gate open.

Once inside the walls, you remove your net-shoes as well as your goggles and immediately head toward the building where you know they’ll bring the stranger. Your father will already be there, conversing with the Elders and with the Committee to prepare for whatever news or needs this foreigner might have. There are protocols in place for such an event, but they haven’t been used in your lifetime. As you walk to the meeting-house, you try and recall the words you studied so long ago, when your father taught you your people’s laws and customs.

The meeting-house is constructed of solid, ancient wood, imported from a forest planet and stark against the gray stone that most of the village’s homes are built from. Inside there is a massive hearth cut from a single stone, the fire inside it already raging. In the center of the main room there is a curved table; on one side sit the Elders, on the other, the Committee. At the head sits your father, next to your empty seat.

“You made it safely, my child,” he greets you when you arrive, a swirl of snowflakes following you in. Smiling, you pull down your face mask.

“I always do, father.”

He smiles from his place at the table, giving you a look. “That does not mean I do not worry.”

Rolling your eyes affectionately, you lean over to kiss him on the cheek. The other people at the table chat amongst themselves, though you can feel the undercurrent of unease at the visitor’s imminent arrival.

You walk around to take your place, setting your pack, staff, and outer layers near the hearth to dry. You are left in a long-sleeved, high-neck shirt and tunic over your leggings, your hair done up in its usual braids. Usually you would go home and change into something more suitable for Committee business, but there was no time. 

You turn to your father, who sits next to you with all the grace and poise befitting a benevolent leader.

“Isrwill told me the stranger is arriving soon. Do we know any more?”

He nods, though he doesn’t look entirely pleased. “Yes. From what Savakya described, it seems he’s a Mandalorian.”

The name isn’t familiar to you. “Is that a race?”

“No.” Your father leans back in his chair. His arched brows bely a concern that is rare to see on him. He strokes his white beard, staring off into space. “The Mandalorians are more of a culture, a people. I’ve only ever heard stories of them. They say they are fierce warriors, and that many of them are bounty hunters by trade.”

That’s odd. You frown, confused. “Bounty hunters? Why wo-”

You are interrupted by three sharp knocks on the doors. Beside you, your father calls out “enter! ”, and the doors swing open.

Two village men, two of the strongest of your people, flank a man clad in armor. His helmet has a T-shaped visor with a short antenna, and on his back is a rifle. You take note of the blasters strapped to his hips as well as something that could be a weapon at his knee. 

Isrwill was right. Well-dressed for battle.

You sit up straight and keep your eyes trained on the Mandalorian. Though you are a member of the Committee, you are also well-versed in how to use a blaster, perhaps the best trained of any at the table. You are also a protector of your fellow Committee members, the Elders, and most importantly, your father. 

“What business brings you to our planet, Mandalorian?” Your father’s voice is stern, strong in a way you hope to emulate when you inevitably assume his role.

“I am in search of a bounty, your excellency.”

The hunter’s voice is deep and slightly muffled through the helmet’s vocoder. He sounds weathered and rough, though you imagine that’s life as a man who fights and kills for a living.

“Sir will suit me just fine,” your father tells him, a hint of a smirk in his voice. “As for your bounty, it is highly improbable that any individual has survived outside of our village longer than a day. There is no stranger here but you.”

The Mandalorian sighs, looking down at the floor and then back up again. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir. The tracker isn’t wrong. He must be hiding somewhere in the mountains.”

Your father shakes his head. “Those mountains are impossible to pass without a guide. If he was there, surely he is dead by now.”

Though you can’t see his face, the hunter’s helmet is surprisingly expressive. He looks at your father for a long moment, and then glances around at the other people at the table. His gaze finally lands on you.

You set your jaw and stare back, unintimidated. A man with guns does not scare you, no matter how he tries.

“Alright,” he says, but you suspect he is not satisfied with this information. “Might I at least inquire about some lodging for the night?”

-

Later that evening, you find yourself in your favorite tavern, sitting in your usual booth, watching the townsfolk mingle and chat. Your drink of choice is a fermented ale that is produced in the warm season and aged for consumption outside of those short couple of months. 

No one pays you any mind unless they’re a close friend or they have news. They know to leave you alone, to let you sit with yourself as you prefer to do.

You’re watching a young couple you grew up with dance to the music when the tavern’s door swings open. You glance over at it but do a double take when you realize who stands in the doorway.

The hunter.

Around you, conversation quiets as everyone takes in the stranger. His helmet scans the room, like he’s looking for someone in particular. Internally you scoff. The bounty would never show his face here, he’d stand out too much amongst your people.

The hunter’s visor stops moving, aimed directly at you.

Kriff, you think, taking a swig of your drink. He wants information, and he’s not going to give up quite as easily as he did with your father.

The Mandalorian walks into the room, headed directly towards your booth. People watch, heads turning to track the stranger’s movements across the floor. His steps are heavy, intentional, large frame imposing as he approaches you.

Certainly a man built for survival. For conflict. If he were a different person, you might find it attractive.

He stops when he reaches your booth, looking down at you just as you stare up at him, brow raised. 

“This seat taken?”

You shake your head and gesture to it. “Not at all.”

From the corner of your eye you can tell the rest of the tavern’s patrons are watching, waiting. As the hunter sits, you wave your hand discretely, telling them to return to their conversations, to each other.

The noise picks up again.

“You’ve got some influence here, princess.”

The name both rankles and sends a shiver of something unwanted down your spine. Now that he’s closer, knees almost brushing your own, you really get a sense of how intense this man’s presence is.

A warrior, to be sure. None would debate that. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “We are not the subjects of a king, hunter.”

He scoffs, leaning back and resting his arm on the back of the booth. “Forgive me. What are you to them?”

“I do not see how it concerns you.” The words are harsh but your face remains neutral. Your father taught you how to deal with men like this - how to steel yourself against posturing, against prodding, against teasing.

The Mandalorian chuckles. “I just like to know who I’m talkin’ to. No need for the theatrics.”

You don’t respond. He’s the one who approached you - you have no desire to get in his good graces.

He sighs, glancing over to the wall at your left, his right. “I’d never heard of this planet before the tracker brought me here, much less your people,” he tells you. It’s not a surprise.

“That’s how we like to keep it. We stand no chance against something like the Republic or the Empire. Our only means of survival is staying under the radar.”

His visor is trained directly on you, staring, studying your face. You stare back, wishing you could somehow get a sense of what he looks like underneath the mask.

“How long have your people lived here?”

You know it’s not because he’s genuinely curious. Your mind is buzzing with all the different reasons he’d have for asking - he wants to know how familiar you are with the landscape. He wants to know how well-established your system of governance is here. He wants to know if you know how your people arrived. 

He wants to know how vulnerable you are.

“Generations. Since before the Elders’ grandparents were born. Memory of our arrival here has been lost to time.”

He tilts his head. “Is yours the only settlement on the planet?”

You nod. As far as you know, anyway. Attempts have been made to reach out, to try and see if any other peoples live in the outer reaches of the landscape, but none have returned successful. 

The Mandalorian hums. He glances over into the tavern, at the other patrons and the bartender. You watch as the bartender, a woman a few years younger than your father, uses a rag to clean out a cup, but you can tell she’s watching your table from the corner of her eye. When she notices the hunter’s helmet turn towards her, her eyes flit up to you, then over to him.

The hunter waves, as if to signal that he wants something. The bartender glances back at you and you nod. She sets down the cup and begins walking over.

You look over at him. He’s already staring back, chin tilted down like you’re a riddle he’s trying to solve.

“What can I do for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice does not waver, but it’s tense nonetheless.

He gestures to your drink. “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The bartender nods and leaves. You take a sip of your ale, finding comfort and clarity in the warmth it brings you. 

Across from you, the bounty hunter shifts in his seat, removing his gloves to reveal a pair of  calloused hands. You glance down at them and follow their movement as they reach up, thumbs curling under the bottom of his helmet, and lift. 

The hunter’s weathered face greets you. He’s a man, like any other, like you expected him to be. His brows are arched and dark, but the rest of the hair on his head has been burnt away by something that left scars across the crown of his head and his face. His eyes are cold, haunted, calculating as they look at you.

He sets the helmet on the table with a thud . 

“You’ve seen death,” you observe, holding his gaze with your own. “Been close to it.” His brown eyes narrow and he crosses his arms over his chest.

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, princess.”

Ah, you think. He underestimates me.  He thinks you’re the coddled daughter of a village leader, fed by the kindness of your people and adored for your status. You raise an eyebrow and take another swig of your drink, smirking into the amber liquid. 

You set the cup down on the table. “There is more in those mountains than snow and wind, hunter.”

He doesn’t move, save for a slow blink. “Tell me, then.”

You sense movement from the corner of your eye - the bartender has returned with his drink. He nods to her in thanks and she gives a tight smile, glancing at you before hastily returning to her station.

The hunter takes the cup and brings it to his lips. You watch as he takes a sip, swallows, and his eyes widen. A small cough forces its way up and out of his throat.

You smile at him, a hint of a grin that curls the corners of your mouth. 

“A bit strong for you?”

He glares over the rim of the cup and pointedly takes another swig. He sets the cup down, large hand dwarfing it. 

“What is in those mountains?” His voice has gotten lower, rougher, like you’ll be intimidated by a show of verbal force.

“Nothing you’ll concern yourself with,” you reply, refusing to back down. “Unless you want to encounter your own mortality again.”

“I am perfectly fine with a bit of a scare.”

You bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t survive an hour out there without a guide. And no one here will take the job, not when the options are either a fruitless search for a dead body or a shootout between two criminals.”

He leans forward, face pressing close to yours, warm breath blowing across your cheeks. His nose is inches from your own.

His voice drops to a low murmur. “I didn’t come here for a bounty, little one.”

Your brow furrows and you draw back, pressing your shoulders against the cushioned stone behind you.

“Word has got out of a large deposit of kyber somewhere in this system. The Empire has not yet caught wind, but soon they will.”

You don’t recognize the name of the material he’s referring to, but you do recognize the Empire and know exactly what something like that might mean for a small, defenseless village such as your own.

It’s much different than a simple bounty hiding in the mountains.

“Why didn’t you tell the Committee this?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know if this is where the deposit is. I didn’t want to cause unnecessary concern, especially considering the… size and scale of your village”

You purse your lips and lean your head back, staring up as you consider this development. This man has come in search of something you aren’t sure exists, and if it does, it means certain death for you and your people. 

You look back down at the man across from you. “Then why did you decide to tell me? You’d have been better off going to my father with this information.”

He huffs out a chuckle, then grabs his drink and takes a swig. He sets the cup back down and rests his arm on the table beside it. “Because I need a guide, little one. Someone with knowledge of the terrain, who I won’t have to watch out for. I’m willing to pay handsomely.”

The dots begin to connect in your brain. You raise a brow at him. “I have no need for your credits. They’re next to useless here. Besides, how can we know this - this kyber is there at all?”

“Is there anything unnatural about the mountains? Anything that would point to something powerful within them?”

You frown, thinking on it for a moment. All of the ores found in the mine are naturally occurring, the creatures that live on the peaks are all native, and the --

It hits you. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, and your heart rate increases. A falling feeling in your stomach takes the sensation from your legs for a moment, ice cold and burning all at once.

“The water.”

The Mandalorian tilts his head. You glance around to make sure no one’s heard you. Everyone in the tavern seems oblivious to the two of you, despite their stares earlier.

“We have to leave,” you tell him, fishing a couple of coins out of your pocket and depositing them on the table. “We can’t discuss this here. Come with me.”

Hastily you stand, taking your cloak from its hook on the side of the booth and pulling it on. The hunter follows suit, sliding his helmet back on and looking around the room.

You start towards the door, heavy footsteps following behind you.

-

You bring him to your home, the only place where you know you won’t be interrupted. You live in a small building tucked in a quiet corner of the village, between a storage silo and the village’s north wall.

Inside, the hearth has been going all day, fueled by coal and snow-bison waste chips. There are four rooms; three downstairs and a bedroom upstairs. You bring the Mandalorian to your study, where the fire roars and there’s a few soft chairs and a couch to sit on. He takes a seat on the latter and removes his helmet, watching as you search your bookshelves for something.

“Care to tell me what you meant by ‘the water’?” He slouches, thick thighs spread over the couch cushion.

Your eyes follow the movement of his legs for a split second. It’s supremely distracting, how inviting he looks right now. You glance up at his face and see a small smirk on his lips. A blush colors your cheeks, caught in the act of looking. To hide it, you turn back to the bookshelf, scanning the spines of your books.

“In the warm season there are streams that flow from the mountaintops to the valley. It pools in an area not far from here and forms a small lake, not much more than a pond, that freezes over once the cold sets in again. For centuries we’ve brought our sick and dying there to be healed.”

The hunter hums. “And it works?”

You nod, turning to look over your shoulder at him. “I was brought there as a child. I would have died of the fever had it not been for the water. Our Elders drink if regularly after they reach a certain age, once they haven’t been killed by the elements.”

“Are you saying your people live longer because of it?”

You pause. That has never crossed your mind, since using the water’s magic has always been normal to you, a yearly practice like any other. “I don’t know. How long does man usually tend to live?”

“It depends,” he says. “I’d say a hundred years at most.”

That has you taken aback. You look over at the bookshelf again - this is life-changing, world-shattering information. Dread begins to settle in your chest, like everything you thought was real is a lie.

The hunter leans forward, hands on his knees, concern etched on his scarred face. “How long do your people live, little one? How many years?”

You inhale and look over at him. “Hundreds. A thousand, if we’re lucky.”

“Kriff,” he swears, leaning back with a hand over his mouth and nose. 

Turning back to the bookshelf, you resume your search to calm your racing mind. You find the book you were looking for, a collection of stories gathered by your family over generations.

“Here,” you say, sliding the book out of its place and taking it over to the hunter. He scoots over, but only slightly, so when you sit next to him you’re tucked snugly between him and the arm of the couch. His thigh is warm against your own and you get chills down your neck when he shifts to put his arm behind you, around your shoulders.

You clear your throat and open the book, letting it rest on your legs.

“There are a few accounts that speak of the water,” you tell him, flipping through the pages until you find the one you’re looking for. It’s half a page of writing, the other taken up by a crude map of the mountains.

“The waters are life-giving,” you read, tracing along the words with your index finger. “They shimmer and glow in the sun when it shines upon us. The source is deep within the mountain, covered by ice and snow in the cold season. No one has seen the source of the waters and survived. Many have tried. It lies in the heart of ongrol territory.”

“Ongrol?” The hunter’s voice is deep, low in your ear. You look up at him, absentmindedly biting your lip between your teeth.

“Yes,” you reply. “A vicious species of massive snow lion. It’s rare to see one and live to tell the tale. I’ve only ever seen their prints.”

He hums, eyes flitting across your face as he studies you up close. “How large are they?”

You shake your head. “We can only guess, but certainly bigger than this building.”

The Mandalorian nods, his eye contact with you intense and unwavering. You meet it head-on, the warmth you feel in your bones spreading into your thighs and your ribs and your --

You blink and turn back to the book. The map is shaded to indicate the creatures’ territory, with a dot to indicate the general location of where the source is thought to be.

You point to an area just outside the shaded region. “This is as far as I’ve been. I can get us to the source - it’s the ongrol that are the problem.” You look back up at the hunter. “You’re sure the kyber is what’s causing this?”

He nods. “It’s one of the most powerful materials in the known universe. Little else could heal your people the way it does.”

“How do we hide the signature from others, to keep them from finding it?” The unspoken question there hangs in the air as you speak; how do we protect ourselves from attack?

He furrows his brow, shaking his head ever so slightly. “I’m still trying to work that part out, little one.”

That does not do much ease your anxieties, but you have to accept it for now.

You close the book with a sigh and stand to return it to its place on the shelf. When you turn back, the hunter has placed his other arm on the back of the couch, spread out like a king on a throne.

He looks comfortable - at home, here in yours. It’s unlike you to bring a stranger into your dwelling and not feel uneasy about it. Yet here he is, and it’s like he belongs right there on your couch, armor and all. You cross your arms, observing him.

“Do you know the name Boba Fett, princess?”

You shake your head. “No, I do not.”

He smiles, like your answer pleases him. “It's mine.”

Boba. The name is unusual, but it suits the man before you.

“I’d tell you mine in return, but I’ve grown fond of the names you’ve chosen for me, Boba Fett.”

A deep sound pushes its way out of Boba’s chest through his throat - half a chuckle, half a growl. He gives you a once-over with his dark brown eyes, like he can see right through your thick base layer and loose tunic. You watch as he does so, trying to calm your nervous breathing. His gaze is so penetrating, so intense, that after a moment you have to turn away from him, towards the fireplace.

The orange-blue flames dance in front of you, warming your face even further. A mirror hangs above it, but your eyes are focused on the hearth.

You hear Boba shift behind you, metal on fabric. “Tell me, little one,” he says. You can sense him moving closer. “Do you have any suitors, here in the village?”

The question makes your heart race even faster. “No.” You refuse to look at him, knowing that what you see there will render words impossible. “I’ve not had any interest in them.”

“But have men tried? Asked to court you?” He’s right behind you now, the warmth of him nearly matching that of the flames in front of you. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can see his shadow from the corner of your eye.

“Yes,” you nod. “They have tried.”

Boba hums. His hands come up to gently, but firmly, rest on your shoulders. He slowly smooths his gloved palms down your arms, taking them from being crossed over one another to resting loose at your sides.

You risk a glance up at the mirror in front of you. He’s already looking at you, eyes locked on yours. You meet his gaze and dip your chin ever so slightly, so you’re staring at him from beneath your lashes.

A ghost of a smirk dances across Boba’s lips. He breaks the eye contact and you watch as he looks down at the nape of your neck, one of few exposed pieces of your skin. His right hand brushes your hair from over your shoulder onto your back, gathering the long tresses together. The women in your village grow their hair out as long as they can, not only to use for braids, but also to keep warm. 

Boba’s fingers brush lightly against you, the rough material of his gloves a contrast to the smooth skin of your neck.

“Why haven’t they been successful, princess?”

You clench your jaw. Boba looks back up at you, his hand resting across your nape, fingers curled ever so slightly. The feeling of it makes your thighs tremble, your core responding to this silent, easy display of authority. It shows on your face, how much you like this, and you know Boba sees it.

“None of them could give me --”

Your words are cut off by Boba’s hand snaking around your neck, firm grip tightening around the column of your throat. You gasp, a soft, breathy noise, and the man behind you chuckles. His thumb and forefinger press into your jaw, forcing your head up, though your eyes are still locked onto his reflection in the mirror.

You choke out the rest of your sentence. “-- Give me what I need.”

“Is that so,” Boba murmurs, the words a deep rumble in his rough voice. He presses just a bit tighter, and your eyes flutter closed in response. “I think I know just what you need, my dear.”

His words burn through you like fire on wood, like a cold wind rushing through an open window. Your legs grow weak and your hands grapple at him, trying to find something to hold onto. Your left hand catches on the gauntlet covering his arm and you draw it around, so his arm covers your hip and his hand rests possessively on your lower stomach.

“What a pretty thing you are,” Boba mutters, sliding his hand lower on your front until his fingertips brush your mound. You let your head drop back against his shoulder at the feeling of him cupping your most private of areas, like it’s his, like it’s always been his. Your legs shift further apart to make room for his wide palm. “A stoic princess who desperately needs someone to take care of her.”

You whine at that, at what he’s offering you. It’s true; of all the eligible men in the village, not one has taken you to bed and been able to let you fully cede control to them. They see you as a leader, as someone not to be messed with, as someone to be respected above all else.

“Oh, yes,” Boba hums, curling the fingers of his left hand into your cunt, hooking them into you through your clothes. “They might follow your orders, little one, but you’ll follow mine.”

It sounds like paradise, letting him have you like this. You nod against the armor on his chest, movement limited and head growing dizzy thanks to the hand around your neck. Boba presses his lips close to your ear, his large body now curled around yours.

“Listen to me, sweetheart.” The pet name makes you melt against him. “I am going to go take a seat, and then you’re gonna take your clothes off for me. Can you do that?”

You open your eyes and there he is, in the corner of your vision, gaze dark and full of heated promises. You study his face for a moment, memorizing his features while he’s close like this, and then you nod.

“Yes, Boba.”

“Good,” he tells you. He then moves his hands away, and though you mourn the loss of his touch, knowing what’s to come keeps you patient.

He turns, walks back over to the sofa, and sits. He spreads his legs as he did before, arms on the back of the couch, watching you.

Boba looks so much like a king in that moment that it makes you want to bow before him, to prostrate yourself like you aren’t the daughter of the Chieftain. To worship him as he demands. 

The thought crosses your mind as your fingers begin to unwrap your tunic, taking the woven material from its intricate adornment on your body. You feel a blush rising on your cheeks at the implications - what would the village think of their leader’s daughter, the one to assume his role in the future, imagining such things about a stranger?

Your mind wanders, racing, thinking of seeing him upon a proper throne, all silent confidence and heated gazes from behind the visor of his helmet. Maybe he’d bring you there, show you off to a court, hold you in his wide palms like a treaty. Set you upon his lap like a rare trophy from your far-off snow planet. You’d wrap your arm around the back of his neck and listen to his dealings while he kept a firm hand on your upper thigh.

Dignitaries and crime lords alike would watch, whispering, unable to look away.

It thrills you, to have these secret desires.

You deposit the tunic on the floor next to you and toy with the hem of your top, pulling it out from where it was tucked in your pants. Boba’s eyes zero in on the strip of skin that is revealed as you raise the shirt higher, higher, and higher, until in one motion you’ve slipped it over your head and off entirely.

He stares at your chest and it makes you smile. Men will be men.

Feeling emboldened by the way Boba is looking at you, you turn around and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your pants. You slowly slip them down your hips, over your thighs, and past your knees, bending over as you do so.

Behind you, you hear shuffling. You toss the pants to join the tunic and shirt and turn to see Boba’s codpiece and gloves removed, his hand shoved down the front of his pants.

“I’m enjoying the show, little one,” he says, and waves at you with his other hand, even as you begin to see movement at the crotch of his trousers. “Continue.”

You smirk, a sly thing at seeing the effect your bare form has on him. You tuck your fingers under the band of your bra and pull up. Your arms block your view of Boba’s face as your breasts are revealed to him, but the hungry look in his eye once you can see him gives you a good idea of it.

“Kriff,” Boba swears, jerking himself faster, rougher. The sight of it makes your breathing become heavy, the labor of it causing your chest to heave. His eyes drop from your face to your tits - somehow, you don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed like you might usually. 

You just feel wanted. It’s intoxicating, that he wants you for you , not your title.

There’s only one article of clothing left on your body now. You turn around again, your back to him, and take the front hem of your underwear in your fingers. Slowly, almost teasing, you slip it over your hips, arching your back and pushing your ass out towards Boba. The underwear slips down your thighs until it falls to the floor.

You straighten up again and look over your shoulder at him. He gestures with his free hand, a ‘come here’ motion that you’re all too eager to follow.

“Beautiful kriffing body,” he murmurs as you approach. He reaches out and puts his hand on your hip, fingers curling into your ass cheek. His eyes stare at your mound, at the patch of hair there. “Bet you’re already wet for me, huh?”

He glances up at you. You blush, watching as he removes his hand from his pants and snakes it in between your legs, calloused fingers feeling the evidence of his effect on you. His fingertips catch on your clit, rubbing and feeling and stoking the fire within. You moan wantonly, comfortable in the privacy of your home.

“You are. Kriffing soaked. Just begging for my cock, aren’t you?”

His words make your pussy clench just as he slips one of his thick fingers into you, surely spreading his own fluids across your tight, hot skin. The girth of it forces a whine out of you, brows furrowed, and your hand flies down to hold onto his as he fucks you with his finger. Your other hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping his armor.

“Look at you,” he mutters, baring his teeth as he watches you writhe on his hand, using his thumb to rub your clit just so. Your mouth drops open in pleasure, sparks shooting down your legs and up into your belly at the feeling. 

Boba hums, circling his thumb and flicking it over your puffy, sensitive nub. “What would your people think if they saw you moaning like a whore for an old man, hm?”

Your legs turn to jelly at the force of the arousal that hits your cunt. You sway forward, knees buckling, and Boba catches you as you fall. 

He uses the hand on your ass to guide you into a sitting position on his lap, so now you’re straddling him, bare chest pressed to the cool metal of his armor. You tuck your face into his neck and revel in the feeling of a second finger teasing at your opening.

“You like that, little one?” His words cause his throat to vibrate, and the deep tone draws your lips in to kiss at it. Your nose brushes against the underside of his jaw as you move from kissing to licking, getting drunk on the taste of his sweat on your tongue.

Boba groans, sliding the second finger into your cunt with ease. You sigh, blowing cool air across the skin you’ve just wet with your tongue. “You do.” He runs his free hand up your thigh, holding tight to the firm muscle there, toned and strong from a lifetime in the ice and snow. “So desperate for my cock.”

You nod, though your lips hardly leave his neck. “Please, Boba,” you whisper into his skin, pressing yourself as close to him as you can get. 

His fingers still their movements within you and you whine. Boba shushes you, and you have to bite your lip to keep from pouting when he pulls his fingers from your pussy. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and leans back.

“I want you on your hands and knees, princess. Right here on the couch.”

You nod frantically and there’s not a moment of hesitation in your haste to follow his order. You arrange yourself next to him, forearms propped on the arm of the couch and your knees keeping your ass aloft in the air.

Boba turns and positions himself behind you with ease, half standing with one foot on the floor, his other leg bent and kneeling on the cushion.

He may call himself an old man, but he’s got the physicality of someone half his age. It makes the spot between your legs hotter and wetter just to think of it. Your cunt throbs for him.

You look over your shoulder and watch as he reaches into his pants, hand spreading your wetness across his dick, and your eyes widen as he draws it out from the confines of his trousers. Your gaze zeros in on him; he’s thick and long, just as you suspected, and every inch is one you want to feel as deep inside you as possible. Honestly, it makes sense - you’ve always heard that the men with the most to make up for do so in their personalities. 

Men like Boba don’t have to compensate, which makes them all the more attractive.

You glance up to his face. He’s smirking down at you, eyes traveling down to your ass, pushed out and open for him. He runs a hand along the soft swell of your rear, caressing you like you’re precious, like you’re prized.

“I could get used to this,” he tells you, guiding the head of his cock to notch at your opening. “Seeing a future queen all bare and ripe for me.”

Your eyelids flutter as you feel him press in further, deeper. The sight of him kneeling behind you, fully clothed while you’re naked as the day you were born, sends a wave of arousal through you. Your brain doesn’t even register what he’s called you, how wrong he is, because you can’t think of anything beyond his dick.

“C’mon, Boba,” you whine, his slow pace driving you mad. “Fuck me like you mean it, old man.”

The noise that comes out of his mouth is almost non-human with the way it reverberates around the room. His hands dig into your hips and he thrusts , unrelenting and rough, spearing you onto his thick cock until his balls slap your clit. You choke out a moan, your eyes rolling into the back of your head at how perfectly full you feel.

“Ah,” he grunts out as he immediately sets to fucking you roughly, deeply. “The little princess does want to be treated like a whore.” His words are accompanied by the lewd sound of his cock moving in your wet cunt, his hips slapping against your own. You moan, loud and uninhibited, unable to conceive of shame or propriety.

For your whole life you’ve been looked up to, treated as both fragile and untouchable.

Boba Fett fucks you like you’re nothing more to him than a pet.

He snarls his words into the air. “Woulda fucked you there on that table in the cantina, shown the whole village how well you take me.”

You keen, arching your back further to give him a better angle. He runs his left hand up your side, gripping your waist and pulling you back onto his cock in time with his thrusts. He’s deeper inside you than anyone’s ever been - you’re beginning to think men in your village must be small, or maybe Boba’s just unnaturally big, because you think you can feel the head of his cock bruising your cervix. 

The thought of him taking you in the tavern has you clenching down on him even tighter. Maybe you would have gotten on your knees for him, hid beneath the tablecloth and kept his cock warm in your mouth.

“That turn you on, princess?” He slows his thrusts just slightly, drawing out so he can slam back in with even more force. You cry out, nodding, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

“Of course it does,” he grunts, and you can feel the crest of your climax steadily approaching as he speaks, letting yourself get lost in the fantasies he’s bringing to life. His thrusts speed up again, rough and brutal, just as you need.

“You were just waiting for someone to -- ungh -- come along and fuck all the thoughts outta that clever little head, weren’t you?”

You whine, because he’s right - your normally sharp, observant brain has been put out like water over a fire. Boba leans forward, placing his hand on the arm of the couch next to your elbow, and brushes his lips against the back of your neck. It changes his position enough that his cock hits you just that much deeper, pounding against that elusive sweet spot deep within your cunt.

“Kriff, Boba --” You barely get the words out, your voice hoarse and strained and your mind turned to mush. “So -- so big.”

Against your ear, you feel more than hear him chuckle. His teeth catch on your earlobe, hot breath skating down the side of your face.

“Yeah? You like having my big cock in your tight little pussy?”

You keen, high-pitched and desperate. “Please, Boba, I’m gonna --”

His teeth trail down the side of your neck, biting firmly enough to leave a trail of red marks across your skin. Once he’s satisfied with his work, he leans up again so he can grip your hips more firmly.

“Gonna come, little one? Go on --” his words trail off for a moment - or maybe your hearing fades out as the crisis within you rises to its limit. Right as you’re on the edge, your face flush with sensation and your cunt fluttering around him, his rough voice fades back in.

“-- wanna feel you, princess. Come for your king.”

You have no choice but to do as he says.

Boba’s words scratch that small, hidden itch in your brain you’d taken a glance at earlier. Your mind whites out for a split second, as blinding as a snowstorm, before you return to yourself.

He’s still fucking you. Using you. Oversensitive and trembling, your senses absorb the world around you - Boba's hands on your hips, the scrape of his armor against your thighs, the crackle of the fireplace somewhere over your shoulder. 

The rhythm of Boba's cock inside you, chasing the same high you'd found moments earlier.

You moan, pushing back, encouraging him to find his release. A glance over your shoulder gives you the sight of his eyes focused on where he's thrusting into you, lip curled, a drop of sweat trailing down over his jaw.

Boba glances up at you and smirks, though the flash of teeth makes it more of a sneer. "Where do you want me, princess?"

A serene smile crosses your face and you pretend to think on it for a moment, lazy in your post-orgasmic haze.

"On me," you reply. "Wherever you want."

He grunts, looking back down, and thrusts a few more times, deep and bruising. As soon as he pulls out you mourn the loss of him, the fullness inside of you, but you're rewarded with a vision unlike any you've seen before. Boba takes himself in hand, and with a loud groan, cums across your ass, his spend dripping down your thighs and onto your pussy lips. He covers you with himself, marking you up.

Once he's finished, Boba runs a hand through the cum on your skin, pressing firmly and rubbing it in.

"Been wanting to do that since I saw you in the meeting hall, little one."

You hum, eyes fluttering closed at the thought of it. What a scandal - the Chieftain's daughter falling for the stranger, the first foreigner to visit the village in living memory.

Behind you, Boba shifts off of the couch. He stands beside you and then you register that he's moving you, strong hands arranging your limp body so he can pick you up. One arm slips beneath your knees and the other under your back.

"Bedroom's upstairs," you murmur. 

He brings you there, tucking you into bed carefully and then turning to undo his armor. As you watch him methodically remove each piece, you get the feeling that you're privy to something rare. Though you're sleepy, your eyes remain open, intent on keeping this memory clear.

The thought crosses your mind that this man must know so much of the universe. He's probably been to hundreds of planets, has hundreds of stories.

You've only ever known snow and wind. 

"Boba?"

He's just finished with the last of his armor when you speak. He sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and puts his hand on your side.

"Yes, princess?"

You gaze up into his eyes, dark but soft when looking at you.

"What's the most beautiful place you've ever been to?"

He smiles at that, letting out a soft chuckle. "I've been to so many places that it's hard to keep track, little one."

You pout. He moves to settle into bed next to you, under the layers of fur and fleece that keep you warm.

"You must have a favorite," you insist, curling up against him, head resting on his bicep.

He's quiet for a minute, thinking. You wait, though sleep threatens to pull you under. Boba's words lull you out of the beginnings of your slumber.

"I think you'd like Naboo," he tells you. You've read about it, about their system of governance. You can't recall seeing any pictures or illustrations, though. 

"It's very green," he explains. "There's meadows and forests everywhere. Their cities are vast, the buildings beautiful in themselves. I traveled there with my father when I was young."

You want to ask more, to learn about this place so different from anything you know. Your mind is racing with imaginings when you fall asleep, cozy and warm against Boba Fett.

In the night, your dreams glow as bright as the sun.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fucks #mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #boba fett x female reader #female reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction

[djarinsbeskar]

Rachel I just want you to know that everyday (literally everyday) I picture the scene where Din is cleaning his armour and Medic comes to sit between his legs and helps.

Everyday

Lils----

I cannot tell you how much this means to me honestly, because it’s a scene that lives rent free in my head also. It’s the single biggest turning point for Din, that step he needed to take to fully let himself begin to fall for her and he couldn’t have taken that step without her literally meeting him halfway. By her crawling to him and sitting against his knee with his pauldron in hand—working the rag over in with inexperienced but conscientious wipes, he saw right then and there that life…didn’t always have to be him alone, doing everything himself—shouldering all those burdens he suddenly found himself under.

She still assists him sometimes, did you know that? Why just the other day…

“Not a word, kitten.”

You tried, you really tried not to laugh when he trudged up the ramp—armour stained in a translucent green goo that was still dripping down in snail trails down his chest plate and thigh guards. And what on Malachor was that hanging on to the back of the duraweave covering a powerful thigh?

“Dank ferrick!” he snarled when he caught sight of the slippery, fat leech—black and bulbous and easily the length of Mando’s forearm as he pulled the creature off him to throw off the ship and back into the swampy water that seemed to cover the entirety of this planet.

You really tried not to laugh at that too. But chest heaving, shoulders rolling in great swells of annoyance—free-flowing frustration emanating from his body until it spiked with a growl at the peel of laughter that left from behind the hands you had valiantly used to cover your mouth in a useless attempt to stop yourself.

“Maker Mando,” you examined him with discerning eyes as giggles peppered your words, walking around his prone form—hands clenched to fists by his side as you circled him in growing horror at the state of him, “don’t tell me you fell into the swamp.”

“I didn’t fall,” he emphasised, one thumb hooking into his utility belt as his weight settled back on his left leg and honestly, it was unfair. Completely and utterly unfair how even covered in thick brackish liquid and smelling no better than the swamp he returned from, he still held a nonchalant confidence that rolled from him like a lounging alpha loth-wolf, assured and undisputed in his position. It wasn’t bloody fair because it made him sexy, called to your baser instinct and had your mirthful gaze shift to one of subtle appreciation instead.

“If you don’t fall into the shower in the next five seconds, I’ll kick you back off the ship,” you scolded him primly as your fingers nimbly unclasped his sodden cape—the material falling with a heavy squelch to the metal floor around his boots. That would need a wash or several.

“Mm, is that an order, kitten?” he dipped his helmet, making to press it against your temple but you were quick to duck your own out of the way. He might be fine covered in the swamp, but you would prefer to avoid it where possibly thank you very much.

“It’s a threat, Mando,”

He snorted at the sweet smile you flashed him.

“Well in that case…”

You blanched as he easily began pulling his weapons off himself, placing them down on the table to be cared for later, followed by the distinct click of his armour pieces being unclasped. You averted your eyes downwards and his husky chuckle wrapped around you soothingly. The unhurried removal of each piece, the reverent placement of every part of himself to lay spread across the table alongside his weapons had you transfixed before he grabbed a fresh shirt and pants from his bunk to change into after his shower.

You looked up when you heard the water running, the echo of a relieved groan making you flush at the association you immediately made with such a noise. So, you distracted yourself with his pauldron, the weight and shape familiar in your hands. From removing it to realign his dislocated shoulder, to running your fingers over the creature that was welded into the metal however many months ago when everything changed…

You felt a peculiar level of affection for an inanimate object—your thumb wiping the gunk that now tarnished the beautiful shine of the horned beast. Even as it lay without its bearer, useless without the whole, you could feel his presence in the crafted steel. A rigid, cool exterior that heated under a caring touch, and before you knew it, you had wiped off the worst of the stains.

That was how he found you when he left the fresher – clean and clothed – sitting cross-legged with one of his polishing rags held between sensible fingers as they cleaned the pauldron to shine good as new. Your eyes flickered up to him when he crouched down beside you on his haunches, his hand supported by the edge of the table behind your head while his fingers traced slowly alongside yours over the great horn,

“Good job,” he gravelled, voice like molten rocks that enveloped you in warmth, “pass me a rag, will you?”

The smile you flashed him then was enough to fill the emptiest, most fractured parts of himself with an indescribable feeling—a smile so unguarded and disarming that he knew there was no armour in the galaxy he could wear to protect himself from you. You had wiggled your way past the layers of beskar and blasterfire to the soft, vulnerable body beneath, no protection against any blow you might deal him with.

And as you sat, your legs thrown over his lap polishing his armour once more in companionable silence, he didn’t feel fear over the damage you might cause, the fatal wounds you could so easily inflict.

He trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t.

Find the scene Lils is talking about here!

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #stitches!extras #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fic #lils the fiend

[yetanotherhoeforpedro]

Sinfully Armored

Summary: After Din Djarin had lost everything: his ship, his child, his way, and found himself as rightful leader of the Mandalore, he’s glad when an opportunity arises to escape all of his responsibilities. Grogu doesn’t seem to adapt well to his destined life in the New Jedi Order and handling the little rascal is simply too much for Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, who has to rebuild the entire Jedi Order and help in the founding of the New Republic. As a last resort, he contacts the mysterious Mandalorian, who seemed to have formed a strong bond with the Jedi foundling, to help Grogu accept his Jedi heritage and finally let go of the past. What Mando didn’t know is that on top of being given the chance to escape his duties, he’d meet you.

Notes: see ‘Sinfully armored’ on AO3

Chapter 1 - Strange Revelations 

It has been the Maker knows how many days since you arrived at this desolate planet in the Outer Rim. The planets where you had to scout for Imperial Scum all started to blend into one after weeks and weeks on this expedition. The same dreary landscapes, shady people and shabby buildings on every single one. The Empire has left its dirty imprints throughout the entire galaxy and its people, including you.

The rundown bar you found yourself in right now must have seen better days as well. You swirled your drink lazily and scowled at the remaining dregs. This next part of your job was always the worst, impossibly done sober. You absolutely despised any kind of peaceful interaction with sympathizers of the Empire, even though you knew hate was not an emotion you should feel as a Jedi.

You drowned your glass in one big swallow and smoothly slid the it across the counter with a few credits. Before the bartender even reacted to your movement, you were already gone. The mud made an unsatisfying, squelching sound under your boots as you maneuvered through the narrow streets of Wakuda. Your nose scrunched at the mere smell of the place. Why the secret underground organization you were supposed to track down chose this of all places to build their base is beyond you, but you guessed it fit their morals.

As you neared the location you tracked the Imperial scum down to, you noticed a few snipers on the roof of the half-ruined building in your peripheral. Deep down you hoped they’d be skilled just so that you’d have a bit of a challenge as a distraction. They weren’t, since they didn’t even notice you until you were too close. Maybe their stupid helmets blocked their vision, you couldn’t even blame them. A quick swipe of the force knocked them out and you proceeded with your task.

Through a crack in the roof, you could spy on the meeting taking place underneath you. You leaned down a bit to get a better view and watched the scene unfold.

There were 6 people assembled in the room, but the woman at the head of the table stuck out especially to you with her glowing red hair. When she raised her voice, everyone went quiet. This woman clearly had an air of authority surrounding her. She began in a conspiring tone: “Fellow members of the First Galactic Empire, I have called you here today because troublesome news reached me. The New Jedi Order of Luke Skywalker keeps gaining more and more power. If the New Republic is backed by such a strong force of Jedi knights, our chances of rebuilding the Empire are slim to none.” The woman surveyed the room full of expectant eyes. No one dared to interrupt her. “So, we must take action. I have already contacted Grand Admiral Thrawn…”

The rest of her sentence didn’t reach your ears as you heard that name. As far as you knew, the notorious man died during the Battle of Endor with most of the other Imperial generals. If there was any truth to her claim that he was still alive, the New Republic and everything you stood for was in great peril. The old hatred started to boil up inside of you once again and it was all you could do to not jump down there and finish all of them in your fit of rage. To calm yourself, you reached deep into the Force as Luke had taught you. You reminded yourself that it was him and the Jedi’s goal of a peaceful galaxy you were doing all of this for and the discussion that broke out beneath you abruptly caught your attention again.

“That’s absolutely impossible! How would we even train those children? It’s not like we have a Sith Lord to train them!” a small man with shockingly pale skin exclaimed. “Leave that to me and the more experienced generals, we have everything under control. All you need to do is collect the force sensitive children from the systems I’ll send you out to,” the woman answered. The small man nodded once and the woman seemed satisfied. She pulled out a little device, flipped a switch and a holographic map appeared at the center of the table. As you glanced at the map, something pocked at the back of your mind. Why did it look so familiar?

But before you could observe it more closely and identify the feeling, the comm at your wrist vibrated. Luke always had such an unfortunate timing for someone so in tune with the Force. You cursed under your breath and accepted the transmission. After all, he wouldn’t contact you if it wasn’t important.  

“Report back to the Jedi Temple immediately,” he stated. “What? But I’m in the middle of a mission! I just made a discovery of great importance,” you protested. “Alright, but get back as soon as possible. May the Force be with you.” The connection snapped and you focused on the meeting again.

“Do not disappoint me,” the woman commanded. That was an obvious dismissal. After cursing Luke’s awful timing once again, you decided to track the leader of the meeting, which couldn’t be too hard, considering her hair was shining like a beacon. However, as you scaled down the building and looked down the street, she and her co-conspirators had vanished into thin air. How odd. But it was a blessing of sorts because you were eager to get off this planet and return to the Jedi Temple. Thrawn was alive?  It was all you could think about as you cut through the winding streets of Wakuda once again. The man who had taken so much from you had not been avenged? A sick part of you was thrilled about the opportunity to get revenge yourself, but it was outweighed by your general anxiety.

The sudden gleaming of a hull caught your eye and your pace quickened. As you turned around the corner, the magnificent ship arising before you obscured the view of your tiny, wreckage of an X-Wing. The rusty ship had accompanied you on many missions and despite its state, you had grown quite fond of it, but couldn’t be bothered to clean it. It wouldn’t matter anyway; it would just get dirty again in the next place you landed. You climbed into the cockpit and took off.

As you activated hyperspace, you tried to shake Thrawn off your mind and it quickly filled with other enigmas. You reconsidered the strange Déjà-vu you felt when you saw the map. You were sure you had seen it before sometime, but when and where exactly? Why would you have seen an imperial map? And how could they have left without a single trace? Who was the strange woman?

After pondering about these questions turned out to be futile, you began to wonder what could have been urgent enough for Luke to call you back from your mission. While you would have been jumping at the chance to finally leave these shitty systems under normal circumstances, the situation just got interesting and all you wanted to do was track the Imperial scum down and kill them one by one before they could do any more harm. But Luke had to lecture you on discipline far too many times and this mission was your chance to show him that he could trust you.

Still…How would you ever find out where they had gone now? You should have damned Luke’s orders and followed them somehow when you still could, what if they got to the children first? Shit, why didn’t you think straight? It seems like all of your focus and composure had left you once Thrawn’s name had perturbated your thoughts. All of the old grief and hate resurfaced again and threatened to drown you.  

You took a deep breath and pushed those emotions as far back as you could. The logical action right now would be to contact Luke immediately, he needed to send out someone else to stop the bandits. While you were short on Jedi, the New Republic would sure have someone to take care of the problem. If only you knew where they went, they’d be long gone if the Republic needed to investigate their whereabouts first. You sighed and called Luke.

“What’s wrong?” His hologram appeared in front you instantly. “A lot,” you responded dryly. “You’ll not be pleased about what I just discovered – before I was so rudely interrupted by you, that is.” He frowned at your sarcasm, this was obviously not the time for it, but you couldn't help it. It had become a sort of coping mechanism for you, a way to shield yourself from issues lest they touch you personally. “Grand Admiral Thrawn – or some doppelgänger of him – is still alive and in direct contact with the leftovers of the Empire.”

Luke was silent for a moment, his expression unreadable. “That is bad news indeed, I’ll need to inform Leia and Han so that they can alert our troops. Your assistance has been most valuable to us,” he replied finally, oddly formal. Still, you nodded curtly at the approval.

“Wait,” you intercepted as he was about to disconnect. “Unfortunately, there’s more. I overheard that they plan to rebuild the Sith Order, but on a far grander scale. I only caught a glimpse, but they had some map that directs them towards force-sensitive children all across the universe. While I have no clue as to how they would train them – unless they had a secret Sith Lord up their sleeves as well – we cannot let them take the children. The Jedi Order needs them.”  This time, Luke’s silence lasted even longer, to the point where it was almost painful. You forced the words forming on your tongue to fill the silence back – yet another nervous habit of yours – and mirrored his quiet. Until you gave in and broke it: “I did not disappoint when I warned you that I had some bad news, huh?”

Luke gave you a no-nonsense-look. “No, you did not. Do you think you can recall the map and lead us to the children?” he inquired. “Um…I’ve tried, but to no avail. However, the map looked oddly familiar. No idea where I could have seen it before, but I trust my instincts.” You shrug, though it doesn’t reflect your sentiments in the slightest.

“You said this map leads them to force-sensitive children?” he repeated slowly, more to himself. “Yeah.” – “In that case, I might know just where to look.” Before you could ask him what he meant by that he was gone. You let out an exasperated sigh. He took the whole mysterious Jedi image way too seriously, in your opinion.

You spent the rest of the flight dissociating in space, as one does. In a way, you were doing the meditation exercises Luke taught you. Time bent around you, it could have been minutes or hours until you arrived back at Coruscant. The blinding lights of the capitol made you snap back to reality as you swiftly descended.

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

You spotted Luke, facing the wall, quickly as you entered the council chamber, which was empty except for him. The few other “Jedi” seemed to be on missions as well. The “Council” consisted of a bunch of half-trained Jedi knights and one other survivor of Order 66, Master Vamora who appeared too fragile to still be an active fighter, but he was a stubborn old bastard. Not that it wasn’t an immense blessing to have at least one Jedi of the Old Order in your midst who was fully trained. He was extremely cranky and righteous though.

Luke turned back around to you. You did a double take as you took him in, seeing what the hologram had concealed. At first you noticed his eyes and the black rings underneath them, then the hollow of his cheekbones, his general paleness and crouched stance. He looked really exhausted, to say the least. Not being able to hold yourself back, you commented: “What happened to you? You look like you went through some shit.” At that, you earned a small grin from him that made some of the color reappear on his face.

Your heart jumped a little at the sight, you had to admit he was quite handsome, especially when he smiled. It wasn’t just ideological reasons keeping you in his Jedi Order after all, although you felt a twinge of guilt every time your stupid, horny brain produced these immoral thoughts. It was absolutely illegal for a Jedi to harbor such feelings, much less act on them, at least according to your set of morals. Luke himself had been conceived out of such an improper relation and since he did not grow up learning about the old set of Jedi rules, he had seen no use in implementing any such rule in his Jedi Order (much to the displeasure of Master Vamora, who had quite a lot to complain about today’s youth). You, on the other hand, had been indoctrinated the old set of rules from a small age on and you tried to stick to them in honor of those who saved you from your horrible fate and the sacrifices of those who had not been as lucky as you. But Luke did have a point. He claimed that love was not a crime or a weakness to be punished but rather a virtue that differentiates you from those who strayed to the Dark Side. Frankly, he was just a little too horny for his own good. He was well known for his bohemian lifestyle, sharing his bed with both men and women.

“That’s why I had to call you back here. I am being tormented endlessly by a little green monster,” he replied with a smirk on his face, pulling you out of your thoughts. You raised an eyebrow, but before you could inquire further, the door slid open behind you and you snapped around.

This day just kept getting weirder, or maybe you were extremely sleep-deprived as well. There was a Mandalorian with a little green creature that eerily resembled Master Yoda (if he were young and cute instead of old and wrinkly as he had appeared the last time you saw him) cradled in his arms standing in front of you. His armor was unlike any you had ever seen before, pure beskar and shimmering as it reflected the bright city lights. He looked exactly like the legendary warrior race of Mandalore you had only ever heard rumors about, straight out of a myth. Considering those rumors, didn’t they absolutely despise the Jedi? Suddenly alarmed, you pulled your lightsaber from your belt. The Mandalorian didn’t move, only cocked his head to the side. Even though you couldn’t see his face underneath the helmet, you felt like his eyes were piercing you. You stared right back at him, not moving an inch, thumb resting on the switch of your weapon, ready to activate it should he attack. Not that your lightsaber could do much damage to him, as he was dressed in beskar from head to toe. But what about the child in his arms? Maybe he wasn’t up for a fight after all. With a sick disappointment – how challenging would it be to fight such a legendary warrior? – you put your weapon back on your belt again. The Mandalorian kept staring at you, standing still as a machine.

This time it was Luke who broke the silence, as you were too entranced to say anything at all.  “There is the source of my eternal torment.” He strolled up to you in a relaxed manner. It was his calm posture and the underlying humor and fondness in his voice that kept you from attacking the strangers. The green creature turned its head and stared at you innocently with its huge, black eyes. You sensed it suddenly through the Force and did a double take in surprise. It reached its small arms out to you, but the Mandalorian took a step back from you rather than let the child closer to you. “This…this is why you called me back?” You shot Luke an incredulous, slightly offended look, to which he returned another wicked grin. “Yes.”

“Elaborate, please?” You didn’t even try to hide the annoyance in your voice. “This is my good friend…” He gestured to the Mandalorian. “Um, I actually don’t know his name, I just call him Mando. Everyone does.” He smirked at the warrior. “And this little fellah is Grogu, a Jedi foundling I took upon me to train.” The look Luke gave the child was so full of love that it seemed almost too intimate to witness. “Mando saved him from the Empire and took great care of him. Frankly, he cared for him too well. Grogu has formed such a strong attachment to him that it’s nearly impossible to train him. The little rascal is incredibly stubborn if his daddy isn’t around.”

A bit more enlightened, but still unaware of your place in this family drama, you waited for Luke to continue. “Since I have a ton of obligations, I don’t have time to train the little one and detach him from his savior.” Oh no. You hoped this wouldn’t be heading in the direction you thought it was. “You, on the other hand, have less responsibilities.” Fuck. "So, I decided that you should train him. And let his dad tag along until he can let him go.”

No fucking way. “I am not a damn babysitter! Neither do I care to get involved in this clearly complicated family structure! I have a mission, Luke. I need to get to those…,” you paused, suddenly all too aware that you had an audience, “…thieves and stop them.” Luke grinned at you, as if he expected that answer from you. “Isn’t it super convenient that our friend Mando here is a professional bounty hunter, eager to earn a few credits from the Republic?”

You shifted your gaze back to the silent warrior and the kid. “I am supposed to train this rip-off Yoda while on a mission? That’s just pointless, I won’t have time to teach him anything at all!” you pointed out. You were not interested in training another Jedi, especially not one that resembled Master Yoda and everything you lost so much. “You’ll have plenty of free time while traveling through space and he can learn a lot more in real situations than I could ever teach him,” Luke argued. “You want us to take him along on a hunt?” a modulated voice interjected. “No way, that’s far too dangerous for him as long as he’s untrained!” Luke wasn’t kidding about the bond, the man in armor clearly cared deeply for the child. Interesting.

“You need to stop being such a helicopter parent if you want him to live an independent life,” your Jedi companion retorted. You couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped your throat and a visor turned back to you. “I don’t trust her with my child”, the Mandalorian stated curtly. You scowled at him. “You shouldn’t have brought him to the Jedi if you had a problem with him being in the custody of a Jedi,” you snarled at the intruder, suddenly not caring that you didn’t even want this child in the first place and simply wanting to disagree with him. “It’s not the Jedi I don’t trust, it’s you and your attitude.” – “Is it because I called him a ‘rip-off Yoda’?” You flashed him a sweet smile.

“I see you two’ll get along just fine,” Luke said, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. “You could leave for the first child tomorrow.” At that, your attention snapped back to him. “What do you mean? Did you find the map?” – “Of course, as it was our map they stole in the first place.” Now your Déjà-vu made complete sense and you cursed yourself for not having come to this conclusion earlier. Obviously the Jedi had a map with the locations of force-sensitive children – possible new Jedi. The situation was even graver than you expected. “Get some rest now, you seem to need it almost as much as I do.” Luke winked at you. Accepting defeat for now and realizing how exhausted you truly were, you gave Luke a short nod before departing from the room and retiring to your chambers to finally get some well-deserved sleep.

Chapter 2

Masterlist

#din djarin/reader #the mandalorian/reader #mask kink #canon-typical violence #Din kind of talking like an elderly Victorian gentleman #smut #enemies to lovers #the mandalorian #din dijarin x reader #pedro pascal

[yoditorian]

lacuna- part 5

din/reader

i want to say a massive thank you for everybody who’s supported the content creator strike, it’s really important to draw attention to the issues we face and hopefully it’ll mean that engagement goes up and people will start respecting creators more 💛 as always, a massive thank you to @brothersdrxke for drifting with me on this

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.4k

warnings: probably some swears, poetic allusions to smut, din experiences emotion, 18+ no babies thanks

You don’t see Din for years, but he never fully leaves your mind.

Green Squadron gets pulled every which way across the galaxy, and you follow your orders. From the outer atmosphere above Scarif, to the Battle of Yavin, to some Outer Rim planet you barely spent a day on where the white ground turns red with every footstep. You see more stars than you ever thought possible. Mercifully, the endless missions and drills leave you little time to wonder what the Mandalorian might be up to in your absence. 

You’re not thinking about him under hails of blaster fire and explosives, nor while you duck and weave through smoke and flame to cover your teammates in the air. But he comes to you in the small hours, hours you spend trying to sleep, hours you spend wishing you were tucked up close against his side. You still claw through your memory for his smell, long since disappeared from the blanket you keep with you. Metallic and warm and home.

You’ve not used that word to describe anything for a long time, but it feels right.

Still, you live. Life in the Rebellion keeps you busy. Between meetings and missions and drills, you barely have enough time to eat, or sleep, or think some days. You’re grateful for that. The people around you are just as engrossed by war, but they don’t seem to let it get in the way. There’s love and light and laughter and you let it engulf you when you can. Nights spent in the rec rooms on your assigned cruiser, playing games of sabacc or keeping friends steady on barstools at the tiny cantina. People don’t stop living, so neither do you. Shara and Kes had married as soon as he was between missions, not long after she’d held your hand in a death grip at the prospect of her possible pregnancy. And you’re the first to hold their little boy when he comes, a week earlier than expected and furious, screaming into the galaxy. Life is good. But it’s missing something.

You try to live, at least. You freely give out smiles and stories and time, but you can never bring yourself to take it further. They always lean in close and you keep the distance. Break eye contact. You can’t do it. It’s not right. To do that to him. Even through the radio silence, even through the way you feel him just out of reach. You’re always kind about it, and nobody ever takes it badly, eyes soft as you apologise and tell them you’re spoken for. He hasn’t, but you are. That’s how it’ll always be.

He creeps into your dreams until he’s always there, his arms the only thing you can think of in the moments before you sleep.

Somewhere outside, you’re always outside with him. And there’s no armour or uniforms or obligations, just you and him and the sky as it turns a soft shade of pink. He’s not wearing his helmet, something you know as solidly as you know how to fly, but you can never quite stretch up to see his face. You don’t mind. You don’t mind because in this reality, he loves you. He tells you he loves you, over and over, and that’s enough. It doesn’t last long. The clouds roll in, dark and heavy, and Din’s warmth disappears from beneath you. Instead, you’re swallowed into the black as Captain Antilles tells you to suit up and move out. You don’t know where you’re going, but the weight sitting in the pit of your stomach makes you certain you’re not coming back.

You wake up in a cold sweat, breathing hard, and try to bring your heart rate down. Other pilots in the barracks are fast asleep around you, breathing in unison. Except one.

“You have a lot of those,” Shara whispers, the rest of the squadron still snoring, “Bad dreams, I mean.”

“Did you get a holo today?” You don’t want to talk about your dream. The fear still courses through you, it seemed so real. Missions are getting more and more dicey as each side gets more and more desperate, it’s not clear who’s winning anymore. If anybody. You can count on one hand the number of pilots who’ve come back completely unscathed in the last few months.

“He’s talking properly now, I swear every time I see him he’s bigger.” She’s trying not to cry, and you have the good grace not to mention it. Being away from her son for this long leeches at Shara’s spirit. Little Poe is safe and happy and being doted on by a relative of Kes’s, far away from the Empire’s reach. But sleep escapes her most nights, replaced by the pain of watching him grow from a distance, and the very real threat that she won’t get to see him grow up at all. You stretch your arm out across the narrow gap between your bunks and find her hand in the darkness. It’s all either of you have.

“We’re flying out to the Endor system in 36 hours. The second Death Star is mid-production, not operational, we’ll hit it before it’s done.” There’s none of the sarcastic warmth you’ve come to expect from your team commander over the years, this is it. The final stand. The noise of the cruiser’s hangar fades away as your brain switches to fight mode and you process your orders. The end of the Empire, or the Rebellion. Three possible outcomes: you win and live, you win and die, or you lose and die. The Empire will not leave survivors. Like any good pilot, you pretend that the odds don’t scare you.

You’re going to lose people. Friends, colleagues, strangers will fall, but that’s the risk you run in the Rebellion. Every single person would lay down their life at a moment’s notice if it meant the chance of success. You’re the best you’ve ever been, a veritable armoury of skills that would make your sixteen year old self faint. If it was down to just you, you’d make it out of any dogfight no doubt about it. You have no fear when you’re in the air. But it’s not just you, is it? It’s Shara, and Green Squadron, and the Rebellion at large. If any of them go down, there’s no question that you’ll follow.

You’re fumbling through your pack the moment you realise you’ve made it back to the barracks, alone, the solitude is far too rare and you’re not about to waste it worrying. You’ve pressed the talk button and brought the comm up to your mouth before you’ve even figured out what you want to say. Hopes that he’ll answer, or hear you at all, aren’t exactly high. But you’re desperate enough to give it a go.

“I’m going to the inn at Mos Espa. The one from before? I’ll click when I’m there, if you’re around.” You don’t tell him that it’s because you’re pretty sure you’re going to die. And you love him, even if he doesn’t know. And you’re selfish, ultimately. You just hope he can’t tell you’re trying not to cry.

“-if you’re around.”

Your voice echoes around the cockpit of the Razor Crest, and Din tries to ignore the way it ties his stomach in knots. He misses you, so much more than he thought he would. It’s like there’s a space inside him where only you fit, like his lungs threaten to collapse without you.

He should pretend that he didn’t get the message, like the way he pretends that he doesn’t keep the long-range comm pinned to the control board of the Crest, like the way he pretends he doesn’t think about getting in touch with you every second of every day. It’s the first time he’s heard from you in a while and there’s a new bounty puck burning a hole in his pocket and he really shouldn’t be thinking about going. Except there’s something in your voice that he can’t quite work out. He doesn’t want to go so far as to call it fear, but he can’t sit there wondering. He can’t sit there as if he hasn’t missed you.

So, Din powers up the Razor Crest, and locks in the coordinates for Mos Espa.

You hadn’t even needed to ask Shara to cover for you, she offered the second the word Mando slipped out. You’ve held her through nights where all she can do is miss Kes, she understands the pain you feel every time you spot the comm in your pack. You’d asked her once if she thought you were being silly, pining over a man whose face you’ve never seen. She’d only told you to shut up, that he’s clearly not just some guy you sleep with when the opportunity arises.

“You don’t lose sleep over dick, Lieutenant.”  

And she’s right, even if you’re afraid to put any other word to it.

The room hasn’t changed, although you’re not sure why some part of you had expected it to. The desk and chair are still in the same place, the bedding still a faded red, even the light in the ceiling has the same tattered lampshade. You stand by the small window, watching people’s shadows grow long as the day comes to an end. Still no word, no sign, nothing from Din.

The suns set, and he’s not here. He’s not coming. You hate how much you want to see him, just once, before you have to leave. You’re about to curl up on top of the bedcovers and sleep, until two knocks on the door echo loud and clear.

You look rough. Din doesn’t want that to be the first thing he thinks about you when he opens the door, but he can’t deny it. Your shoulders sag with exhaustion, stress, and there’s that fear he didn’t want to admit to hearing before. It’s not him you’re afraid of, but somehow he knows you won’t even acknowledge it.

“Been a while.” Years. It’s been years and that’s the first thing he can think of to say?

He’s here and now you can barely move. You spent so long preparing yourself for him not to show that you have no idea how to react now that he has. It feels like you’re walking through cobwebs.

“Yeah, it- it has been.” This is really not how you envisioned this would go. But he’s right, it has been a while. Maybe the more hopeful part of your heart wanted you to just pick up where you left off, but you’re not even exactly sure where that would be.

Din makes the decision for you. He strips his armour slowly, setting it on the desk in the same way he did the last time you stayed here, and never once takes his eyes off of you. You can feel it, like he thinks you’ll disappear if he looks away. Maybe you will.

Your jacket is already draped over the back of the chair, the night not yet cold enough to warrant more than your tattered t-shirt. It’s the one you wear under your flight suit. You’d left your old blanket on your bed back on the cruiser, you need his scent on this instead. You need to keep him with you when you take to the skies, just in case.

He steps closer to you, helmet still in place, until he’s all you can see. The cold metal presses down firm against your forehead, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels right. In any other context, it might scare you.

“I need you.” You can’t keep the tremble out of your voice, only hoping it makes you sound desperately horny rather than terrified. Your hands knot themselves in the thick fabric of the flight suit over his chest and he just holds you there for a moment. Bare hands skim your back, reaching up underneath your shirt to find your skin. They freeze when he finds a symmetrical set of scars. The marks feel old, settled, but still carry a heat that feels more recent than the ones he’s used to feeling.

“Prod, I think the medic said it was. Don’t recommend that.” Your half-hearted laugh travels up his fingertips.

Din’s mind flashes back to years ago, to the crime syndicate he slaughtered, the ones who’d treated torture like it was dinner and a show. The rebel pilots he’d freed-

“We had the bantha-prod on the other one yesterday. Oh, the screaming.”

He decides it probably wasn’t you, the galaxy is a big place and there’s more wannabe crime lords than womp rats. The chances of you being the second pilot are slim, and if one group was using bantha-prods on prisoners there’s no doubt there would be more. They’re convenient, easy to get your hands on, and pack a decent punch. He lets his fingers rest on each of the pronged scars for a moment, and leaves it at that.

You keep your forehead pressed to the helmet and let Din strip the layers between you, breaking only when he leans back to lift the old t-shirt over your head and your eyes slip shut against the dim moonlight. You can’t see much with them open but you need to feel him, all of him, and you know he trusts you not to look. Your mind is reeling so much that you don’t even hear him slip the helmet off, you don't register that he’s bared himself to you as much as you’re bared to him until he’s pressing you down against the threadbare blankets.

It’s there that you let him consume you, take over every square inch of your skin until you belong to him completely. Just for this isolated moment, as if the war doesn’t exist. And you revel in it, you lose yourself and let him guide you through it all. Committing his every touch, every kiss, every breath to your memory. This is what you’ll think of when you go down tomorrow. You’ll think of him and the tight feeling in your heart when he kisses you and you’ll remember that he took care of you. Even when you can’t get your hands to stop shaking.

You’re in your head, he can tell. But Din knows you, far better than either of you are willing to admit, and he knows you won’t tell him. So he throws everything he is into it. Into this time with you, no idea when he’ll get to be with you again. If ever. And for once, the fear for his creed is silent. He pulls you into him until it’s impossible to tell that you’re not one single being. You need this, clearly, and his heart is so firmly in your hands that he’ll give it to you. He’ll put everything on hold for you, every time.

You’re the first one to rise from the bed, barely having caught your breath before you’re rummaging for your clothes on the floor with your eyes still clenched shut, and that’s when Din knows something’s definitely wrong. He can hear your hands shake as you pull your t-shirt back over your head.

“Hey,” He leans forward to catch your elbow, but you shrug his fingers away, “What’s wrong?”

“I have to get back to base.” Is the only explanation you offer. Din huffs and the sound makes you flinch, too sharp in the dark, as he pulls you back to the scratchy sheets. Your hands find his broad chest and you take a second to focus on his breathing, on the way his ribs expand, until you can find the right words.

“Cyar’ika.”

“I think I’m dying tomorrow.”

He says nothing. You don’t expect him to. What are you supposed to say when somebody tells you they’re going to die?

“Din, I-”

He surges up to kiss you, breathing you in and surrounding you until he is all you know. All you ever want to know.

“Tell me when you live.” He whispers, pulling his lips away just enough to speak, and hopes you’re tired enough to forget the way you promise as you tuck yourself back into his chest. He can’t let you say the words, he knows he’ll never leave if you do.

It doesn’t take much convincing to get you to stay. A few hours, he says. He’ll wake you up when you need to go, he says. You know he will, he’s never given you a reason not to trust his word. And you let yourself relax into him, curling into his side and wondering what would happen if he didn’t wake you up. What if you just stayed here, the two of you in this room, for the rest of forever? It’s a nice enough thought to clear your mind and let sleep take over.

You wake before he does, hours before the suns are meant to rise and you know it’s time to go. It hurts, to think about leaving Din here in this bed to wake up alone. Like the last time. You hope he’s not too upset with you as you fumble blindly for the rest of your abandoned clothes.

While he has seen far too much cruelty, and been far too kind to you to deserve this, you leave him sleeping. Better for him to wake at dawn and be angry with you than to wake now and convince you not to go. You know he would. You’ve never much believed in the Force, or love for that matter, but every path you’ve ever taken has led you straight back to him. That’s got to count for something.

But love isn’t something you get to have. You’re not foolish enough to convince yourself that it is. Although, if anything in the galaxy could come close, it would be Din. You leave your heart behind with him, tucked up close beside his in the tangled sheets. He’ll keep it safe, you can trust him, of that you’re certain.

“You ready?” Shara’s trying her best to sound upbeat, and you have to hand it to her. It’s difficult not to feel like this is the end, hers is the first smile you’ve seen all day.

“I think we both know the answer to that.” You reply as you tug her into a hug. You squeeze each other almost uncomfortably tightly, but part of you feels like it might be the last chance you get to hold your best friend. She’ll feel every ounce of love you have for her, even if you crack each other’s ribs. Your matching dark green flight suits feel far too new, too starched and solid, for the firefight you know is coming.

“You smell like boy.” She mumbles into your shoulder and you huff out a laugh.

“I’ll see you after.” You say when she pulls back. Neither of you are sure you’re right.

But you are. The comms fill with cheers as you watch the second Death Star crumble, the remnants of the fleet around you falling. And you can breathe. Your work, the Rebellion’s work, is far from over but this? This is everything you’ve been working towards for years. It’s hard not to feel relieved for just a moment. You catch Shara as she zips by, following her down to Endor’s surface.

You’ve barely unclipped the safety belts before she’s wrestling you out of the cockpit and down to the forest floor. You land in a heap of laughter, maybe a few tears, and wait for the adrenaline to settle.

“We did it!” Shara’s smile is wider than you’ve ever seen it as you clasp her cheeks in your hands and hold her there. You’re both swept up into somebody’s arms only a moment later, Kes Dameron’s booming laugh filling your ears, and you let the joy wash over you. You’ve gotten through the worst of it with this, your little found family of rebels, intact. If only it wasn’t so glaringly obvious that someone is missing.

Later into the night, you pull yourself away from the party, slipping down a ladder from the treehouses and making your way to the ships. It takes a moment to remember exactly where your A-Wing is, and another to dig around in your pack to find it, but you breathe a sigh of relief as your fingers close around the comm. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for whatever will come.

“I made it.”

There’s a second, a click from the comm, and then another.

Din finally lets the tears fall, and he can breathe again.

As though the man on the other end thought better of what he was going to say. The party still rages above your head, and you try not to let it get to you.

-

TAGLIST (lmk if you want on or off):

@brothersdrxke @remmysbounty @aq-vetina @1800-fight-me @mandos-co @kesskirata @sarahjkl82-blog @firstofficerwiggles @keeper0fthestars @wille-zarr @rebloogggs @thevoiceinyourheadx​ @plants-are-better-than-humans @schreibsuchtis 

#the STRESS trying to format this to post i swear i'm this close to throwing my laptop out a window #i had to copy paste every individual paragraph can someone come and kill me pls #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #lacuna #liz does words #smut

[winchesterxxi]

The Fundamentals of Loving | PART 1: Genesis

THE FUNDAMENTALS OF LOVING

PART 2 (SOON)  ⇒

Rating: T (Teen And Up Audiences)

Type: Fluff

Request: “Could u possibly do a din x reader where the two of them are always trying to one up eachother on missions and it’s like a little game and eventually din realizes “on my god I’m in love w/ them-“ !”

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings:Gender-Based Discrimination, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Age Gap

A/N: Did Sam just start writing her first series? Yes, indeed. I simply thought that this request was too good to be crammed into a single fic which would probably turn out very sloppy sooooooooo here is part one of this short series, probably approx 5 parts.

MASTERPOST | REQUEST HERE | KO-FI

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸

You had been working with the Mandalorian since before you had ever even heard of The Child, or Grogu, as you’d recently discovered. You weren’t even a bounty hunter when Mando, as you called him, parked his ship on your planet, looking for spare parts for his ship.

That search led him to a small and dodgy corner store in a sandy village. It was a poorly lit weaponry and spare parts shop, frowsty and stale smelling, with dust  from the outside environment all over the glass cabinets that held the products.

The Mandalorian makes his way across the store to the counter, and without saying a word, sliding a few credits to the creature attending to him.

“Two coaxial cables and a few spark plugs.” comes his modulated voice.

“Let me check the backroom.” says the shop owner before grabbing the credits and waddling through a door next to the counter.

The Mandalorian stands there, taking in his surroundings through the dark visor of his helmet, as he rests his lower back against the counter surface.

Through one of the cabinets glasses, something catches his eyes.

There you stand, running your hand through a beskar blade, carefully choosing which new weapon to purchase. You were no hunter by any means, but being a girl like you in a planet full of filthy creatures, and it being known for the nasty brothels, knowing how to handle yourself has come in handy more than once, as some men have tended to assume that every female in your home is up for a grab.

Just as if on purpose, and to prove your point, a trooper wanders into the store, with two other of his companions, none of them wearing a helmet, but the three of them extremely drunk.

“Oh I might buy a few of these.” one of them exclaims at the entrance, eyeing the riffles and blasters on the first cabinet. You look at them through the corner of your eye but avoiding turning your head as to ignore them. But they don’t ignore you.

“And what do we have here?” the second trooper walks over to you, leaning against the cabinet you were next to. “Come here boys, I found something you’ll definitely want to buy!” the two other troopers, come closer to you, completely circling you against the cabinet. At this point, you are still with your back facing them.

“I’m not for sale.” You state between clenched teeth.

“All of you are.” the third one growls before sliding a gloved hand up the back of your tight.

On the other side of the cabinet line, The Mandalorian grips his blaster, ready to take it out. It was not normal for him to meddle into other people’s business. He only wanted to do his job. But somehow, seeing how defenseless you looked, he felt the need to somehow intervene.

But as soon as that one trooper’s hand reached your bottom, in a fraction of a second, you turn around, slashing him across his bare throat with the blade you had in hand. Quickly you had the two other troopers trying to take you down, but you are quicker and slicker than them (also given the fact that they were drunk), kicking and punching them in all the right places, before grabbing both of their heads and smashing them together, bloody faces crumbling to the ground.

Only then, looking up, did you notice the other presence in the room. Your breath is still altered as he takes a few steps around the cabinets and comes to stand a few feet in front of you.

“That was impressive.” he says with modulated waves.

“Thank you.” you say, bending down to grab the bloody blade from the troopers neck before pulling it out, blood dripping from it.

“Are you a hunter?”

You clean the blade to your pants before turning to face him.

“No. Just someone who has to know how not to get killed.”

Only now does he take a good look at you. He’d never guessed that much skill and strength would fit inside your delicate appearance, you were definitely at least a decade younger than him and you looked like you belonged on a palace next to the highest ranks of the galaxy. Yet here you were, fighting for yourself, covered in dust and rags.

“How would you like to have a job?”

“I’m not one of those.” she said, assuming that The Mandalorian was requesting the services that every other female on this planet seemed to offer.

“I mean as a hunter. Help me catch bounties. I could use someone with your skillset.” sliding the blade through your belt, you cross your arms looking at his helmet.

“I thought Mandalorians worked alone.”

“Let’s just say I’m not as young as I used to be.”

You consider his words, lifting your chin up. “What’s in it for me?”

“A place to sleep and eat, food, experience with flying and getting far away from this place.” With the last part, he motions with his helmet to the pile of the three bodies behind you.

“And credits?” you question

“Don’t worry about them. I’ll buy whatever you need.” he tells you.

“No.”

“No? I’m offering you a job, you’re not the one who sets the terms.”

“You said you need my skillset, and I don’t work for free, spent too many time having to scavenge for my survival.” you pause a brief moment eyeing the place where his eyes would be. “60/40.”

“80/20.”

“I’m not your slave. 65/35.”

“75/25.”

“70/30. Final offer.”

He takes a second, eyeing you head to toe.

“Deal.”

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” you smile at him, at the same time the shop owner emerges from the backroom, eyeing where the two of you stand and specifically the trio of troopers on the floor behind you, blood pooling around them.

He takes a deep breath in before motioning for The Mandalorian to come back to the counter, exasperatedly letting out a “I’ll clean it later.”

The Mandalorian motions you to follow him.

“There you go.” the parts that had been requested are laid on top of the counter and your new partner, picks them up and puts them away in one of his belt’s pockets. He thanks the creature with a nod of his helmet before walking away in direction of the outside world.

Once outside, the sun is almost blinding as you reach your hand to hover over your eyes. From your side, you catch The Mandalorian walking away from you, through the middle of the street, slowed down by the sand.

“Hey,” you shout behind him, causing him to stop and turn to look at you. “where are you going?”

“Back to the ship.”

“But that’s the town border, there’s nothing but sand after that.”

“The ship is parked in that direction. I walked for two days to get here, we are walking back.”

“Two days? You have to be kidding me.” No way you were walking across this hell hole for two days.

“Less complaining, more walking, princess.” The nickname alluding to the vision that he had compared you to, the first time he laid eyes on you, but to your ears not sounding more than a sarcastic remark on how you were acting like a delicate flower than wanted to be carried. Little did you know that wouldn’t be the last time he’d use that name.

✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ ✸ 

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#The Fundamentals of Loving #winchesterxxi #star wars #din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader

[chokemeanakin]

First Kiss - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

Summary: Anakin treats you to your first kiss ;)

masterlist

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22469749

It happened on Tatooine. Anakin didn’t want to come back, but you had begged him to show you where he grew up.

“I grew up with Obi-Wan, travelling the galaxy,” Anakin corrected, a scowl clouding his face. “Not on Tatooine. I was just a slave there.”

“But it’s got your history,” you argued. “It’s where Qui-Gon found you. It’s where you build C-3PO. It’s where your--”

“It’s where my mother died,” he bit, jaw tense and eyes shadowed. “I know.”

“Maybe we could visit her.”

Anakin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He did that a lot, ever since he came back from the dark side, to calm the anger inside of him. His hands clenched over the controls of the pod, then suddenly relaxed. When he opened his eyes, he was considerably less tense.

“Okay,” he agreed. “I think she’d like that.”

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

“I hate sand,” Anakin muttered as he hopped down from the ship. His boots landed on the ground, sending dust to cloud up around him. He swatted it away from his face.

“Oh, quit pouting,” you take his flesh hand, then raise it over your head with both of yours. “You’re home!”

“This is not my home,” he tried to sound angry, but his face softened when he looked at the smile on your face. He could see you were excited-- for what, he still didn’t understand. You would have to stay in the remote parts of the planet because Anakin would never be welcomed back after what he did to the sand people. You wouldn’t even be able to see the market or Jabba the Hut’s pub, or the place he used to live. Not that Anakin ever wanted to go back to any of those places, anyways. They came for one reason-- to see his mother.

Anakin led the way to the grave. It was just a plank of wood sticking up from the sand, so you weren’t sure how he even knew this was hers. But it was the only thing out here for hundreds of miles, and the somber look on his face was proof enough. This was his mother.

You sat on the sand in front of the wooden plank, drawing shapes in the course minerals. You didn’t say anything, and neither did Anakin as he sat down beside you. The silence was comforting, and just being there was enough. Anakin closed his eyes and his face was peaceful.

You watched him, his face unmoving, as you thought about Anakin and his past. This was where his life began, as a slave, working in a junk shop while his mother struggled to get by. He built his own pod and would race because he was good at it. He built his mother a robot so she wouldn’t have to work so hard. He could still speak the language, as sometimes he would mutter what you were pretty sure were swears under his breath in the foreign tongue.

This was where the sweet, unsuspecting, hopeful little kid who loved flying and wanted to be a Jedi grew up with his mother. He had left her to do just that, and that was the beginning of the end. He never got to see his mother again before she died in his arms. The Jedi Council consistently underestimated his power and belittled him. They alienated him from the one thing he was destined to be. No wonder he turned to Darth Sidious, who was the only person who seemed to trust him in those harrowing times. He had fallen, like Icarus from the sun, like an angel from heaven, and fell and crashed and burned.

But now he was back. He was here again, that same sweet, hopeful boy who just wanted to be a Jedi. And he was sitting before you, with his mother-- a family again.

You were there for hours, until the suns began to lower in the sky. A gust of wind blew sand in your direction, and Anakin cracked an eye open.

“We should get to higher ground,” he said, standing and holding his mechanical arm out for you to take. He helped lift you up, and then brought you in close so he could share his cloak with you, shielding you from the sand. “The wind should let up as the suns go down. For now, we can watch them set from the pod.”

The two of you climbed on top of the ship and sat with your legs dangling off the edge, watching the double-suns inch toward the horizon. The sky seemed to bleed when the lower sun crashed into the sandy mountains, but then melted into a melon-orange glow as the higher sun followed in its wake. Soon, the whipping sand clouds calmed and the sky turned to a deep purple, then black, dotted with thousands of stars. You wondered how many times Anakin had watched this sunset as a kid, and if it’s changed at all since then.

“You’ve come a long way,” you told him, breaking the silence. He lowered his head and looked at his hands.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.”

“But you always come back,” you said. He lifted his head and his eyes connected with yours, but they were far away. He was deep in thought, and there was something warring behind them. Guilt.

“I left you,” he said, and it’s barely above a whisper. “We were friends, but as soon as Padme came along, I left you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were happy with her.”

“I was happy with you, too.”

The confession caused an eruption of warmth to blossom in your chest. You smiled at him, a genuine, delighted smile, and knocked his shoulder playfully with yours.

“You have me now.”

At this, Anakin lifted his arm and wrapped it around your shoulder. He pulled you close for a moment, then relaxed with his arm still around you. For once in your life, you didn’t move away.

Anakin was warm. You basked in the weight of his arm around your shoulders, the feeling of his torso pressed against your side. Your thighs were touching and you realized that this is what you needed, this is what was missing all along, this warmth. Suddenly, you felt complete.

“Why haven’t you ever been with anyone?” Anakin asked suddenly. You tried to fight back the blush from your face at both the question and the fact that his fingers seemed to be absentmindedly tracing patterns on your arm. Suddenly he paused. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you told him, and he resumed the patterns. “I just… have a hard time connecting with people.”

“Because of your mother?”

“Because of my mother,” you confirmed, and he coaxed every bit of information out of you on how your mother was strict and mean and cold and judgmental, and your father watched as she stripped your humanity away. He listened attentively as you told him of the suitors you’ve failed with in the past, and his arm tightened around you.

“I just get nervous,” you frowned, twisting your fingers in your lap. “Like the closer someone gets to me, the more they’re going to realize I actually suck.”

“I don’t think you suck,” Anakin said, his voice that sweet, comforting timbre with a gentle rasp that you loved so much. He always sounded like that when he’s spitting off orders to R2 when piloting, or late at night when he’s half asleep and doesn’t know what he’s saying. He also had that stupidly soft look in his eyes, and that half smile you’ve only ever seen directed at Padme.

God, he’s so pretty, you groaned inwardly, unintentionally tensing up when you realized just how close you were sitting. And he was looking at you so deeply, and man, his eyes can be so intense sometimes-- your face burned and you ducked your head so he couldn’t see.

He caught your chin with his gloved mechanical hand, cradling your chin between his index finger and thumb. He turned your face to look at him straight on, right in the eyes, and all you could see was Anakin. He was so close, and he was getting closer. Your eyes shifted to his lips, the same ones you had fantasized about for years, and hoped he couldn’t notice what you were thinking.

“Have you ever been kissed?” you could feel his breath on your lips, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You blinked madly, breathing erratic, palms sweating. Every single atom in your body was buzzing with energy-- excitement, nervousness, fear. You wanted to pull him in and kiss the living daylights out of him. You wanted to push him away and run as fast as you could until you got to a cliff high enough you could jump off and never wake up. You wanted to explode.

“You’re trembling,” Anakin’s eyes shifted across your figure for a split second. “Do you want me to let go?”

“No,” you begged him, your hands shooting out to hold onto him without your permission. They landed on his thighs, and your face burned harder.

“Do you want this?” his thumb stroke your chin. There was nothing you wanted more.

“Yes.”

You weren’t sure how he even heard you, as you barely uttered the word. But before you could do or say or think anything else, Anakin was leaning in. Your eyes closed on instinct and you felt, very softly, the brush of his lips against yours. The volcano was back in your chest, spurting lava all over your insides as you realized, holy shit Anakin Skywalker’s lips are on mine. Holy shit, Anakin Skywalker is kissing me!

The feather light touch tickled more than anything, and you could feel his mouth twitch into a slight smile as your hands’ grip tightened on his legs.

“This okay?” he pulled back a centimeter to ask. “You want more?”

“Yes,” you said again. It was the only thing you could manage to say, the one syllable word, and you began to wonder just how much of a lost cause you were if a simple brush of his lips against yours could render you brain dead.

He muttered an ‘Okay’ and then brought his flesh hand up to cup your face, fingers sliding along your neck and locking into your hair as his thumb stroked your cheek. You shivered, goosebumps staining every inch of your body with the touch. His gloved hand stayed on your chin, tilting it up toward him for easier access.

You closed your eyes again, and he leaned in, and this time he really, actually kissed you. He applied the slightest bit of pressure, then he did it again, shifting his head and capturing your lips in his, pulling back slowly only to do it again.

You were in heaven.

You forgot to respond at first. All you could think of in your short-circuited brain was how Anakin smelled so good and his lips were so warm and he tasted like the stars. Oh, he definitely knew what he was doing, with the way he was moving his lips and the confidence he did it with. You had no idea what you were doing, so you let instinct take control.

You unclenched one of your fists from his leg and raised it to place on his shoulder, pushing just a bit to get a bit of leverage, get a little bit closer so you could respond in earnest. You opened your mouth and closed it over his lips, your stomach cartwheeling as you hoped you were doing this right. It felt right. It felt good. So you kept doing it, and Anakin’s metal arm dropped from your chin and fell to your waist as you rose onto your knees, hands finally tangling into the soft curls of his hair, kissing him like you’ve wanted to kiss him for years.

When Anakin pulled back for air, you realized just how starved you were for oxygen as well. You didn't even notice. You panted, fingers loosening in his hair, lips tingling and burning. Anakin was looking at you like you were everything he wanted, and his eyes caught the twinkle of the stars. This is right where you belong, you realized, right here in Anakin Skywalker’s giving arms. Your breathing evened out, and you seemed to be thinking the same thing.

You leaned back in.

#anakin #anakinskywalker #fluff #starwars #starwarsprequals #firstkiss #soft anakin #anakin hates sand #anakin x reader #anakin x y/n #shmiskywalker

[uponrightful]

Second Chance Ch.2

Read Chapter One Here

Warnings: Mentions of Death, a Little Angst, Mild Cursing?, my Bad Editing Skills.

Authors Note: Thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part. I have quite a lot planned for this, with a lot of the details fleshed out. If you want to be tagged in Ch.3 let me know. 

_______________________________________________________________________

It was so easy to take a life.

He’d seen it happen so many times that it was second nature but when he found a second to sit down and pause, the revelation was always brand new to him. The only thing that saved him from death was luck… and the occasional intervention of Grogu who’s gift still confounded the Mandalorian. Never had he imagined just how powerful the child could have been. But for

Mando’s life was no different than many other man’s… easily taken just as it was given.

Mandalorian teaching deified war, and how power was given to the warriors of Mandalore, and the war. But what he could remember was that they never mentioned how man was supposed to take this god-like power, and not be ripped apart by it. Power wasn’t meant for only one army, let alone a singular man. No matter how much strength a man possessed, the authority of a man drunk on power almost always killed him.  

Death followed Mando like the cape the hung from his pauldrons; gliding across the ground and floating behind his back like a shadow that never went away. But he could always feel death around him, even in the shadows reminding him of the command that it held not just for others… but for him as well. Mando seemed to think that death has found a place with him, lingering long enough to wreak havoc before Mando could stop the destruction. That idea only subsided once he took Grogu as his foundling.

After the child came into his life, the reasoning for his choices became simple. There wasn’t a binding contract that had been passed along by men who desired control by use of bounty hunters. The reason was founded on the protection of the child, who Mando knew didn’t deserve to be plunged into a world that dark, and filled with men obsessed with power… no matter the means.

Mando groaned in his chair, feeling the stiffness of bruises forming on his ribs and the stiffness in his neck from his fight with the man on Hoth. Every breath stretched his ribs creating a dull thud of pain. Even his helmet felt heavy as he tried to roll his head and manipulate the muscles that kept threatening to contract and send him into a spasm. Even his fingers couldn’t drive away the ache either, but with the girl in the hull, taking a shower wasn’t an option either. Frustrated, he leaned his head back trying to relax and re-think the events on Hoth.

The fight with Vir had been one of many that Mando had won, but it wasn’t the first time that he had felt like death was standing there watching to see if he could prevail over his opponent. That shadowy figure grinning as the air in Mando’s lungs had became short and hearing that evil sound of laughter thumping in his ears… mocking him. Demanding for him to give up, and let go of the foolish idea that he was going to get out alive.

The new bruises, and old scars that covered Mando’s entire body told the story of his wars… something another Mandalorian would look at with reverence. With a respect for Mando and his battles won against those who chose not to do good. “This is The Way,” they would say bowing their head to him. Not a single doubt in their oath for a creed that distanced people from one another. But for Mando it was hardly a success to carry his wounds proudly… the one thing he had -his foundling- was gone. But now that his creed was broken, the pieces of it were hard to pick up without inspecting them for flaws.

Tatooine was a full day away at least, and until then the two of them would be stuck on the ship. Even hyperspace had its drawbacks. Yes, you could get across the galaxy in a fraction of the time, but when it was this silent and there was so much unknown between them he wished that space could bend just a little further. No doubt the men they left of Hoth’s snowy surface were chasing after them, or trying to figure out where they could be headed. Mando knew his only saving grace was that no one knew where he was going.

The only one who could’ve been a help, was dead now.

His chest tightened at the memory, thinking of any way that he could have saved the old woman. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with the girl, maybe he would have heard the heavy footsteps approaching them. Mando had left himself lose control over the situation, it cost the old woman her life… and the girl her own life, in a whole other way.

He couldn’t hear her below, but that didn’t keep her presence from being obvious to him. The small puddles of water on the floor were still there from where her boots had stood. The warmth from her sitting in the chair had lingered long enough for him to feel it when he took her place. Even the sound of the Slave’s mechanics sounded better now that she had tweaked… something, he  couldn’t remember what she had said.

Only the sound of her voice.

In the silence her was able to really hear it again clearly, for all it was. Her tone was deep, and sultry but she carried it with such an innocent expression that it graced over his ears like those thin, silky scarves he had seen on women on Naboo. He had been on Naboo maybe twice, but those pieces of fabric always caught his attention. They reminded him of liquid metal in the way they caught sunlight and glittered, hiding the faces of the women who wore them. It was always surprising that they never floated away from their owner, so easily being fluttered around by the smallest breezes that were uniquely known to always pass through in the city.

Her voice sounded just like he imagined those silken scarves feel.

As much as he tried to keep himself in the cockpit the thought that she might be hungry kept pushing him to return back down. The little food he had left wasn’t the greatest, but maybe in the bag he had grabbed from the cantina there was something a little better to offer.

He found the bag thrown in a corner of the hull, its contents spilling out on the floor from where it had tumbled over during their hasty take-off. A few med kits laid on top of a jar of what looked like some type of home-made soup. Something the girl might like having.

He didn’t have any real way of heating it up, but how why would he? Fresh food wasn’t a luxury he took liberty of, so he hoped that it wasn’t bad room temperature.  

He looked in her room, and found her pulling off a few of her shirts and tossing them unceremoniously on top of the boots she had taken off. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to cough to catch her attention and gain his voice back.

“I brought you something to eat.” he said holding out the soup that he had transferred into a cup.

She tilted her head, looking at the metal cup and nodded after seeing how insistent he was on her taking it from him. His fingers wrapped around the entire cup, and as she reached to take it, her fingers gently brushed his. For a small second his wished that he didn’t wear the heavy leather so he could have felt that moment without any barriers.

“Thank you.” She gave him the smallest smile retreating back onto the bed and crossed her legs to cradle the cup between them. “You know, my grandmother loved to do this.” She looked down at the soup, dipping a finger into the broth and bringing it back to her lips. Her eyes closed at the taste, and her smile widened a little.

Satisfied that he had at least given her something to eat he decided it was time for him to leave her in peace to do so.

“Um, you can stay if you want.” She voiced, stopping him from walking out of the room.

He took a second to look around, and found a crate to sit on across from her. She tipped the cup up and take a drink before settling her eyes back on him again.

“Do you want some?” she offered the cup back out to him, her eyes softening in his direction. “I’m being quite selfish considering you gave me a room to stay in.” she said taking another glance around the dimly lit room.

“No, thank you.” He replied raising his hand up, declining her offer. He tried very hard to think of something to say, but many of his question focused on what had happened, and from the swollen look of her eyes he decided against asking any of them.

“This is made from tauntaun broth… and a little bit of meat here and there. If you’re lucky to get a good bowl.” She murmured taking another sip.

Her small comment wasn’t necessarily a happy memory as far as Mando could tell. Hoth wasn’t forgiving, and food although they had it wasn’t the greatest quality or in get supply for every meal. That’s why seeing her grandmother had been so surprising, he had never heard of anyone living to such an old age on the harsh planet. Even more surprising was how well fed the girl looked after living on the ice rock.

She had discarded everything but a baggy long sleeved shirt, so thin that in the direction of the light he could see right through it. The deep curve at her waist flared back out into her hips that disappeared behind her arms that she held in her lap. From what he could tell her legs were shapely, and muscled underneath of the thick duraweave pants she wore.  

“I ate earlier.” He bluffed, trying make her feel better for eating alone. “What was her name?” he asked quietly, hoping that it wouldn’t upset her.

“Eidara.” She replied with a small hiccup interrupting her speech. “She wasn’t from Hoth, but I never knew much about her past.” Her voice lowered, almost regretfully.

“She didn’t tell me her name, I-”

“I understand, she seemed to really like you.” She interrupted, another tiny smile pulling at the corner of her lips. He wished he could see her really smile.

She took another drink, and again reached it out to him. Her expression mirroring that of Eidara when he declined something to drink from her. This time her took in a heavy breath and rested his vambraces on his thighs.

“I do not remove my helmet.” He explained, watching as her brows knitted together in confusion. She seemed to search his helmet, and upper body looking at his armor and trying to find some reason why he couldn’t take it off.

“Are you… human?” she asked very hesitantly.

“Yes. My creed does not allow any Mandalorian to show their face once they take the oath.” He explained watching a wave of relief crash over her entire body. Her shoulders slumped back down, and the small wrinkle on her forehead melted away.

“For a second I got nervous.” She commented before tilting the cup all the way back and emptying it.

He wasn’t sure what to think of that. All it took for her to trust him was for him to say he was human? The smallest tinge of amusement bubbled in his stomach as he pictured her face again when he explained that it had nothing to do with his body. She didn’t ask any more about his creed, or even seem to mind that she couldn’t see his face.

“Where are we going?” she asked, taking a second to lean over and sit the empty soup cup on the floor.

“I’m not sure. I was supposed to have a meeting in Mos Eisley, but I don’t want another encounter with those men back on Hoth…” he trailed, again trying to find a way to get the bounties back to Tatooine without any inconveniency.

“Did they follow us? I thought that I put out a false comms transmission before we jumped.” She questioned fidgeting in her seat.

“I didn’t know you did that.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck feeling a little better about their situation. Her anxiousness faded just at it appeared, as she glanced up towards the cockpit.

“I did. I’m not sure if anyone on Hoth will receive it… not many people have ships like yours. It’s a little old. But if they do get it, they would be headed in the opposite direction we’re going.” She took to chewing on her lip again.

“Well then, we’re headed to Tatooine. And it’ll take the rest of the night.” He added, thinking about the days on Hoth, trying to give her a good idea of how long they would be on the ship. Hyperspace was tricky, all planets had different lengths on days and even though Mando was good at remembering it wasn’t easy to gauge hyperspace time.

“You need rest.” They said in unison.

A light awkwardness took over the room, and Mando was the first to move. He slowly stood up from the crate and reached to take the empty cup from the floor, making his way to the door resting his hand over the control switch for the room. His silent question got to her, and she nodded, pulling the blankets down from the head of the bed and slipping her legs underneath them. She looked at him with expectant eyes, waiting for the light to turn off.

His finger switched off the light. “If you need something, let me know.” He repeated himself from earlier, taking one last glance at her in the now darkened room.

“Sleep well.” She murmured back.

He took a couple steps and pushed the door a little further closed so the lights in the hull didn’t shine into her room, making sure that a small gap was left so in case she wanted to leave she didn’t have to search for the handle. He heard her shifting around in the bed, letting out a heavy sigh before all sound quieted behind the heavy steel door.

Mando pressed his forehead to the steel making a small clinking sound. It was all he could do to assure himself that the false transmission had mislead the men, and they would be safe in flying. Without more credits, he wouldn’t be able to keep the ship in the air. It seemed to be their only chance to play offense in this game.

He was suddenly reminded of the card game Sabacc with its stakes so high it could make an expert pilot’s nose bleed. Mando hated the game and always tried to avoid playing. It wasn’t because he couldn’t win in reality he couldn’t remember the last time he lost a game. What he didn’t like was the pressure in playing, and right now he was feeling that stress. Only this time credits weren’t at stake, it was the her life.

He blew out a rough breath for what felt like the hundredth time today, pressing his palms to the door and quietly whispered;

“Goodnight little one, I promise you’ll be safe with me.”

***

He spent the morning cleaning his blasters, and taking a better look at the weapons that had been left behind by Boba Fett. Most of the blasters were older than his own, but now that he only had his two blasters and the beskar spear he couldn’t find it in himself to ignore the firepower that sat hanging on the walls of the weapons closet. Everything was covered in a heavy layer of dust and needed cleaned before anything could be used. So he took his time pulling every gun off its rack, and thoroughly cleaning them inside and out.

He was halfway finished when he heard the water in the ‘fresher running. It sounded like the sink, but he wasn’t sure. The steady stream of water was interrupted, splashing every so often on the metal bowl. She didn’t leave the water on long and came out of the door with a freshly washed face and the roots of her hair were damp. The can of compressed air he had been using to blow the sand out from the small cracks dropped out of his hand and clattered onto the bench, drawing her attention to him.

She wiped off her face with the shirt one more time, trying to catch a few remaining water droplets that clung to her hairline before tucking her hands behind her back;

“Good morning.” She smiled, taking a glance at the blaster sitting on the worktable in front of him.

He gave a curt nod, and tried to focus back on the blaster in question. It was in rough shape with all of the dirt collecting in the necessary contact points making it impossible to Mando to reload it, or use it for that matter. She seemed just as interested in it, and took a few steps forward to pick up the canister that had clattered to the floor. She reached out and sat in back down on the table.

“You have a lot of blaster power here.” She took a look all around her at the walls, every inch of them covered in some type of blaster or explosive device.

“It’s necessary.” He replied, taking a small brush and scrubbing at a tight corner on the pistol that sand has packed itself into.

“The only ships I’ve ever seen like this belong to…” she sucked in a breath, “bounty hunters.”

He turned slowly to look at her, seeing a pink blush creeping up her neck and settling on her cheekbones. Damn it, that looked gorgeous. He pushed the thought from his mind, and took his own glance around the closet. None of what she was looking at was his really, it all belonged to Fett. That didn’t mean at one point he didn’t have this much on the Razor Crest, all of that had been his, truly.

“What does that tell you about me?” he asked, tilting his visor back down to her.

“If you are a bounty hunter -which I think you are- I believe that all of this looks a little excessive.” A teasing smile played on her lips. “But if you aren’t, I honestly don’t have a clue as to why anyone would need all this.” She gestured to the room, lifting her arms out to her sides and letting them drop with a small smack against her thighs.

“What makes you think I’m a bounty hunter?” his voice dropped lower. He turned the rest of his body to face her, teasing her in his own way. He could see that she was a little nervous by the way she rocked side to side and he began biting her lip again. Mando bit his own lip, mimicking her so he could feel what it felt like.

“The carbonite locker, and the men that are in it.” she answered, nodding in the direction of the machine. “I saw them when I first came on the ship. I knew immediately that you were a bounty hunter.” She added, looking up at Mando underneath of long eyelashes.

“Are you scared of me?” he almost whispered, not meaning to let his tone get so far away from him. He flexed his jaw, waiting for her to say ‘yes, I’m scared of you’, waiting for her to nod her head, and leave him to stand amongst the tools of his trade.

“No. Why would I be?” she sounded truly confused at his question. “What makes your job any of my business? After all, I should still be thanking you.”

“What for?” he pressed, still not backing away from her.

“You got me away from… him. Now he can’t find me.” It was a simple answer.

It hit him. She didn’t know that he had killed Vir. He mentally scolded himself for not realizing it until now. In her mind, she was away from him… but he was still alive. Of course in all of the upheaval, there wasn’t any time to communicate what had happened, but in the back of his mind he assumed that she knew he had done it. Mando assumed that she would think simply because he was a bounty hunter that he had caused all of it to happen.

Only now, he knew better.

“I don’t think he’ll find you.” He stated, making sure to correct her.

“Him or those followers.” He shook his head, she still wasn’t getting it. He cleared his throat, and tried to rephrase;

“Vir Fearbe is dead. I shot him yesterday when he broke into Eidara’s cantina.” He carefully chose to leave out the part where the old woman had asked him to.

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted in her shock. Tears started welling up in her eyes and a small choking sound came up in her throat. Her eyes searched Mando’s helmet for a few seconds and the shirt she had been holding dropped to the ground with a wet smack. She hadn’t uttered a word for what felt like minutes, when she finally spoke again;

“He’s gone?” the disbelief in her voice was evident.

Mando nodded, and watched as her head dropped and her shoulder started shaking. She took another step forward, increasingly close to him. He was just about to take a step back when her arms wrapped around his lower back, and her head rested against the bottom of his curiass. He could feel the heat of her hands radiating through his tunic, and the uneven pace of her breathing lightly racking against his stomach.

He couldn’t move feeling the weight of her body pressed against his, like she didn’t want to stand without his support. Her crying grew louder, and her hands fisted into his shirt and her nails scratched into his back, sending waves of tremors up and down his spine. It took a few seconds for him to come back to his senses and place a hand gently on her head.

She wailed out louder, feeling the weight of his small reciprocation. Mando gripped her head a little tighter, holding her head close but not letting the edge of his chest plate dig into her forehead.

“Shhh, I’m sorry.” He whispered, trying his best to calm her down. “Everything’s okay.” He cooed, feeling like he was getting nowhere.

“Y-you.” She gapsed, her voice muffled against his stomach unable to get the words out.

He rubbed his free hand up and down her back soothingly, continuing his soft appeals for her to calm down. She didn’t seem ready to listen to anything he had to say. Seeing no other option, he slowly began lowering himself, and the girl down to the floor. He wrapped his arm around her waist keeping her tight to his chest even after he got sat down. She curled herself into a ball, her tears sliding off the beskar and soaking into his shirt. He bent his knees and squeezed them close to her, hoping that the pressure would help subside her awful sobs.

He didn’t mean to hurt her, he really thought that by telling her she was gone she might feel better.

“Please, I didn’t mean to make you cry.” He purred, stroking the top of her head. “I- I’m sorry.”

She nuzzled closer to him, further tightening her grip around his waist. “Th- than-” She struggled to speak without hiccups interrupting her. He tried his best to hear her over the tears.

“Yo-u s-saved m-me.” She sputtered out, letting out a broken moan.

His hand running through her hair paused, momentarily as he finally heard her speak something other than broken attempts at saying something. She thanked him. He could still feel her nails in his back, desperately wanting more contact with him. Mando slowly rocked himself side to side, feeling her begin to slowly calm down.

You’re safe little one. Mando thought to himself, still rocking her back and forth.

After a few more long minutes, she lifted her head from the safety in his chest and looked up into the visor that was already looking back at her.

“You saved my life.” She repeated, almost like she was not understanding herself.

There were many things he wanted to say to her in the hopes that it would keep her from crying like that again. He wished that he wasn’t so terrible with words, and that he could say something that would resolve this issue. They sat on the floor, his eyes scanning the room through the limited visibility that was allowed through his helmet. Damn it, Sometimes this helmet does nothing but get in the way. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of searching for a way to ease the emotional turmoil that was going through the fragile girl that that was still sobbing slightly despite his best efforts, his eyes alighted on the container that held the remainder of the soup that seemed to comfort her the night before.

He repositioned his hands lifting her up close to his chest and standing up. Mando counted the doors, as he walked down the hall, careful not to bump her feet into the wall. He nudged her door open with his foot, and laid her down gently, seeing the tears still pooling in the corner of her red eyes.

“I’ll be back.”

He returned back with another cup of soup in hand, this time handing it to her making sure her shaking hands had a good grip before he let go. He kneeled down next to the bed letting the bite of the metal press hard into his knees. He watched her trace the rim of the cup, staring down at the soup inside. She dipped a finger down into it like she had done last night, but this time she let her finger stir through the broth.

“You shouldn’t play with your food.” He murmured absentmindedly, watching as she brought the finger up to her lips.

“I’m sorry… for all of this.” Her lip wobbled again, and small tears dropped off her nose smattering onto the sleeves of her shirt.

He stayed quiet, watching as she brought the cup up and took a sip. Her eyes closed, and the corners of her lips turned up. It helped. Her apology didn’t fall on deaf ears but he definitely didn’t accept it. There was no reason for her to not feel this way… and he wasn’t the man to misunderstand her desire for a moment of sadness.

Mando stayed right by her side, patiently waiting until the cup was empty.  Tears had dried to her cheeks, but he was content to see that she wasn’t crying any more, and that she had finished another full cup of soup. She gave him a heavy lidded gaze, and slowly leaned her head against the pillow. If it wasn’t for the distant sound of the alarms in the cockpit he would’ve stayed longer. They were ready to land on Tatooine, and his contact on Mos Eisley would be waiting for him. She mumbled a small ‘thank you’ to which he nodded and exited her room.

He took control of the ship, and guided it down to the busy landing pads covered in pit droids and other pilots landing, or getting ready to take off. The stale air of Eisley filtered through the cockpit, and a small sense of unpreparedness filled Mando’s gut. There would be someone picking up the bounties while he received his credits… but the girl was still on the ship. There wasn’t a chance that he was going to bring her into town with him, but the idea of leaving her alone was just as unpalatable. The Slave Two shuddered as it’s landing gear made contact with the ground, and Mando kicked off the engines letting the whines of the mechanics sound all around him.  

If he shut the doors to all the rooms in the hull, the possible temptation of the retrieval crew wouldn’t be as high and if he kept conversations short, he would be back in less than thirty minutes. More than enough time to refill his water supply and top off any fuel that he spent getting from Hoth. He took a second to do just that, locking all the doors with the buttons on his vambrace and double checking that the door to the girls room was unable to open, unless from the inside. He hoped that she slept through the entire visit.

He set the ground security and gave the last of his credits to one of the pit droids who began screaming orders to another group of them that were busy on the ship next to the Slave. Even though the little robots seemed quite serious about their work, he couldn’t help but wish that a person was tending to the ship. He just couldn’t believe that a droid could do a humans job.

When he stepped foot into the dusty cantina, shadows of men seemed to slink further back into the dark edges of the room. Loud conversations became hushed whispers, and the energetic tone he had walked into became deathly still. It felt like the entire population inside the dirty bar was holding its breath, waiting for him to announce the name of his next target. Even inside the heat was stifling, and Mando could feel his hair dampening with sweat by the second.

After scanning the room, trying to find someone that looked familiar he found himself recognizing a woman, who sat in a corner booth with a hood draped lowly over her face. She took a quick glance at him before shying away again. He couldn’t place where he had seen her before, but decided that the Hutt’s methods of anonymity could’ve been more… interesting than he had imagined.

He took a seat across from her, and sat patiently for her to acknowledge him.

“You are the Mandalorian.” She finally said, her voice sounding somewhat familiar. She removed the hood from her head, and he was finally able remember.

“Aren’t you…” he trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud. She was one of the Hutt’s pleasure slaves that had been chained to his chair when he first arrived. However she looked a lot different now, with a decent amount of clothes on and her face clean without any paint.

“Yes.” she frowned, reaching slowly into her cloak and discreetly presented a sack of credits to him. He took it from her, and stuffed it into one of the bigger pouches on his belt. “However he has grown tired of me, and I am being sent back.” She answered, pulling at a metallic collar that had been shielded by the cloak. A small red light blinked, lighting up the skin on her neck. “I was asked to also give you these…”

She placed four new pucks on the table, along with matching tracking fobs that had already been activated before their meeting. “You have five weeks to complete the contracts.” She stated like reading from a script;

“Also, consider the incident on Hoth to be your one warning, and that any further displays of unnecessary interaction will terminate your position.” Her robotic tone ended with a long gasp of breath.

Mando took a glance over his shoulder, checking to see the incoming patrons who found themselves a seat at the bar. “Is that all?” he pushed, leaning up to reach for the hardware on the table.

She woman shook her head silently, and reached up to scratch her neck underneath of the heavy collar. “No, one last thing. You have been reimbursed for your fuel and water supplies that you paid for upon your arrival. The service droids will be waiting to refund your credits.”

Mando tucked away the pucks and the fobs, before nodding a quick goodbye and making a quick path back to the landing yard. Upon his arrival, the filling tubes were being unhooked from the Slave’s access panels on the belly of the ship, and the droid he had given his credits to  quickly approached with a beaten up metal box in his hand of sorts. The credits inside jingled around at the jerky movements of the jittery robot until Mando reached in the tin box to retrieve them.

The pit droid shook the box gently, and assured himself that the credits had been taken. Letting out a few beeps and buzzing sounds it energetically hinted at Mando to follow him. Hesitantly he walked behind the bucket of rust as it led him to the side of the ship, to show that the panels had been secured at that the tanks had been filled accordingly. Mando let out a defeated sigh, and handed two credits back to the droid.

“Keep it, maybe you can use it to keep from rusting into sand.” He said looking down at the constantly moving metallic being. The droid made a few whistling sounds before speeding off towards his companions who were at the moment repairing some nasty blaster holes that were riddled over the side of a ship across the tarmac.

Punching in the commands on his wrist, the hatch opened and he jumped up on the slope ready to get back into space as quickly as possible. He checked the carbonite locker making sure it was empty, before checking around the corner to see if any of the doors had been disturbed. He scanned down the long hallway, seeing nothing out of order.

Nothing had been opened, including her door.

A he let out a sigh, and silently got them back into space. He took a moment, and adjusted the same lever that she had, hearing a small release in the engines lowering the dull thrum that had been present when he first took off. He shook his head, wondering just what the lever did. He’d have to ask her later… But for now, finding coordinates for a new quarry was the best thing to do.

Mando took the pucks out from his belt, and one by one displayed the content, trying to find last known sightings closest to his position. Although it wasn’t technically close one of the quarry’s had been seen on Coruscant, and was believe to be using the extensive undercity regions to hide amongst other criminals. The twi’lek was contracted for unknown reasons, described by the hologram, but it wasn’t unusual for buyers to leave their reasons private.

This didn’t matter though, Mando had heard of the man while working under the Guild. He was a known smuggler, loved to gamble despite being having no credits and terrible luck. If Mando had to take a guess, the bounty was raised because of debts owed to a group of people, interested in getting their money back. He hated to admit it, but the quarry was being somewhat smart. Coruscant was heavily populated making it easy for him to blend in just about anywhere.

For Mando, getting there wasn’t going to be hard. Even finding the quarry without drawing attention wouldn’t be much of an issue, but getting the quarry back to his ship would be most difficult. He wasn’t unprepared for the possibility that the twi’lek had hired guards, or help to keep him from being apprehended but it was like walking into a dark room without his helmet. He had no real way of knowing what he was up against without some more information as to what was happening in the dark streets of the underground.

Hyperspace for another few days. He thought setting the coordinates, and turning off the lights in the cockpit.

He could feel the dampness of the padding in his helmet, along with sweaty strands of hair clinging to his forehead and temples. Even his skin felt wet with the exertion of the last three days, and it clung to him like the thick dust that he had been cleaning from the blasters in the closet. A visit to the ‘fresher sounded like a great idea, and the promise of a clean undershirt and pants sounded better.  

He only kept a couple spares of his clothes, and in his own cabin inside a small metal box under his cot. When the Crest was destroyed, it erased everything but his spear, and the small metal ball that Grogu had taken an interest in. Any clothes he had, were incinerated and upon getting the Slave, he had taken the opportunity to replace the old, and threadbare flight suit that he had been left with.  

The water sprayed out of the nozzle that poked out from the ceiling, blasting out cold water. He carefully removed his armor, sitting in in a small pile on the floor and placing his helmet down on top of a small vent that blew fresh air up from the circulation unit that sat in the belly of the craft. He made sure to crack the door just enough so that the steam could be pulled from the room to allow the vent to dry the thick lining and padding in his helmet while he showered.  

When the hot water met his skin he shuddered at the sensation. He ran a hand through his hair, letting the salty texture of his sweat rinse off down the drain. He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken a shower, and took a second to decide that he would stay in the water for as long as he could. The purple and blue bruises on his side seemed to finally relax a little so he lean over and stretch his sore ribs. The heat felt deliciously good on his muscles too, working away at the constant pinches of tightness in his shoulders and neck.

A large -mostly untouched- bar of Trillium soap sat on the singular ledge in the shower stall which Mando grabbed and began lathering in his hands. It was one of the only smells that Mando had come to think of as familiar, simply for the fact that it was one of the only scents he had the opportunity to experience. He couldn’t describe it, other than that it smelled cleaner than he did. The thick lather could wash off anything, and it was one of the only things he actually looked for when resupplying. If it worked for Wookies, then it could work for him.

With the soap covering his entire body, and a decent foam in his hair he felt good enough to rinse and get out.

As much as he wanted to stay for longer, he reminded him that it wasn’t just himself on the ship, and the tank on the Slave was the only water supply on board. They needed it for everything from drinking to anything else that might be necessary. That included washing his old flight suit in the sink basin.

He toweled off, redressed and picked up his helmet to check if the inside was dry enough before jamming in back down on his head. He would let the dirty shirt and pants sit in the sink for a little while longer, so the soap he had just washed with could try and life out some of the dirt that had attached itself to the heavily interwoven fabric.

He turned his boots upside down, letting a small accumulation of sand collect on the floor before shoving his newly socked feet back into them. Ignoring the three utility belts that hung on the wall outside of the door, he took a moment to inhale. It might smell sweet. He thought, trying to place the scent in accordance with something else from his memory, nevertheless he still wasn’t sure.

***

The girl slept through the entire night, and halfway into the next day before waking up. She quietly joined Mando in the cockpit, saying a quiet ‘hello’.

She refrained from wearing any shoes again, but Mando couldn’t blame her; If he thought that taking his own boots off would feel more comfortable he might’ve tried it. That being said, he knew in the back of his mind it would be… and the thought of that kept him from entertaining the idea. He felt the same way about his helmet. He didn’t look forward to taking it off, even when he was alone. Because there was always going to be a time where he had to put it back on.

Despite the protection and enhanced features that allowed him to work more efficiently, there was so much that he missed when his head was covered. Smells… like his soap were experiences that happened few and far between. Colors were also not the same. Yes, he could see them but taking his helmet off almost exclusively happened on the ship, so the world he saw without the helmet was mostly greyscale and metal. Sounds were also distorted slightly through the microphones that surrounded the helm. There were distinctions between voices, but for the most part there was always a somewhat mechanical ambiance that weaved itself into speech.

That was what made her voice so intriguing to him. He wasn’t sure how… maybe it was her tone, or the low inflection that caused his helmet to almost completely forgo the automated toning formats, and allow her voice to come through almost naturally. That’s what had stopped him when they first spoke on Hoth; He had been momentarily preoccupied with the idea that his helmet was malfunctioning. But the more she talked, he realized that it wasn’t a technical issue, it was just that her voice didn’t seem to effect the auditory mechanics.

“What time is it?” she asked, pulling her feet up in the chair. She hugged her thighs to her chest, resting her head on her knees.  

“I don’t know,” he admitted, trying to think what time it would be on Hoth… or possibly on Coruscant. “Hyperspace is difficult in that way. All planets don’t have equal planetary rotations, so time is just relative when you’re not traveling sub-light.”

She nodded. “Did we already stop on…”

“Tatooine? Yes, you fell asleep right before we landed.” She hummed in response to him, a small sense of disappointment catching his attention. “Why do you ask?”

“Never mind, it wasn’t anything important.”

He readjusted in his chair, taking the opportunity to admire how she looked in the bright hyperspace lights. It lit up her eyes making them look like they were glittering. Even her hair seemed to shine against the tints of blue that warped around them. She looks beautiful like this. Her hair was quite messy, and the deep wrinkles in her shirt gave a undone appearance, but Mando couldn’t help but think that she couldn’t look any better.

“What was it?” he asked, letting his head fall back against the chair.

“I guess I wanted to see what it looked like. All the sand, I mean. I’ve never been anywhere but Hoth, and the idea of a planet looking any different seemed… interesting.”

It hadn’t crossed his mind that she would want to see Tatooine. He’d been there so often that all the sand was no different than anything else in the galaxy. Snow was the only thing she knew. Now that he thought about it, she had seemed interested in where they were headed but he hadn’t been smart enough to guess why. He closed his eyes, feeling her soft gaze  burning into the side of his helm.

“I thought you wanted to sleep…” he replied, trying to keep his frustrated tone soft.

The frustration was at himself being so focused on getting them on and off the planet quickly, that he overlooked her excitement about being somewhere foreign to her. “We’re on our way to Coruscant. I have a bounty to find, but we’ll be meeting someone. While I find the quarry, you’ll be staying with them.”

“A friend?” her head lifted from her legs.

“No. An associate of sorts, but someone that can be trusted.” Mando wasn’t sure if it would work.

He had caught Boba Fett saying that he would be on the planet when they first made their flight to Tatooine. He expected that Fett didn’t catch the slip of information, seeing as Mando wasn’t in the cockpit when he communicated it… but without making contact, it would be difficult to know if he was still there. Mando was making a big gamble on it, and he hoped that Fett wouldn’t be too opposed to the idea he was going to propose.

“So we’ll be staying with your associate.” She tried correcting herself.

“Just you. I have to go somewhere that isn’t suitable for you to be.”

She didn’t respond after that. Instead she curled herself further into a ball and watched out ahead of her. They sat like that for hours seemingly comfortable by just being in the same space, not seeing conversation as a necessity to make time pass. Mando began hearing the smallest growls, and immediately checked to see if it was her stomach that made the low rumbles.

“Are you hungry?” his modulator crackling to life after the extended silence. She gave no response. He let out an amused huff, seeing that she had fallen back to sleep in what looked like the most uncomfortable position he had ever seen. Her head was resting on the heard edge of the armrest, her entire body bunched up in the seat, with her feet pressed tight up against the other armrest to keep from falling out of the chair altogether.

Unbelievable. He thought, wondering how she had managed to fold herself up to fit in such a small space. It hadn’t been that long ago that he had glanced over and saw her still awake, and playing with the hem of her shirt and as always, holding her bottom lip between her teeth. Well, the least he could do was let her keep sleeping. They wouldn’t be anywhere near Coruscant for at least a couple estimated days.

In the meantime, he could try to get a hold of Boba Fett and see if he was going to be of any help. The communicator in the ship most likely still had some connection to Fett’s other ship, or maybe -if he was lucky- Fett’s similar vambrace communicator. He examined one of the screens on the dash, and found only two available options… he picked the first one. A blue holocall screen jutted up from the control dash, small digital waves rippling across the monitor as he waited for an answer.

Come on Fett… answer.

The blue lights disappeared, ending the transmission. He tried the other option bouncing his knee in anticipation for an answer. A small flicker of motion distorted the display before he heard a familiar gruff tone.

“Mandalorian.” Fett barked. “How the hell did you do that?” he interrogated, as Mando saw his helmet come into view.

“The ship. It had your communicator link still the in the system.” He explained, watching as Boba shook his head.

“I expect you aren’t calling to play ‘catch-up’…” he chuckled, “What do you want?” his tone flattened.

“You said you were going to be on Coruscant?”

“Maybe. If I was, why would it matter to you?”

Mando leaned forward, dropping his visor toward the floor. “I need you to do something.”

He heard Fett sigh, full irritation setting in. “Damn it Mandalorian, spit it out. I have somewhere to be.”

“I have a bounty, on Coruscant. But I also have… a girl.” He glanced over at her, still fast asleep.

Fett burst into laughter. “I leave you alone for a month… leave it to you to get yourself some company. I have to say I’m surprised.”

“It’s not like that.” He defended. “Can you keep her safe while I catch this quarry?” he asked, his own irritation tinting his tone.

Fett didn’t speak for a long time, only a grainy sound of women laughing in the background. Mando rolled his eyes, leave it to Fett to talk about company, he couldn’t go anywhere without at least one woman trailing not too far behind.

“I suppose you’ll be landing in Galactic City… and spend most of your time down under am I correct?” he surmised Mando’s outlined plan without trouble.

“Yes. Can you take care of her, or not?” he asked looking back up at Fett’s mirrored image of his own face.

“I’ll meet you when you land. From there, I take her where she’ll be safe.” He paused. “Then I’ll be joining you.” He added, a feminine squeal sounding somewhere in the background behind him.

“No wa-”

“It’s the only way you get my help.” He interjected. “I’ve been craving a little game of chase… think of it as a trade.” his low rumbling chuckle echoed in the cockpit.

“You can promise she’ll be taken care of.” Mando growled.

“She’ll be returned better than when she left. You have my word.” He assured, a quick nod jolting his helmet.

The call went black, and the blue tint disappeared from view.

As much as he wanted to trust Fett, a small bit of him didn’t like the idea of him tagging along, or sending the girl somewhere without him having full knowledge of where exactly she was being taken. Mando relaxed back against his seat, and turned his head to watch her sleep.

She looked peaceful, despite that awful way she was laying. He felt slightly jealous how easy it was for her to fall asleep, but after everything that she’s been dealing with, it wasn’t surprising how much time she spent asleep. What surprised him was her trust in him. She slept without any fear of him despite his constant stalking around the ship, and silently hiding himself away in the cockpit. He wasn’t the ideal companion in any situation, but spending days on end in hyperspace with him couldn’t be preferable. He could barely stand himself after a week on the ship, let alone someone else who had just watched her only family die, and an entire crew of men chase after her.

Maybe she could stay on Coruscant? In the right district, she would be perfectly safe.

That was, unless those men knew where they were already. His lack of knowledge about what exactly they wanted her for was maddening. They had to know he was the one who killed Vir, but that didn’t explain the desire for her, instead of himself. Not only that, but he had no idea what they were capable of, or who Vir and his followers were connected to. Every planet they visited could be a possible trap, and with four weeks to fulfill his contracts he hardly had time to tip-toe around a planet that was harboring one of his quarry.

At least now he would have someone on the inside once they landed. Despite Fett’s penchant for having multiple women at his disposal, Mando didn’t really have any reason not to trust him. Fett had helped them rescue his foundling and didn’t kill him on Tython, and ultimately gave him a ship… that was enough for him to trust the man.

All that was left to do was wait.

The girl stirred in her chair, but didn’t wake up. She wrapped her arms around herself, and tucked her feet in closer, most likely she was cold. He didn’t want to wake her up, or  leave to go take any of the blankets off her bed either. He reached up to his neck, and unbound his cape from around his pauldrons. Mando reached over and draped the heavy cloak over her, watching her pull the edge up towards her chin. The material draped over the entire chair, swallowing her underneath it.

Mando didn’t mean to fall asleep.

For the first time in years he dreamt. They carried vivid recollections of her, his imagination picturing what she would’ve looked like on the sand flats. She had the biggest smile on her face, and her eyes shut letting the sunlight shine on her. She picked up handfuls of sand, and let in fall through her fingers with a little laugh, enjoying the sensation of the fine grit falling back down to the ground. He could see that she had neglected her shoes like she had stepped out of them after realizing that she could feel it under her feet.

The bright white shirt he pictured her in contrasted against the rust-colored sky, and deep red sands that stretched behind her. It felt like a memory, even though he knew better. He could hear her calling out to him begging for him to join her, only he didn’t. He could only watch from a distance as she spun around, holding her arms out like she was embracing the heat around her. Mando tried desperately to get closer, just to walk towards her and ask if she was enjoying the sun. But his feet felt like they had been buried beneath the same sand she danced on.

In another scene she sat by a small stream, letting the hem of her thin white dress fall into the water. She was focused on him, with a sweet look on her face. A small giggle echoing dreamily towards him. Vibrantly green grass came up around her shoulders, and tickled at her neck causing her light laughter. Again she beckoned for him, dipping her hands down in the water and splashing it up towards him.

She looked ethereal in all of the dreams that he had. Every time, taking the image of an angelic spirit that seemed happy to see him, always begging for him to join her. He desperately wanted to reach for her, to get near enough to hear her laugh with his own ears. Just one chance at breaking his feet free from the ground that held him tightly in place. She never seemed to notice his fight to break free from his invisible binds, instead patiently waiting for him to come closer.

She’s my second chance…

She’s my second chance…

He repeated it to himself unaware that in the silence of the cockpit his strained whispers could be heard whispering out in his unconscious struggles. Gripping the armrests with white knuckles and flexing his legs, he fought against his subconscious to get just one step closer to the girl that slept peacefully in the seat right next to him.

Taglist: @spacedaddydinn​ @absurdthirst​ @crazybirb​ @hornystarwarsbisexual​ @roxypeanut​ 

#the mandalorian #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian #mando #secondchance

[empiresmostwanted]

Hi!! From that quote prompts list, a few that stood out for me were “it’s a brutal world” and “what are you humming?” for Rex? Im imaging either a mechanic/civilian reader or a shiny new clone trooper is accompanying the 501st on an off-world mission and they are sitting by the campfire late at night, a little shaken by the battle earlier in the day. Rex notices and goes to comfort them, and perhaps there is a singing motif??

Also! I loved Sabacc Face and im making my way though your other works this weekend 💕

Thank you so much @maulpunk for the prompts 😘

I'm sorry it took me so long to write, work has done a number on me this last week or so. Grrr. But I was happy to get back to writing this, although I must apologise for straying a little from the parameters of the request (it turned out to be a little too angsty for a singing motif, oops). I hope you like it all the same!

(P.S. Thank you so so much, I'm thrilled you liked Sabacc Face. It was a lot of fun to write, I hope it was just as fun to read!)

posted on AO3 | the prompt list | my writing

Words: 1.5k | Warnings: Post-Umbara Arc, Grief/Mourning, Angst (and lots of it, sorry-not-sorry), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, a certain Besalisk's name is briefly mentioned (okay, I am sorry for this one)

GHOSTS IN THE UMBRA

20BBY

☾

CT-0292 couldn't sleep. When he closed his eyes, rounds of blue plasma bolts flashed through the darkness behind his lids. Hands, his own hands, held a DC-15 carbine aloft, and one single finger under his control pressed on the trigger, mowing down the Umbarans in their disguises.

But they hadn't been Umbarans. They'd been his brothers.

A strangled sound escaped him, somewhere between a gasp and a sob that he caught in his throat. His chest ached with the effort to hold it, the urge to release it. And it ached as if his brothers had occupied a place there, the loss of them leaving the muscles of his heart to constrict around empty space.

He blinked away sharp tears, then pushed off the weighted blanket – its presence more suffocating than soothing – and climbed out of his rack. He gathered up the armour stacked in a neat pile from the foot of the bunk's frame and applied it, piece by piece, from foot to neck.

If he couldn't sleep, he might as well be useful. He'd never been very good at keeping still.

Around him, his brothers lay in their cots; some slept, restless, while others remained painfully conscious. From his own squad, only himself, Wil (Private), and Ridge (Private) remained. The others, along with their sergeant, had fallen to General Krell's lightsaber.

All was quiet. And Ridge was nowhere to be seen.

0292 shook his head, lightheaded, the back of his neck prickling. After checking his blaster was fastened to his belt, he tucked his helmet under one arm and crept through the rows of bunks like a ghost, leaving the sterile barracks behind.

For a moment, he stopped outside the blast doors as they sshhed to a close behind him, and took a deep breath. Had he caught the scent of rain and salt water in the air, it might have grounded him; but this planet was as unfamiliar to his nose as it was to his eyes and ears. With the tang of metal in his nostrils and on the tip of his tongue, he set off across the floodlit compound.

Beyond the sensor wall, he spotted the warm glow of a natural fire flickering in the perpetual dusk, its light peeking through the mist and the dense formation of local flora. He frowned. Patrol taking a break, perhaps?

CT-0292 made his way to the airbase's entrance. As he approached the gate, he passed skeletons of Umbaran machinery looming out of the fog, and squads of troopers pacing as silent as wraiths.

The planet was reclaimed, but no one had come out of the campaign unscathed.

At the gate, two troopers bearing the colours of the 212th stood guard, blasters held across their bodies, and faced the darkness beyond. With the sight of their armour came a fresh wave of guilt, at once hot and cold, that settled in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat upon approach; one started as if he'd been shot, and the other patted him on the shoulder.

"Easy, trooper," said 0292, holding out a placating hand. "Just passing through, lending a hand to patrol. That them over there?"

They followed the direction of his pointer finger, to the small fire burning gold in the gloom. The one coiled as tightly as he himself nodded, and turned back to him. "They're taking it in turns to sweep the perimeter."

"Thanks." He inclined his head, and stepped over the threshold of the airbase.

As his footsteps tapped a muffled rhythm into the damp earth, the chill air cooled the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and pressed cold fingers to the nape of his neck. With a shiver, he donned his helmet and activated its spot-lamp, before succumbing to Umbara's gloaming.

*

CT-0292 walked through the forest of Zabrak Spines, their bioluminescent ridges reaching towards the sky and cutting through the umbra like angry wounds. The glow of giant red thorns shrouded the woodland in an unsettling pallor.

Every small noise was amplified in the stillness around him: the snapping of twigs beneath the feet of tiny creatures, the whooshing of spectral wings overhead, and what seemed like footsteps somewhere behind him, approaching – but when he looked over his shoulder, there was nothing there. Each sound sent a spike of cortisol through his body, and he tried not to hyperventilate to the beat of his pulse.

The immediate threat from the Umbarans had been neutralised. But he and his brothers had found out the hard way that this shadowy world kept its secrets close.

You're out of the woods when you're out of the woods, his instructor back on Kamino used to say. It had seemed redundant to him then.

"What's that you're humming, trooper?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked back and came face-to-face – or helmet-to-helmet – with Captain Rex materialising out of the fog, easy to identify by the jaig eyes and the modified armour.

The captain removed his bucket, brow furrowed in concern, and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I didn't mean to startle you," he said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "It sounded familiar, the song you were humming."

"I didn't realise I was humming it aloud," the trooper admitted, face heating as Captain Rex fell into step beside him. "I was thinking of my instructor, back at the facility: she smuggled her own radio into Tipoca, and she'd play it for us during downtime. That one was her favourite, I think. I don't know the words, though. Just the tune."

"Ah."

They walked for a way in companionable silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Confronted once more with the familiar face of his brothers, CT-0292 replayed the moment of terrible realisation, and the skirmish with Krell. The Jedi – if one could even call him that – might have been dealt with on a permanent basis, but his reach would extend far beyond his death.

"Couldn't sleep, either?" asked the captain, dragging him out of his own memories.

He shook his head.

Rex sighed. "It's a brutal world out there."

CT-0292 couldn't be sure if he was referring to Umbara, or the entire galaxy. 

"I admit," he began, "I wasn't expecting to kill other people. I've been training to take down and disable battle droids for nearly ten years, and I thought I was ready, but this …"

It didn't even begin to cover the atrocity of slaughtering his own, knowingly or not.

They heard the voices of their brothers before they saw them, hushed and sombre. Upon stepping out of the forest, they found themselves in a small clearing, lit from above by towering plants, incandescent with pink and purple and blue light, and lit from within by a humble campfire. At least ten troopers were gathered around it, talking in lowered voices amongst themselves.

Rex came to a halt on the edge of the clearing, and stopped 0292 with a hand on his arm.

"If it's of any comfort," he said, "every one of us here is feeling the same right now. No campaign is easy, no life lost is worth less. But this mission has taken its toll more than any other. You say you're not ready, but I recognise the blue bird painted on your bucket. I saw you take charge of your squad when Sergeant Jax was killed, and you kept the rest of them alive. There might well be a promotion coming your way."

A promotion. He'd always harboured the hope of making his way up the ranks, proving his worth and ability along the way. Seeing the captain in action, the way he was respected and admired, had only solidified that desire. But he hadn't entered the GAR as a sergeant, or a captain. It had never really occurred to him before now that someone would have to die for him to take their place.

But he nodded, and said, "Thank you, Captain."

"What's your name, trooper?"

"CT-zero-two-ni—"

"Your name, trooper," Rex clarified. The smile on his lips belied the sadness in his eyes.

CT-0292 removed his helmet. "It's Vaughn, sir. My batchmates called me Vaughn."

"Then welcome to the five-oh-first, Private Vaughn. Over there are your brothers. It won't always be easy, but whatever happens, we look out for each other. And I know you barely got to see General Skywalker in action, but I can promise you that he – and Commander Tano – are nothing like Krell. You'll see."

"Thank you, sir."

Captain Rex clapped him on the arm, then strode off across the clearing, towards the campfire. Vaughn followed, kicking up the smell of damp earth and decaying foliage, sickly sweet in his nostrils. He was pleased to see his squadmate, Ridge, among the ranks of troopers around the flames, and another who'd introduced himself as Sterling just one rotation prior.

"Room for two more, boys?"

☽

Thank you so much for staying to the end! Even though I enjoy reading some good ol' angst, it's definitely tricky to write, so it was nice to stretch those muscles for this prompt. Hope you liked it 💜

#prompts #requests #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #captain rex #captain rex fic #star wars the clone wars #star wars #star wars fic #sw #fic #fanfic #my fic #my writing #captain vaughn

[prince-toffee]

Alleyways

Hordak x Shadow Weaver

Canon Divergence | Alt Universe

Season One | Episode 14: Alleyways

Beatrix scoffed and threw the brown ration bar and the rest of her food tray across the prison cell, she far preferred the grey ones. She gave a defeated sigh lowering her head down. She rubbed her fingers over the scratched part of her mask, in the spot where a chip of the Black Garnet used to reside. Her shoulders slouched down, all tension in her muscles left her as she gave up. She felt so powerless. So weak. Just a few days ago she was still one of the most powerful witches on the planet, every magic user feared her name.

Shadow Weaver.

Now, she sat in a prison cell, rank-less. She didn’t know if she should’ve felt honoured, or disgusted by the fact that the cell was specially attuned and adjusted for her specifically. Which meant it was probably designed and constructed, in secret, long before her treason. This place was full of secrets and surprises, usually unpleasant ones. Hec-Tor would’ve probably said it was an honour, he was an architect that truly thought of everything. And The Fright Zone was one of his most haunting creations.

Beatrix wasn’t disgusted, per say. She knew she didn’t have many fans, and plenty of enemies at every corner. This outcome was inevitable, she knew deep down she was getting too greedy for her own good. But the power felt too good to give up. What a fool she was. She saw it all clearly now. Where her addiction led her. Her very unsubtle disregard for orders, her greed peering through her emotionless, cold stature. She knew she was on thin ice with Hec-Tor, the control freak he was. He desired order and expected subordinance. He always disliked her - everybody back home knew she was a wildcard, deceptive, insidious. Looking out for only herself - she never really cared about the cause.

Perhaps she should’ve been more surprised that he didn’t do it earlier. She knew he wasn’t fond of her, and vice versa of course - she couldn’t stand his patriotic and prideful attitude. Acting as if being apart of The Horde was a gift from god. He was an old blind fool. Beatrix wouldn't have thought twice before leaving this place and selling her loyalty and inside information to the most welcoming bidder - The Alliance, or even maybe try her luck with The Empire of Talon Mountain. So any choices to choose from, now if only she could manage to escape her imprisonment.

Unfortunately, if she knew Hec-Tor, and she did, The Hordak had probably thought of every possibility of escape she would think of, and countered it. He was paranoid like that. The spherical pure white containment cell she was unceremoniously thrown into was made out of Glowmoon-Dwarfstone, the surface layer anyway. A magical element only found on one of the moons of Etheria, able to absorb darkness itself. Bad news for the Weaver of Shadows, she was powerless here. She despised feeling weak, vulnerable. She was meant to be the predator, not the prey.

She had no shadow. The stone absorbed it. She felt two dimensional. She didn’t know if that made sense, but she heard the stone had negative effects on the mind if in close proximity for too long. Speaking of which, she had no idea how long she had been locked up, she lost the track of time. No windows. So no sky. No clock. No space. The spherical cell was the size of a small closet. At least they were still feeding her, but the food in there was never anything to gloat about.

She placed her face into her hands, she was loosing it. She couldn’t break! But she was close. She didn’t want anyone to have the satisfaction of seeing her beg, and pled. She was strong, stronger than them. She was going to win in the end, she just had to wait it out, play the long ga-

“Inmate-667. Place your forehead on the wall behind you and position your hands behind your back. The containment unit door will open, and a commanding official will commence your questioning. And Weaver, you’re gonna like this one, hehe.”

Beatrix narrowed her eyes and growled at the announcement. She recognised the voice, Force-Commander Grizzlor. She never liked him. The feeling was seemingly mutual. She did as she was ordered. A groan reverberated through her throat, she knew exactly what this was, she could tell from Grizzlor’s smug voice. Catra. She was back to berate her. It seemed like her former ward’s ego had grown three times the size, rather than her heart. Beatrix dreaded these visits. Catra came over from time to time, to insult and demean the dark sorceress, rub her victory into Beatrix’s face. Insolent little brat! She got lucky! Beatrix was weak when she caught her off guard, too drained by the toll the Black Garnet’s power took on her. If only- if only she could take hold of the Garnet’s power! S- She didn’t need much, just a little, it would’ve cleared her mind, beat her heart faster. If she had just a little more she could’ve had taken out Catra, and her two stooges. Everything would have been all better if only she had a little more. Damn that girl! And her mother!

The cell opened up. A side panel gave out a hiss as it dislodged, pulled out and off to the side. Weaver felt the colder air pour in. The closest shadow cast onto her was too weak for her to do anything with, the upper layer of the walls draining it’s ethereal cosmic weight. Or perhaps she was the one who was too weak. Catra loomed over her. The teen thought she could intimidate her, not a chance.

“Well? Come on then, you spoiled brat! Got anything to say? Came here to gloat and mock me, you think you have won, but one wrong move with Hordak and he’ll throw you to the dogs, he’s-”

“Weaver.”

The sorceress silenced herself. The voice that called to her was cold and smooth, in other words not Catra’s. The single word was followed by a pair of footsteps, metal boots clanking against the stone’s surface. The sound of cybernetics hissing as his joins moved. He was close now. The cell entrance slide back into place closing the cell. They were alone now. Beatrix had to admit, even though she knew Hec-Tor for most of her life, seen him at his most vulnerable, even shared some intimate moments with him, but still even after all that - he was terrifying.

She turned her head around, and there he was. He looked different in the light, stranger. She almost never saw him outside of his ThroneHall. Always cloaked in darkness and smoke. She sometimes wondered if he bought smoke machines on purpose to scare any kids that would accidently wonder into the room. Hec-Tor certainly had a taste for the dramatic. Beatrix turned around and seated herself comfortably looking up at the Overlord, well, as comfortably as possible. There he was, in all his glory, out of shadows - a glorified toaster. The same Hec-Tor that used to write poetry for girls that would never go out with him. The same Hec-Tor that dyed his hair blue, because kids from the neighbourhood made fun of him being ginger. The same Hec-Tor that beat his own father within an inch of his life, and conquered half of the galaxy...

Same old, same old.

She swallowed down quietly, she couldn’t show him she was weak. The mask helped hide most emotions, most weaknesses, she had to control the rest of her body language. Beatrix lifted one leg over the other and intertwined her fingers together, giving off a relaxed posture.

“Lord Hordak. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She looked over him - blood red eyes, and teeth, grey skin, military regulation hair cut, his two prostatic arms, which could crush boulders, his imperial purple cape, and the neon lit armour implants. She was actually curious as to what he was actually going to say. His eyes narrowed, anger was apparent, but an air of irritation was present too. He gave out a long tiresome sigh, as he moved his fingers to rub the bridge of his nasal cavity, even venturing as far as his eyes. She was in for it.

“Why? Why can’t you just follow orders? Beatrix Hallows, always struggling with adhering to reason and common sense.”

Shadow Weaver’s eyes widened she couldn’t believe what she was hearing, he actually had the audacity to school her, to talk down to her. This was almost worse than Catra, hearing her full name spoken out in a mocking tone, like lecturing a child, slapping them on the hand, this was humiliating. And from Hec-Tor too. When angered by her he’d usually give her the cold shoulder, take her off a mission, reassign command to someone else, like Catra. She thought he had given up on talking to her ages ago. But she wasn’t going to have it.

“Having fun? Look you’re not covering any new ground here. Catra already had multiple pitstops here to make me her new donkey. If you think you get to insult me like that, just remember your punk rear wouldn’t have made it back home if it weren’t there for me. You owe me. Several.”

It was true. Back on HordeWorld, back on the streets. They had nothing. Had to rummage through trash, and steal for food. Stomach empty all day. Times were tough. They had to rely on each other. One distracted the passer-by and the other pickpocketed, on a lucky day, thanks to Hec-Tor’s puppy eyes the stranger would hand them some pennies on top of that. But man, on days like these she wished she had never stood up to those bullies shoving little young Hec-Tor around, should have never allowed him to follow her. But how couldn’t she, he was so adorable.

“I am not here to appoint you my personal laughing stock. And I thought I told Catra talking to prisoners was forbidden. I’ll have a chat with her about the regulations... I am here to understand. Finally. I have been putting this off for far too long.”

This was curious, and unexpected. She would’ve lied if she said she wasn’t interested in what was about to exit that mouth. He had avoided her for years. Often said she was ‘not worth wasting words on’. The feeling was mutual. She heard that mouth declare rousing speeches, bone-chilling monologues, and the softest of kisses. Versatility was everything. He continued.

“We never saw eye to eye, never liked each other, you always went your own way. Chose to differ from others, always take the other path. You talk back to me, you waste resources on personal escapades, and often break protocol... But back there, at such a crucial point, disobeying my orders, for what? Just because of a child that did follow orders?”

Putting faith in that girl was going to be his undoing. Unless she was going to get to him first. Catra was always a nuisance, untrustworthy, going off on her own, not listening to what she was told. She had a rebellious spirit, that drove her away from Weaver’s lessons, she often managed to drag others away with her. She was too smart for her own good.

She’ll be biting down on Hec-Tor’s ankles soon enough. She supposed that an upside of being stuck in the cell was that he had to deal with Catra’s antics now. That was his mess to clean.

“How did she even get a drop on you? Was it the Garnet? I told you to tell me if the artefact displayed any negative effects-”

“Are you done? I know you didn’t come here to talk about my feelings. If you care to know your magic weapon is fine. And Catra. She’s nothing but a brat, that you’re letting walk all over you.”

She wasn’t having any of this, she had to speak up for herself. Call it a warning, that girl is not to be dismissed, she’s trouble - like her mother. But deep down she felt a hint of embarrassment herself, she was one of the most powerful sorceresses, years ago when she first drained the power of the Garnet she did it effortlessly. Even though Hec-Tor didn’t trust her, he handed her the responsibility, because he knew she was the only one who could hold its power. He knew she was mighty. But now, the Garnet rejects her, resists her, no longer bows down to her might. It hurt sometimes. But she could never show weakness.

The infamous Hordak stared down at her, judgementally, much like how he looked down at everybody. He looked off to the side at the thrown away tray, mashed potato and peas smeared on the floor, tray flipped over, and the brown rations crumbled on the floor.

“You’re not eating.”

What was that? She wondered to herself. Was that genuine worry? She noticed he stayed on the ration bars for a second too long, noting her preference perhaps. He seemingly had no idea where to go from there, so she helped him out, she asked.

“Why are you here Hec-Tor?”

This time using his real name rather than his title. More personal, it cut to the point. Plus he was always going to be Hec-Tor to her. That puppy eyed scaredy-bat, the one always picked on, by bullies twice his weight, the nerd allergic to flowers, and the same geek that used to write poems for her. She dismissed them of course, just a bunce of nonsense if you’d ask her. The change never really quite settled in, even when the Council made the public announcement of picking the new Hordak. Even when Hec-Tor’s face came on every screen on the planet. Even when the death of He-Ro shocked the nation. Nothing changed.

Well, maybe not until that day at Vix’s Diner. It was the strangest circumstance. He was the one who called her over. She guessed it was just a nostalgic meet up, like in the old days. 'The Hordak' was present, so they ate for free. Their conversation would be constantly interrupted by randos bowing and giving respects to him. He dismissed them.

But there was something different about the man that sat in front of her, he was colder, more stiff. Beatrix treated herself to the unlimited free breakfast meals, best she’d eaten in years. She half listened to his ramblings, something about the war with the Light and the Ones Who Won’t Be Named escalating, the Council was abolishing anti-terraforming laws, and Horde warships were launching on the offensive against the enemy. The wannabe poet gone, all that was left of the boy was a patriot, and a soldier. Well, what do you do? That’s what the government spoon feeds people.

But the strangest thing was. He asked her to be his 'Weaver' - his second in command. An honour placed apon only those who are seen as worthy, or chosen by the Council. But this wasn’t an ask of desperation or of fear. This was an order. Firm, and powerful. That day in the diner, if Beatrix would’ve refused him, she didn’t know if she would’ve walked out of there with her head on.

The Hordak is no mere man you can refuse after all.

He is the 'Beast of HordeWorld'.

And so, they set off. Boarded the warship: Annihilation, and rocketed into the stars. And the newly appointed Shadow Weaver pondered, that it was quite curious that HordeWorld was completely decimated only few days after they left. Curious indeed. Blah. Blah. Blah. Couple of thousand years, some food shortages and dead bodies later: Etheria. Crash landing in the back fields of King Niro’s Kingdom of Scorpion Hill. And it was through Weaver’s highly skilled dark magic on display, that the kingdoms bowed down to them, Mysticore even building a statue in her honour. They looked up to her, marvelled at her magical abilities. Her Horde magic was far more advanced than what the wizards held in their possession. She taught, and trained them. But good things never last. They turned on her.

“Like I said, Beatrix. I am here to understand.”

Now it was his time to use her name. She was still curious yet cautious. Whatever side-tracks Hec-Tor from the main mission, can’t be good. All this was strangely personal. Was the Beast in fact capable of concern and closeness? She let him continue.

“We’ve known each other longer than most beings live. But in my quest into the unknown, I never even dared to explore what was nearest me. Tell me, why break, why snap at me at a point of victory? And why, why the girl? It’s that Magicat that sets you off at every moment. Why? Why do you hate the girl?”

“Will, you free me?”

“...No. We both know I won’t, I can’t. It is against the protocols, and I gave you too many passes, vouched for you too many times, I overlooked your actions for too long. And that’s why I am here.”

Well, that wasn’t going to work. No freedom, no deal, no talking. She was surprised by the fact that this entire situation was simply a genuine attempt at a heart to heart. But he knew nothing. And that’s how Beatrix liked to keep things. Much like Hec-Tor, she wished to be a bogeyman, imagination was always the greatest deterrent.

And what was there to explain? Catra was a pain, undisciplined, and unwilling to learn. Beatrix wasn’t about to just let that brat walk over her, of course she snapped! Everything Catra got, every punishment, was because she deserved it. Though... no. No, he couldn’t know. Could he? Did he? Hec-Tor was a master tactician and strategist, he always researched and analysed everything before the attack - what if the Beast already knew the answer to his own question?

Did he know about Melendy?

Beatrix never spoke to anyone about her personal life, especially not her love life. And she had made sure she was back for check-ins, erased her tracks, she was sneaky. She didn’t slip up often. How would he know? Could it be? Was the grand Lord Hordak jealous? A curious stalker.

But perhaps it wasn’t that outside of the realm of possibly. The Queen of Magicats. The Lord of the Horde. Hec-Tor set up many negotiations in the time before the war, people talk.

And what now, he expected her to sit here listen to him give her therapy? As if. If that bastard knew about Melendy’s choice... about her leaving, and didn’t say anything, just holding it over her head as bait - then damn him to the Light! But did he truly know? He couldn’t possibly understand. She was in love. Nothing ever came close to making her feel like that. Not even him. Beatrix loved her, and she chose to leave, just because of tradition, culture. To Light with it!

But what prompted him to care? Perhaps he looked back fondly on the past, reminiscing? Hordak and her didn’t sleep together often, but when the duty became too much, too stressful - they aided each other to settle the nerve. Heh, it took practice to get used to each other, their first time, wasn’t pretty.

She still remembered that night, or well, it was day actually. She always misremembered, since the skies over the city of Catrax were always grey from the city’s pollution. Kids used to come over to their windows and watch the rare instances when sunshine would penetrate the dark clouds above. Very little hope shone down on the people of the lower levels. But the kids of the higher levels, the ones on the first floor, above the clouds, they had all the sunshine they wanted, and took it all for granted.

So when Beatrix and Hec-Tor pickpocketed and stole a little, just to keep living, just to have. It wasn’t that selfish. When the two crash landed on Etheria for the first time they ventured throughout the land, claiming everything they could, stealing and conquering, taking - just to have. Just because they couldn’t in previous lives.

On that day, after Beatrix stole old Mister Scurvy’s wallet as Hec-Tor distracted him, they both ran off away from the yelling man. Ran faster than they ever ran before, too afraid that the man’s screaming would attract the attention of any local law enforcement, if they got them, it was Confinement for sure, no matter that they were teens.

She huffed and panted so hard she almost fell off her own feet. She had to lean herself on the side of a brick wall in the alleyway she ran into. Just as Hec-Tor joined her, the rain began to pour. He bowed down, arms holding his knees, trying to support his upper body. His ears tilted down. His exhausted cough turning into a cackling laugh, which clearly infected Beatrix since she burst into laughter with him. She didn’t really know how it happened, but he got closer to her, with her pinned against the wall, looking straight into each other’s eyes. As their chuckles settled, her hand ventured down to his hip as her lips made their way to his own. And then, well, they were teenagers, you know what else.

Good memories.

Perhaps memories were just the advantage she needed, perhaps Hordak didn’t despise her as much as she had previously thought. Could it be? The All-Mighty Lord of The Horde feeling... lonely?

“Do you remember the alleyway?”

“Eh, there were... many alleyways.”

True that, after it felt so good, the first time, it sort of became a daily routine for them. Partners with benefits. They used each other to feel better, to feel something. There was nothing between the two, or so Beatrix thought. But perhaps she was wrong yet again. She wished to test that.

She took off her mask. The Weaver mask was a totemic symbol back on HordeWorld - representing strength and authority. And underneath that mask, was a woman. A broken woman, with scars and stiches, missing flesh. Something many would call a monster. But Hec-Tor Kur of House Kur saw nothing but beauty. A magnificent beast that saved him many a times. The girl he fell for so long ago. And Beatrix knew that, knew it was the moment she locked her toxic waste green eyes with his blood red, which shimmered in the light of the cell. She knew straight away, his weakness.

“Look at me, Hec-Tor. So frail. I wasted away. So little of me left... The Council was right. No matter what power I aim to tame, I fail, I never amounted to anything, like they predicted. I know you’re disappointed to have me as a partner on this venture... But… I miss the alleyways. When we had nothing. Back when so little felt like so much.”

It worked. The seemingly cold and calculated persona cracked. His facial expression changed, from irritation, and anger to a certain softness, maybe pity. He breathed in heavy, and out through the nose. He took a step closer to her. The cell was a snug fit so his leg was already brushing hers.

“We do have nothing, Beatrix. We are the last of our kind. We have little, but we can have it all. You are not a failure. We are not failures. There is a reason why I haven’t just simply executed you like a common thug... I miss those days too. But we still have time.”

The Hordak kneeled down, lowered himself to be closer to her. This was it - the moment of truth. He clearly had no idea what to do with his hands, so one rubbed its thumb and pointing finger together in anticipation, while the other hovered in the air half open awaiting her permission to proceed. The Weaver of Shadows accepted it, took hold of the old vampire’s hand into her own, intertwining their talons. Old scared skin taking comfort in one another, something familiar, in an unfamiliar world.

“We will have our people back. We will terraform this miserable planet! And we will be the new gods of a new utopia... And... though we never seem to see eye to eye... even if all it was, was physical, there is no one I would rather stand with and watch this world transform into hope, because you are my partner. This is our mission.”

Beatrix was the first to move forward. And Hec-Tor quickly followed suit, he closed his eyes and opened his fanged mouth. And the blissful moment was brief, but glorious, the space bat even let a pleasing hum escape him. And perhaps Beatrix would’ve let it go on longer, it wasn’t often that she had pleasures like these. But this situation was dire, and also, she was really tired of looking at the same white walls all day. She decided she earned herself a little walk to stretch her legs.

Hordak knew there was something wrong - his mouth became colder, and something wriggled inside that made him choke on his own breaths. Shadow Weaver rose up, straightening her legs completely, while Hordak bent down, onto his knees. The Dwarf Stone absorbed all darkness present on all surfaces, rendering her powerless, but the magic stone’s reach was limited. Cause Hordak’s entire inside of his body was nothing but darkness - so many shadows coating all of his vulnerable entrails and organs. She wasn’t going to paralyse him permanently, she wasn’t that cruel - just because of their history, she could show mercy.

Hec-Tor’s face pale and sick, his body limp, blood pooling around his organs, he fell on the floor. Shadow Weaver took a good long heavy breath, perfect. She placed the mask back over her face, and approached the wall of the cell through which Hec-Tor entered. Firmly placed her palms on the stone and pushed against the wall. The ethereal shadows twisted and morphed and drilled into the wall, she didn’t have much time. Every second the walls drained away the shadows, Hec-Tor had very little left in him, and the bright magic of the material weakened her, so little strength was left in her.

But there it was, the sound of the stone cracking. She wormed her fingers into the crack, enlarging it, chipping on it. The rock crumbled down, exposing the metallic layer underneath it. That was it, her window of opportunity. She commanded the shadows to bore into the mechanisms, and the shadow beast tore the panel wide open. The steel bending and ripping was extremely satisfying. Weaver loved the look on Grizzlor’s face as he took in what just happened. The witch made quick work of him, throwing him off to the side with the dark mass. She sighed in relief, she wasn’t free yet, but she had plenty of material to work with. The shadows from smallest corner to the largest corridor converged around her, swirling like a vortex.

“Now this is something I can work with.”

#hordak #shadow weaver #my own repost because i can #shadowdak #weaverdak #also on ao3

[stellarstarwarsimagines]

Daydreams With Me

Pairing - Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Summary - Obi-Wan Request: For several months now, Obi-Wan and you have been in a secret relationship. With being a Princess, and him being a Jedi, you knew that it would never be more than that, and you were okay with it. Until a secret plot threatens not only your relationship, but everything you hold dear. 

Word Count - 4,472

Warnings - None!

“I don’t wanna.” You whined as Obi-Wan finished lacing up the back of your dress. 

His chest shook with a chuckle against your back, his hands moving to rest on your hips. “You don’t have a choice, my love.” 

“Shouldn’t the Princess be given a choice about what frivolous parties she has to attend?” You asked him, leaning back into his warm embrace with a sigh. “I want to stay in here with you and pretend nothing outside exists.” 

Obi-Wan’s lips pressed against your cheek for a moment before he nuzzled into your neck, causing you to giggle as his beard tickled your skin. “You have a duty to dazzle all of your citizens and government with your intelligence and beauty.” He said, looking at the two of you in the mirror. “As I have a duty to protect you.” 

You turned around in his arms, pressing your forehead against his. For years now, since he had become a Jedi Knight, Obi-Wan had made frequent visits to your planet under an order from the Council to protect you. Your father had a good relationship with them, and was a very important member of the Republic Senate. Due to a fraction of men no longer wanting to adhere to the matriarchal society it had held for so long, your planet was at constant threat of a Civil War and in need of Jedi negotiators. Any public appearance had your life threatened. 

It had only taken several visits and him to take a blaster shot for you to realize you were in love with him. You were pleased to discover the feeling was mutual. 

Not that anyone could know. 

So stolen moments, like the one you were in now, were all that the two of you could share. It made going out in public all the more irritating when all you wanted to do was curl up in bed with him and look out at the sky. As the future Queen though, you knew that wasn’t an option. “Can you expand your duty to entertaining me tonight as well? If I have to listen to another word from Lord Tarsi about the grass levels, I might end up having to throw myself off the balcony.” You asked him, your fingers tangling in his long tresses. 

“See, that’s where my protecting you would come in.” He replied, bumping your nose with his. 

“Oh, that even applies to me hurting myself?” You teased, grinning at him. 

“Especially when it applies to you hurting yourself.” He replied, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose, causing it to scrunch up at the tickling sensation. 

“I suppose that means no jumping off balconies?” You asked him. 

“I’m afraid not, my princess.” Obi-Wan replied, an affectionate smile on his face as he looked at you. 

While you heard the title several times, from everyone you came across on your planet, there was something even more special about hearing it from Obi-Wan’s mouth. He said it in such a way that you knew he didn’t mean that you were the princess of your planet, but the princess over the territory that was his heart. 

You would guard that heart with your very life, like you would your kingdom. 

“I suppose I’ll have to be on my best behavior then. For your sanity of course.” You said, pulling away from him, but keeping a hold on his hands. “But just in case, I would appreciate it if you escorted me into the ballroom, Master Kenobi.” You said, a grin on your lips. 

A glint in his eyes appeared at your use of his title, “You might want to work on that best behavior while the night is still young Milady.” Obi-Wan told you, but nevertheless held his arm out for you to take. “I will escort you though, for your safety.” He added as if that was the reason. 

The both of you knew it wasn’t. 

By the time the two of you made it to the ballroom, you were all giggles, your face heated from the words that Obi-Wan had been whispering in your ear when your father appeared. “Darling, you look beautiful.” He told you, kissing both of your cheeks. 

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at him, leaving Obi-Wan’s side to embrace him. “Where is Mother?” 

Your father tried to keep his face the same, but it didn’t escape your notice how his shoulders slumped and the tiniest frown formed for the briefest moment. “I’m afraid she had a small spell. She’s hoping to be along later.” 

An uneasy feeling filled your stomach at the information. Your mother was having more and more spells as the days passed. You knew that they were trying to keep it from you, but despite the healer’s best efforts, your mother wasn’t getting any better. You weren’t ready to think about the implications of that.

You didn’t know how he did it, something to do with the Force most likely, but Obi-Wan could always sense your emotions. He stepped forward to greet your father, but in the process placed a comforting hand on the small of your back. “I’m sorry to hear that Senator. It looks to be an entertaining evening.” Obi-Wan said. 

“Ah, it always is Master Kenobi. I appreciate your attendance and diligence watching after my daughter. I know it’s not an easy job.” He teased, shaking Obi-Wan’s hand and giving you a teasing smile that you rolled your eyes at. 

“But an important one.” Obi-Wan replied, the short look he gave you implying the job of looking after you as more than important to him. 

It made your heart flutter in your chest as you gave him a gentle smile. 

“Indeed.” Your father interrupted the moment, taking your arm. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got to get dinner started.” 

“Of course,” Obi-Wan replied with a bow. “I need to find my Padawan anyway.” 

You shot Obi-Wan a look over your shoulder as your father pulled you away, mouthing the words, “help me!” 

He gave you an amused smile and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Darling, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Your father told you as he led you to the high table. 

Those words never meant anything good. Whenever you heard them, you knew it was another attempt by your father to set you up. These days it seemed that all he wanted was to see you married off. Not that it mattered. The decision on who you married was up to you in your society, and since the one person you loved wouldn’t be allowed to marry you, you were destined to live out your days as a “single” Queen. Not that it mattered to you. “Father, we’ve been over this.” You groaned. 

“Yes, I know Sweetheart, but -”

“I don’t want to get married right now.” You cut him off. 

“No one is saying you have to get married right now, but your mother and I think you should meet him.” He continued. 

“Why?” You asked, stopping in your tracks so you could face him. “Why are you and mother pushing this so hard?” 

Your father glanced around to make sure that no one was listening. When he turned back to you, it was as if his whole body slumped. He looked so . . . tired. How could you have failed to notice the bags under his eyes? The droop in his shoulders? “Darling . . . your mother . . . she wants to know you’re happy before she -”

You placed your hand on his arm, stopping him from finishing a sentence you knew that you weren’t ready to hear. “I . . . I’ll meet him, but I’m not going to promise anything.” How could you? Glancing over at a corner of the room where your Jedi now stood with his Padawan, a caring look in his eyes and a smile on his face as he spoke with him and pointed out various features in the room, you knew that nothing could ever come from this man your parents wanted you to meet, no matter how much they wanted it too. What you could never tell your mother was that you already were happy. So happy you wanted to shout it from the rooftops. You wanted to visit every planet in the galaxy to scream it. 

But he was a Jedi Master, and you weren’t going to let your love take that from him. The galaxy was a better place with him looking after it. 

“That’s all I ask.” Your father said, oblivious to your inner turmoil. He took your hand and brought you to the head table. “Linor, this is my daughter.” The man stood up and gave you what you assumed was supposed to be a charming smile, but to you he looked pained. The man took your hand and pressed a kiss to it. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He said. 

“Likewise.” You replied, your years of being trained to be polite stepping in. 

Linor pulled out a chair beside him for you. “Will you join me?” 

It took all the self control you had to not sigh and give a polite nod instead as you settled into your seat. 

“Well, if you two don’t mind, I have to go have a word with Master Kenobi about some security details for the evening.”  Your father said, giving you a pleased smile as he left the two of you alone. 

If you hadn’t been with company, you would have called him out on that one. 

“He’s not very subtle is he?” Linor said from beside you. 

You turned to look at him, studying his features for a moment. He was handsome, that you couldn’t deny. He had a clean shaven face, a strong jawline and high cheekbones. That, combined with the full lips and head of dark hair gave him a confident look, but there was something about the darkness in his eyes that made you uneasy. 

Or maybe it was the fact that they weren’t a light blue filled with warmth. 

“He’s not, I apologize for his behavior.” You said, watching him walk across the room to where Obi-Wan and his Padawan Anakin were standing. 

“No need to apologize. I’ve been eager to meet you Princess. Not even in power yet, and you’ve made quite an impact on our planet already.” He said, raising his eyebrows at you. 

Despite his supposed eagerness, there was no admiration in his voice as he spoke, in fact he sounded as if he was merely stating the conditions outside. “Oh? What action did I take that made you so eager to meet me?” 

He smirked. “I found your protection order on the caves to be very intriguing. What made you decide to focus on that?” He asked. 

“I found the farmland that rested on top of it to be far more important to us than the metal that lies inside. Not to mention the dangers of those caves. As of right now we’re unaware of the stability of them, and what they would do to the people if they collapsed, above and inside them.” You took a sip of the drink in front of you. “I don’t believe in endangering the people for some unnecessary scraps of metal.” 

“Unnecessary? Aren’t you worried that we might need that at some point?” Linor asked, his lips pulling into a tight line. 

Okay, now you were sure that there was something about him that you didn’t like. “For what?” You asked, narrowing your eyes at him. 

He seemed to know that he had set off alarms for you. He backed off, and what was meant to be a charming smile once again formed on his face. “Oh, nothing. I’m sure you’re right. You are the future Queen after all.” He said, raising his glass to you while he took a sip, never taking his eyes off of you. 

Your stomach churned, and you turned away from him, looking out at the crowd until you found Obi-Wan. He seemed to be in deep conversation with your father, and you frowned as you noticed the look on his face. 

You’d spent many hours with Obi-Wan now, and had become somewhat of an expert at reading his expressions no matter how hard he tried to hide them. Whatever your father was telling him . . . it was upsetting him. 

Almost as if he could feel your eyes on him, he looked up and met your gaze. The longing that was there as he looked at you took your breath away. When you gave him an inquisitive look, he gave the smallest shake of his head, and turned his attention back to your father. 

Well, you were for sure going to have to ask him about that later. 

____________________

By the end of the night, you were not only exhausted, but worried as well. Several times throughout the night you had attempted to talk to Obi-Wan, even get him to dance with you, but each time he had cited an excuse and managed to drift away. Even now, as he escorted you back to your quarters, he was silent, and seemed to be lost in thought. 

You couldn’t help but think that something was wrong, and that whatever your father had said to him was the cause of it. Wondering what it could be, you wouldn’t have noticed you had made it to your quarters if Obi-Wan hadn’t brought you to a stop. “I’m afraid this is goodnight Milady.” He said, bringing your hand up to his lips for a kiss. 

“What?” Okay, now you were positive something was wrong. There hadn’t been a night when Obi-Wan visited that didn’t end with him holding you close as you both drifted off to sleep in many years. 

“Anakin and I have been called back to Coruscant. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.” He told you. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t stay tonight.” You said, gripping the hand he was holding tight. You had known he wouldn’t be able to stay much longer, but you weren’t ready to say goodbye before you had to. 

His expression softened as he looked at you, his thumb stroking your hand. “I thought it might be easier -”

“Please stay,” You said, “Besides, you’re the one who said you slept better with me by your side.” You reminded him, raising your eyebrows at him. 

He couldn’t argue with that, and you knew it. Obi-Wan nodded and let you lead him into your room. As soon as the door shut behind you, you turned back to him, letting go of his hand and crossing your arms over your chest. 

“All right. Tell me what’s going on.” You said, trying to make your voice sound stern. It was hard when he was looking at you with those gentle blue eyes. 

“Darling, it’s not something we have to talk about.” He told you, shaking his head as he took a step towards you. 

“I think it is. It’s distressing you enough to want to leave without a proper goodbye.” You took a step forward yourself, uncrossing your arms and leaning up to cup his cheek in one of your hands. “Tell me what my father said to you that has that frown on your face.” You said, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. 

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he leaned into your touch, placing his own hand on top of yours. You thought for a moment he was going to try and avoid the subject once more, but he didn’t. “Your father asked me to try and convince you to marry that man. He believes, considering how close we are, that you would listen to me.” 

Everything made sense. “Oh, Obi . . .” You shook your head, upset with your father for asking that of him, but also knowing you couldn’t blame him. He had no idea the position he had put Obi-Wan in. “You know that will never happen.” You told him. 

He squeezed your hand, and opened his eyes, staring into yours with that longing once more. “Maybe it should.” 

You shook your head at him, not believing for one second that was what he wanted. “You don’t mean that,” You said. 

“He might be good for your people. Bring some more prosperity to your Kingdom.” He tried to reason with you, but made no move to put more distance between the two of you. 

“Our Kingdom is fine without his help. I assure you. You know that too considering how many meeting notes you’ve watched me pour over and tell you about.” You reminded him. 

“He could give you children . . . and a marriage.” He admitted. 

Ah, so here is what he was concerned about. “You’re right. He could give me those things.” Obi-Wan’s gaze drifted to the ground. “But I don’t want them with him.” He looked back up at you. “There’s one man in the entire galaxy I would want those things with, and that’s you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I will never love anyone like I love you. I couldn’t marry another man knowing that.” 

Obi-Wan pulled your hand to his lips, his warm breath heating up your palm as he closed his eyes again, seeming to struggle with what he wanted to say. “Do you want me to leave the Order?” He whispered. 

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your mouth parting in shock. “What?” This wasn’t something the two of you had ever discussed. You had imagined the rest of your life with Obi would be as it was now, but this . . . 

“I love you with everything I have . . . If I left the Order, I could marry you, I could give you children . . . anything and everything you want and deserve.” He pressed another delicate kiss to your knuckles as he opened his eyes. “All you need to do is ask.” 

It was tempting. It was so, so tempting, the life he had laid out for you. You had dreamed about it often, because dreaming was all you dared to do. No longer having to hide your love for each other. A beautiful wedding in the gardens at sunset, your mother all smiles as your father gives you away to the man in front of you. Him ruling by your side, a fair and just ruler as you knew he would be. Then becoming pregnant with a little boy or girl with his golden hair and crystal blue eyes. You knew he would be a perfect father, and as he said, all you had to do was ask.

But it would be selfish to do so. 

“I could never ask you to do that Obi. The Council needs you. Anakin needs you. The galaxy needs you. My desires fall far under those.” You told him with a sad smile. 

“Not to me,” He argued. 

He was not making this easy on you. “Fine then. I desire for you to keep saving the galaxy while I wait patiently and happily for every moment I get to spend with you.” 

For the first time since he had stepped into your room, a small smile graced his handsome face. He let go of your hand to wrap his arms around you, tugging you into his chest and resting his forehead against yours. “So stubborn, little one.” 

You rested your hands against his chest, fidgeting with the edges of his robes. “You must be rubbing off on me.” You teased, smiling yourself when he pressed a short peck to your lips. 

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, enjoying the moment together in each other’s embrace. When Obi-Wan did speak, it was soft, hesitant, even vulnerable. “Tell me I have nothing to worry about.” 

Obi-Wan was so strong and confident, it was strange hearing the worry in his voice. The almost pleading in his tone as he spoke. “You have nothing to worry about, Obi. It’s always going to be you who owns my heart.” You reassured him. 

He let out a deep sigh of relief before pulling you in for a sweet kiss. 

____________________

You weren’t sure what it was that woke you up. Normally, when you fell asleep wrapped up nice and warm in Obi-Wan’s arms, you slept for hours until you were woken up. This time it was still dark outside judging from the doors to your balcony, and try as you might, you couldn’t get back to sleep. 

Deciding to give up for the time being, you pressed a kiss to Obi-Wan’s forehead and slipped out of his arms, smiling as he clutched the pillow you had been sleeping with close to him. Hoping some fresh air would do you some good, you decided to take a step outside. As soon as the doors shut behind you, you took in a deep breath, inhaling the fresh night air. 

Until you felt a blaster against your back. 

It was an instinct at this point, the way your body leaned into it for a moment while you turned towards your assailant, using one hand to strike him in the neck while using the other to grip the blaster so he couldn’t retract it. You distracted him with a knee to the groin and as he stumbled backwards, you took the blaster from him, backing away and aiming it straight at his chest. 

“Your lover has taught you well.” Your attacker spat, unbothered by the blaster now pointing at him. 

“What the hell are you talking about, and what are you doing on my balcony trying to kill me, Linor?” You snapped. 

“I wasn’t trying to kill you. Just subdue you. Killing you would defeat my purpose, and is Master Kenobi not lying in your bed right now?” He asked with a smirk, taking a step forward. 

You faltered for a moment. How the hell did he know that? “What’s your purpose then, if not to kill me?” 

He ignored your question and gaze, dancing his fingers across the railings in front of him and staring out at the city below. “I tried to understand you know. It’s been taught to us that women are the more intelligent beings. More capable of a fair and just rule, but then . . .” He let out a low sigh. “Your protection order? You don’t even have the slightest clue what you’ve done. It showed your lack of ambition, Princess.” 

“I think it’s time you leave.” You said. 

Linor continued on as if you hadn’t spoken. “Pretty soon . . . the world’s going to change. There’s a new power rising, and I, for one, am going to be on the right side of it.” He said. 

“Oh yeah? And how are you going to do that?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“By marrying you of course.” He said, turning around to look at you. “Once I do, and once your mother passes, oh you’ll be in charge, by name alone, but I’ll be the one pulling the strings. Your order of protection will be withdrawn, and the mining will begin again.” The grin on his face made you want to throw up. “You know, Princess, the Trade Federation is very eager to get their hands on that metal, and they’re willing to pay handsomely.” 

The Trade Federation? What would they want with that metal? You didn’t have a clue, but you did know one thing. 

Linor was crazy. 

“If you think I’m going to marry you after all this, you have lost your mind.” You snapped at him, fingers tightening on the blaster. 

He shook his head. “Princess, I know you will, because if you don’t, the whole Jedi Council will find out about your relationship with that Jedi in there.” He said, pointed back to the doors. “Unless I’m mistaken, the Jedi aren’t supposed to form personal attachments, and I’d say what Obi-Wan Kenobi feels for you is a personal attachment. I wonder how he would go on, no longer being a part of the society that shaped him so.” 

If the Council discovered his relationship with you, you knew what their reaction would be. He would be stripped of all his honors, having to relinquish his lightsaber, possibly banished, if not worse. There was no telling what would happen to Anakin. What would happen to the galaxy without Obi-Wan there to protect it so valiantly. As much as he had reassured you earlier about this same subject, you couldn’t help but wonder if there would be some bitterness in his feelings towards you. 

Your voice was shaky when you replied, and you cursed yourself for it. “Sounds like I should kill you where you stand. Let it all go away with your corpse.” 

“You think I’m the only one with this information? You don’t think if you kill me another will rise in my place? Then your intelligence has been grossly overstated. Face it, Princess. You have no choice. Either way, you’ve lost your Jedi for good.” Before you could even react, he’d snatched the blaster back out of your hand. “If we do it my way, at least he’ll still have his dignity.” 

“Get out,” You gasped, unable to look at him for a moment longer. 

“As you wish my dear. I’ll leave you to think about it.” Linor said, leaning forward to press a kiss on your cheek that had you shivering in anger. “Don’t wait too long though.” 

Without another word, he climbed down your balcony. 

Was this what it felt like, you wondered, to have your world crumble around you in a matter of minutes? Less than ten minutes ago, you had been comfortable in the loving embrace of Obi-Wan, happy for your life to continue the way it was. Now here you were, blackmailed, about to be forced into a marriage that would not only ruin your kingdom, but break a man’s heart. A man who you had just told had nothing to worry about.

You leaned against the wall, trying to calm your breath. There had to be something you could do to change this. Some loophole that you could discover that you were too tired to think of right now. Brushing some stray tears from your eyes, you took a deep breath and headed back inside. After stripping yourself of your robe, you climbed back into bed, curling up into a still sleeping Obi-Wan’s arms. 

Your reappearance woke him up, and he groaned as he nuzzled his face into your hair. “Is everything alright?” He mumbled, still half asleep as his lips brushed against your head. 

“It’s going to be fine, Obi.” You whispered, tightening your own grip around him. “It’s going to be fine.” You repeated, more for yourself than him this time. 

Because it would be. No matter what it took, you would do anything not to break this man’s heart.

#obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi imagine #star wars imagine

[to-be-a-spartan]

To Be A Spartan

Chapter 1: The Myth

18:38 Hours (Shipboard Time), July 20, 2557 (Military Calendar)

Slipstream Space

UNSC Infinity, S-Deck

Sarah Palmer wasn’t quite sure how her day had taken a turn to end up like this, and she damn sure didn’t like it.

The Infinity had picked up a distress call from the Forward Unto Dawn of all things. A ship that had been MIA, presumed destroyed since Operation: BLIND FAITH back in 2552 at the end of the Human-Covenant War. Well, it was a bit more complex than that but Sarah couldn’t be bothered to review the brief she was given on the ship in her head again.

Sarah rolled her eyes as she walked towards the First Officer’s Quarters. The entire ship was practically vibrating with excitement. It was ridiculous. She didn’t understand why they were so excited. The guy was probably dead anyway, because the distress call had been Cortana, his A.I., repeating a single phrase over and over. If you’d asked her prior to 2552 if she even thought the Spartans really existed, it would’ve been a resounding no. She figured the myths of Archangels of Death wreathed in invincible emerald green armor blazing through battlefields and slaughtering the Covenant were just from Shellshocked marines imagining things as reinforcements arrived and gunned down the perpetrators like dogs. She just assumed ONI Section II decided to highly publicize those few and far between victories and craft an immensely complex web of lies and stories to perpetuate the myth of the Spartans and raise morale among the ranks.

But then 2552 rolled around.

The Halo Campaigns, the Invasion of Earth, the Great Schism. So much happened, all centered around a Spartan. Not so much a Spartan, but the Spartan.

Sierra-117. The Master Chief.

One man almost singlehandedly saved the galaxy. That was when she started believing in the Spartans. Of course, Tom had told her stories of the Chief.

About the Covenant invasion of Circinius IV and the subsequent death of nearly all of his friends. Tom always said it was the Master Chief that had rescued them. Sarah loved her friend, she really did, but prior to 2552 she had remained skeptical that he really existed.

Setting those thoughts aside as she reached a bulkhead, she knocked twice.

“Come.”

The bulkhead slid open to reveal a relatively standard UNSC officer’s quarters. About a third larger than regular quarters, there was a steel desk on the far wall next to a wooden bookshelf that was definitely not standard-issue or within regulations, filled with actual paper books. The chair of the desk stood upon a single steel pole that rested in a grove on the deck. That groove contained a small track that let the chair slide along as it was needed and not fall or anything of the sort.

In that chair was Commander Thomas James Lasky, First Officer of the UNSC Infinity, and probably one of the only men who could call Sarah Palmer more than an acquaintance, commanding officer, or one-night stand (and those were very few and far between now).

The fair-skinned man span his chair around to face the door, reaching a hand up to smooth back his hair that was a few shades short of bark brown. He cocked his left leg at the knee and rested his left ankle on his right knee. Holding a datapad in his right hand and resting it in his lap next to the hand he lowered from his hair, he smiled. “I shouldn’t be surprised you’re here, Sarah. What is it?”

Sarah crossed her arms and leaned against the wall on her right side that the door she had entered from was up against. As she looked for the right words, she glanced around the room. Tracing her eyes along the wall, she passed over the small closet allotted to officers. Then along the wall to the door to the personal bathroom all officers were allowed (she also knew Tom despised that officers were given special privileges, so rarely used it for anything other than basic hygiene). From there she looked over to the wall that ran horizontal to the threshold of the door, and the immaculately made bunk pressed against the wall.

He’s nervous.... She thought, glancing back at him. She could see the abnormalities in the rise and fall of his armored chest. It wasn’t consistent. She could easily see the way he dug the tip of his right boot into the deck slightly.

“You’re nervous.” She stated finally, amber-brown eyes meeting his own chocolate-brown ones.

Tom’s brows furrowed ever so slightly, and after a second his smile switched from welcoming to bashful. She recognized the change instantly, she’d known him long enough that she knew every one of his mannerisms like the back of her hand. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, letting out a soft laugh. “You got me.”

Sarah’s lips ticked upwards in a small smile. Tom never failed to make her smile at least once a day. She pushed off the wall and and moved over to sit on the edge of his desk. “Talk to me, Tom. I may not be very good at helping, but I’ll always listen.”

Lasky turned slightly in his chair so he was still facing her. “I know, Sarah. I know.” Then he blinked.

“We don’t have much time. Let’s go.” The armored behemoth that had killed the alien stated in a deep, gravely, but unmistakably human voice.

“Over thirty years ago, that man saved my life.”

“You’re the only survivors.”

“In the school....?”

“On the planet.”

“He risked his life for a bunch of kids.”

“Get to the ‘Hog, I’ll draw their fire!”

“I’ll never understand why.”

“Don’t stop for anything. Including me.”

“I thought I’d never see him again. Twice, in fact.”

“Lasky, no!”

“Axios!”

“First on Circinius during our escape. And again after that, onboard the ship that took us away. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Lasky sat the datapad on his desk and uncrossed his legs, resting both feet on the ground and both elbows on his knees.

Sarah didn’t say anything, just reached out a hand and rested it on Tom’s shoulder not covered by that odd piece of armor. She squeezed gently and rolled her lips together, still not saying anything. She didn’t have too.

Tom reached up a hand to rest on Sarah’s on his shoulder, looking up slightly and giving her a grateful nod.

She returned it, sque—

“XO requested bridge. XO requested bridge. Commander Palmer requested bridge. Commander Palmer requested bridge.” Came the voice of the ship’s artificial intelligence, Roland, over the ship-comm.

The pair sighed simultaneously, both standing up and smiling at each other before exiting Lasky’s quarters.

——————

Sarah Palmer walked onto the Command Bridge of the UNSC Infinity with a purpose in her step. It was time to work.

Now clad in her MJOLNIR GEN2 Scout Variant, Sarah felt much more at home than in her skivvies. She let her eyes take in the room, the outer circle of consoles on a slightly elevated platform that had small dips in three places leading down to the second tier where the main holotable of the bridge was sat in front of the viewport with Captain Andrew Del Rio and Tom standing next to it.

Sarah walked over, taking a place opposite of Del Rio and truly working to withhold the glare that tries to work its way out every damn time she looks at the worthless piece of shit. Judging by the look Tom gives her, he’s having the same problem.

“Commander Palmer, how nice of you to finally join us.” Del Rio says in his ever-condescending voice, somehow managing to look down at her even though she towered over the old man.

She bit back a sharp retort, instead sliding into parade-rest and nodding. “Of course, Sir.”

“Now, in two hours we will be leaving Slipspace at the location of the Forward Unto Dawn’s distress call. I want boarding teams ready to deploy the moment we clear the slip. Commander Lasky, you will deploy with them. The Spartan may react better to an officer than another team of Spartans. Understood?” Del Rio spoke slowly, still in that arrogant tone. He didn’t care about finding the Master Chief. He was just looking for another promotion.

Tom looked ready to call him out on his lack of using the Chief’s title, indirectly of course, but just under the edge of the table Sarah caught his wrist and almost imperceptibly shook her head. “Sir, it’s against protocols for any UNSC vessel to not have an Executive Officer aboard at all times. Commander Lasky-“

“Commander Lasky,” Del Rio cut her off, puffing out his chest in an unconscious (as if) attempt to assert dominance. “is no stranger to breaking a few protocols.... isn’t that right?” He looked at Lasky’s chest, exactly where his dog-tags hung under his officer’s BDU.

Sarah found yet another reason for wanting to throttle the Captain. She knew exactly what he was referring to. And she also wanted to throttle him for the look that flew across Tom’s face; She knew Tom well enough to understand he wouldn’t dare say anything, but it had hurt him.

“Of. Course. Sir.” She replied through gritted teeth.

Del Rio studied her for a moment, visibly debating whether to reprimand her or not for her sharpness, but decided against it. “Very well. You’re dismissed.”

—————

Sarah felt the deck rumble beneath her feet as the Infinity lurched out of the blue-black of Slipspace.

“Holy shit-!”

Sarah heard the exclamation from one of the flight technicians fueling up the Pelican and peaked her head out of the Blood-Tray to see what he—

Woah....

Staring back at her through the atmospheric shield of the main hanger bay was a gargantuan metal planet. It had millions upon millions of lights scattered across its surface in perfect geometric patterns, and a large hole in the surface of the planet.

“Oh my God...”

Sarah glanced to her left to see Lasky standing with one foot on the rear ramp of the pelican, the other on the Infinity’s deck. He looked just as mystified as everyone else.

“Now hear this, Now hear this:” Came Roland’s voice over the ship-comm. Then, something spectacular happened: “We have picked up a UNSC IFF tag in the core of the planet. According to all known data on Forerunner constructs, the planet is hollow. All hands, brace for atmospheric entry. We’re going inside.”

And then the deck lurched, and Sarah had to grab the pelican to keep from falling. Tom looked at her, and she shrugged. “Roland!” She barked. “What the hell was that?”

“The planet caught us in a gravity well, Commander!” The A.I. replied, his avatar appearing on a nearby comm pad. “Helm can’t get us out.”

At the same time, his voice came louder iver the ship-comm. “All hands! Brace, brace!” The deck rumbled again and crates went flying as Roland’s avatar vanished.

“Hostile Covenant contacts! All Pathfinder teams are to deploy immediately, we’ll cover you!” Del Rio’s voice snapped over the ship-comm.

“You heard him Commanders!” The voice of Spartan Vixen (Sarah did a double take when she first heard her name to), a member of Gypsy Company, called from the blood tray.

Sarah patted Tom’s shoulder, nodding as they both climbed into the pelican and the engines roared to life.

This is not a good idea.... She thought, but didn’t voice it. No turning back now. Taking a seat next to Tom as the harnesses lowered to keep them in place, she rolled her shoulders.

“Commander Lasky.”

Tom rolled his eyes as Del Rio’s voice sounded over the Pelican’s comm. “Go ahead Captain.”

“I’m assigning your team to locate the origin point of the gravity well that dragged us in-“ His voice got quieter as he turned away from the mic for a moment. “Ready Archer pods Alpha 7 through Bravo 6 and fire!”

“Understood, Captain. We’ll get it done.” Tom replied, then shut off the comm as the pelican arced into a steep dive to avoid a stream of plasma fire, throwing them against the hull.

Several minutes of rapid aerobatics later, Spartan Vixen decided to break the silence. Her deep blue visor turned towards Lasky and she spoke. “First time on a combat flight, Commander?”

The rest of the cabin laughed, Lasky included. He rocked in his harness a lot more than the marines or Spartans, but he seemed fine. He looked at Vixen, smiling good-naturedly. “Quite the opposite, Spartan. I used to be a naval aviator.”

Vixen whistled, nudging another Spartan, Spartan Tetran, with her elbow. “Hear that boys? The Commander here probably gave us fire support at some point.” A holler went around the bay, and everyone knew they were just distracting themselves.

“Commander Lasky, you might want to see this.” Came the voice of their pilot from the cockpit.

Lasky glanced at Sarah, who raised an eyebrow that he shrugged in response to. He raised his harness and stood up, stepping into the cockpit. They didn’t bother to be quiet, so Sarah could easily hear them discussing the gravity well they had apparently spotted.

“Incoming!” The Co-Pilot barked, followed by a flash of gold-orange light, and suddenly they were plummeting towards the surface with fire trailing from their port side wing.

Sarah watched as Tom was thrown from the cockpit and slammed into the ceiling with a pained exclamation before being buffeted into Tetran’s helmet. She unlatched her harness without thinking and grabbed Lasky, holding him against her armored chest. She could take more hits than he could.

“Brace for—“ CRASH

The pilot was cut off as the pelican slammed into the canopy of the alien trees below, the sound of metal being obliterated like wet tissue paper filling her ears as she and Tom were thrown about the cabin. The pelican slammed into something else, causing the rear ramp to fly open and Sarah to be thrown from the bay with Tom in her arms.

She flew through the air, doing her best to ensure she landed first instead of To—

CRACK

Then everything went black.

#To Be A Spartan #Chapter 1 #2.3 K words #Sarah Palmer #Thomas Lasky #Roland #Andrew Del Rio #Gypsy Company Spartan OCs #Marine OCs #Prometheans #John-117/Sarah Palmer

[retrievablememories]

a sudden desire | johnny (m)

title: a sudden desire pairing: johnny x black reader genre: fluff, smut, fantasy/sci-fi summary: when you make an emergency landing on an ice planet, you have no choice but to seek refuge for the night. word count: 5.4k warnings: detailed description of an injury, mentions of violence, tending to wounds, mentions of insecurities, heavy petting, fingering, some dirty talk, unprotected sex—do not try at home!! 🔞 a/n: this exists in the same universe as my other fic, empathy. i’m developing this universe literally as i go, so plz excuse any plot holes, illogical shit, etc. i feel like this might be a bit too similar to another fic i wrote on here, but whatever chile it’s an excuse for some johnny smut so...bone app the teeth

The cold bites into your nose, fingertips, lips—the very bone marrow of your body. All you can do is shudder against the strong, icy wind beating across your skin and cling tighter to the backpack on your shoulders. You flex your fingers on the backpack straps to keep the blood circulating in them, though that doesn’t do much good when they hurt too much to move properly.

“Fuck, it’s freezing,” Ten curses beside you, and you’d agree if your lips didn’t feel frozen shut. Out of all places for your ship to give out, it’s just your luck that it happened on Kankara. Ice planet or not, though, you all made it out only by the skin of your teeth. The raiders who were on your tail would’ve surely taken advantage of the ship’s ruined state—one that they caused—if Laila and Lucas hadn’t taken them out with their gunning skills.

You, Ten, Lucas, and Laila huddle together near the entrance of the repair garage as you watch Johnny transfer the team’s credits to the repairman. Surprisingly, he’s one of the few other humans you’ve encountered in your travels across the galaxy, and it makes you wonder how he ended up here.

You already know there aren’t going to be many credits left after paying to fix the extensive damages the ship sustained, which is even more reason to get it in working order again. Because once it’s running, you can seek more missions—and more bounties.

“What’s the cheapest place around here that we can crash at for a while?” Johnny asks the man once he takes his Unit Pad back. The man scoffs, throwing him a look that’s equal parts sympathetic and amused.

“Not many hovercabs run around here, especially this time of night. The closest and cheapest place you’ll reach on foot is Drakar’s Motel...but it ain’t shit to write home about.” The man gives Johnny the directions. Most of what he says goes in one of your ears and out the other. You’ll be amazed if half of your brain isn’t frozen by the time you get indoors.

Laila sighs at the prospect of shacking up in a strange place. “I wish we could take the smaller craft,” she says, stomping her feet like a child.

“Too bad it got damaged too,” Lucas says, rubbing her shoulders in a futile attempt to warm her up. “These raiders are fuckin’ ruthless, man.”

“I guess it’ll have to do,” Johnny sighs, pocketing his pad and making his way back to the group. He reaches for one of your hands and you uncurl it from your backpack strap to take his. It’s an effort, but you feel better the instant his skin is on yours, so you think it’s worth it.

The snow never stops falling on this planet. It’s a perpetual winter, only much less jolly and welcoming than your typical winter wonderland. There doesn’t seem to be much of anything here. Just scattered buildings, empty streets, snow, and more snow—like a frozen desert. You don’t mind a bit of cold weather every now and then, but this is an extreme you don’t think you could ever get used to.

Kankara’s neighboring moons hang large in the sky, providing ample light to travel by. At least you don’t have to worry too much about whatever’s lurking in the dark.

Thankfully, you don’t have to walk the streets for too long before a bright glow begins manifesting through the ice and snow, as if some holy mirage. The slanted edges of a building come into focus, and it becomes clear that this is the motel’s silhouette.

“Finally!” Ten kicks a mound of snow in front of him and it sprays up around Laila, who promptly blesses him out for dousing her in more cold. As usual, Lucas has to squeeze his way in between them to stop the ensuing mess.

The first thing you notice about the motel is its neon sign. Not all of the letters work, so it looks more like “a a’s ote” than “Drakar’s Motel.” You simply chuckle and roll your eyes at that. If you were the one who had to come out in this cold to fix the letters, you’d leave the shit alone too.

There’s not much to see on the outside of the motel, with white powder covering nearly every inch of its exterior. You have to admit that it looks quite small, though, even from farther away.

When you all get inside, you realize it’s not much better. The temperature in the lobby is only a few degrees higher than the outside, at most. Not brutally cold anymore, but certainly not enough to warm anybody up. The lobby itself is barely bigger than one floor of your ship, and the burning fluorescent lights make you feel like a bug pinned underneath a glass pane, strangely lit up and displayed for all to see.

An extraterrestrial you recognize as a Vykyll sits behind the check-in counter reading a magazine. They’re balancing their chin on one of their tentacles, looking half-asleep and extremely bored with their job...or with life itself. Their nametag reads “Srynei.”

Srynei looks up from their magazine and gives you all a weary expression. “Before you even ask, there are only two one-beds available. The other rooms are either occupied or defunct.”

“One bed?” Lucas echoes, his eyes widening. He looks stuck between incredulity and annoyance.

You and Johnny glance at each other. He shrugs. “Well…it’s not like we have the money to pay for anything better, anyway.” He takes out his Unit Pad to hand to the alien. “Book it for five nights.”

Srynei places their magazine down and takes out a Unit Pad with the motel’s logo on it. “2 rooms for 50 credits a night...you got it.”

“Defunct? What does that mean?” Laila asks, furrowing her eyebrows.

“It means we can’t stay in those rooms, dumbass,” Ten replies, flicking her forehead. She catches his wrist before he can pull away fast enough and twists it, making him yelp in pain.

“I know what it means, watermelon head. I’m asking, why are they defunct?”

“Burst pipes, leaks, shattered windows from the sheer amount of cold...not my problem, though, I just check in the guests.” Srynei rolls their eyes as if they’re exhausted with the absurdity of the entire situation. You can’t imagine how many off-world visitors Kankara gets for the motel to still be in business, but stranger things have happened.

After the transaction is finished, Srynei holds out two room keys and you take them. 102 and 105, which means at least you won’t have to venture back out to use the stairs.

“So who’s sleeping with who?” Laila asks.

“I thought that was obvious,” Lucas snickers, wrapping his arms around her and Ten’s shoulders. He squishes them against his body in a too-tight hug and they both complain for air. “We should all leave these two,” he nods his head in your and Johnny’s direction, “to themselves, shouldn’t we?” It makes sense. The statement is innocent enough, but the sly faces of your three friends reveal their true thoughts.

“Can you not?” You laugh nervously, tossing Lucas the key for room 105. “I’m about ready to hit the sheets, so…” You don’t wait for his response before making your way down the hall, which is a tad narrower than you’re comfortable with. Everyone else will probably end up walking single-file to fit through. “God, this place is a claustrophobic nightmare.”

You fit the key in the lock and try to keep your mind off what Lucas just said. With some success. Okay, not a lot.

You and Johnny have been together for a little over 5 moon cycles now, but it’s safe to say you haven’t done much other than kiss and cuddle—which is mostly fine with you. But sometimes, you wonder how he feels about it and if he’s...content with it? Or maybe even growing tired of it? You feel bad for even thinking like that, because you know he doesn’t care and you shouldn’t either, but…

This isn’t the first time you’ve slept in the same bed together, but now that’s it been brought up, you can’t keep your mind off the subject of doing more. And as if on-cue, it makes your oh-so-familiar self-doubts rise to the surface.

“Are you okay?” Johnny’s voice interrupts your thoughts. His hand clasps over yours, and that’s when you realize you’ve been fumbling with the key in the lock for a good few moments now. He steadies your hand and helps you finally turn the key and unlock the door. “You must be really cold, let’s get you inside.”

“It’s not gonna be much warmer in there...” you say. The other three are already raising hell as they try to squeeze past each other in the small corridor, and you know it’s going to be a long few days.

The room is just as small as you expect it to be—and just as cold. There’s a heating and air conditioning unit by the window, though you doubt even it works judging by the room’s temperature. “Sometimes I feel like we never left Earth. Some of this stuff is so similar…” You wonder if the motel was purposely modeled after its Earth-based counterparts, or if there simply weren’t enough funds to spring for more advanced alien tech.

You don’t know a lot about Kankara, but you’ve heard it mostly described as a vast and cold-hearted place. The latter characteristic is undeniable of the weather, but you don’t know if you can make that kind of snap judgment for the planet’s inhabitants. Living somewhere like this will make anyone’s ambitions and hopes shrink to near nothingness, centering more on survival than basic pleasures.

“Takes getting used to,” Johnny sighs, closing the door and stripping off his two outer jackets as carefully as possible. “It’s like déjà vu.”

“You should get cleaned up,” you say, fiddling with the switches on the HVAC. As you thought, nothing works. That’s lovely.

“You should go first.” Johnny comes over to you and rubs his hands on your arms to try and warm you up.

“No way, I’m not the injured one here. I’d think you need it more than me.”

“Isn’t the first and probably won’t be the last. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Johnny moves your braids to the side and kisses your cheek in what is usually an innocent gesture. Him saying, “Don’t make me beg,” immediately after, though, makes it decidedly less so.

“O-okay,” you squeak, rushing to grab your clothes and head to the bathroom.

The bathroom is plain as hell, but clean, at least. You scrub off as much of the day’s dirt and grime as you can. Thankfully, the water isn’t as cold as the rest of the place, but it still isn’t as warm as you’d prefer.

Johnny takes his turn after you dress and come out. You climb onto the bed and notice that a portion of the window is in view—he must’ve pushed the drapes back. You stare out of the glass, watching the snow fall endlessly and wondering how it never piles higher. It’s as if the planet is in stasis, perpetually frozen on both a physical and time-based level.

Johnny comes out of the shower shirtless and looking not much happier than he was when he got in. His mouth is tucked into that straight line that always makes you laugh. “The hot water only lasted about 2 more minutes before it cut out on me, so that was fun.”

You try not to snort. “That’s tragic, Johnny.”

“Truly a modern tragedy,” he says sarcastically, brushing his wet bangs out of his eyes. He glances at you over his shoulder as he puts his worn clothes away. “Maybe we could take a shower together next time.”

“I’m sure,” you murmur, embarrassed, tucking your knees up close to your chest.

You glance at the wound just below the left side of his ribcage. It’s mostly scar tissue, no thanks to the cauterizing heat of the blaster shot that struck him, but it still looks horrible. And it must feel similarly, with the way he moves around the room being extra careful of it.

“You need to redress it,” you tell him.

“I know,” he sighs, his shoulders slumping at the thought of doing that. Johnny turns back to look at you, a pout on his bow-shaped lips. “Will you help me?”

A small smile crosses your lips. “Okay.” Johnny roots around in his pack for the medical supplies he remembered to pack before you all ditched the ship. He takes out the roll of bandages, AntiBac Gel, and bandage clips and hands them to you before gingerly climbing on the bed, propping a pillow against the headboard to lean on.

“We’re lucky we got away when we did,” you say, spreading the AntiBac over the wound. “Those bastards wouldn’t let up…”

“We definitely would’ve been way worse off without the others,” Johnny agrees. He glances at your hand moving across his skin. “Seeing you fight always reminds me of when we first met, though…all those training sessions we had, I mean.”

“Why?” You grimace slightly at the scarred edges of the wound. Not because you’re disgusted, but because you feel bad at how painful it looks.

“Back then, you were ruthless…and it fascinated me. Even though I’m not a huge fan of violence.” His lips twitch as if he doesn’t mean to smile about it, but he does anyway. “And you’re still the same but it’s...like, different, you know?”

“I’m afraid I don’t.” You laugh, unraveling the bandage and beginning to wrap it around his chest.

“I can’t explain it,” he says, looking at you from behind his still-soggy bangs. You glance at him, drinking in the curve of his cheekbones and his chin in the light of the bedside lamp. “It’s just...everything seems a little different when you’re in love with someone.”

Your fingers falter with the bandage for a second, and you hope he doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “I suppose I can’t argue with that,” you say. “But...I’m just doing what has to be done. To keep ourselves alive. It gets scary out there, and…” You falter, unsure what to say. Or if you should say what you’re thinking.

“And you can’t live without me?” Johnny says, putting his hand over his heart.

“You literally never get tired, do you?” You grin, finishing the bandage and securing it with the clips.

“I dunno, sometimes. I am just a human, after all.” Johnny brings a hand up to tuck a stray braid back into your scarf. He lies back on the small bed when you’re done, taking your hand in his and kissing it. “Thank you, my queen. How can I ever repay you from saving me from a certain demise?”

“You’re such a clown.” You shake your head, laughing and pulling away from him long enough to put away the makeshift first-aid kit.

After you store the supplies, you climb back onto the bed. It’s barely enough for the both of you, let alone Johnny’s big body, and you find yourself nearly on top of him. You mentally will your palms not to sweat as you sit in such close proximity to him while he’s half-naked. You do enjoy it, though. A lot. You find yourself tracing one of his many old scars—one long line extending across his bicep—with your gaze.

“Didn’t you get that one from the day we escaped the EECA?” you ask quietly.

Johnny glances at it and nods, his lips curling into a slight smile. “Mm...yeah. Remember when Lucas kissed you that day?”

“I don’t want to remember.” Your skin grows hot with the memory, though more out of embarrassment than anything else.

“Did you enjoy it?” His eyes crinkle with laughter.

You give him a skeptical look. “No, not really!? We didn’t know each other that well then, and I don’t like having my personal space invaded.”

Johnny considers that, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth before looking at you. “What about me?” His tone lowers and he inches closer, glancing at your lips.

You raise your eyebrows and place a hand on his chest. “I know you aren’t trying it with a serious wound right now.”

“I’m already halfway hard.” He smirks, adjusting his sleep pants.

Your chest warms straight through, enough to make you forget all about the frigidness of the motel room. You feel both anxious and enthralled. The two emotions create a conflicting dichotomy inside of you, and it makes you uncertain of how to respond. You shove his shoulder, making sure to be careful of his side. “What kind of freak gets off on having their wounds tended to?”

You both laugh, but Johnny grins nervously after a moment, suddenly becoming much more shy than he was a few minutes ago. “You know it’s all just me being silly, right? You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I just want you to be comfortable.”

You just hum and look at him, regarding his features, before kissing him very tenderly on the lips. “I know, John.” After you pull away, you continue observing each other, though it doesn’t feel awkward, just—tense. Without a word, you both lean in and kiss again, a little deeper than before. His hand cradles the side of your face and neck, drifting between the two as if he isn’t sure where to settle.

Johnny licks into your mouth and you respond in kind, sliding your arm across his shoulders to pull him a little closer. Your touch is often still tentative with him, especially when you’re more intimate like this, still not quite sure if you’re allowed to have this, if it’s okay to indulge.

Johnny pulls away slightly to rest his forehead on yours, his lips still moving against your mouth when he speaks. “We...really don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he says, sounding slightly winded from the kiss alone.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” you respond. You touch the hem of the bandages where they meet his skin, a little above his abs, and your hand keeps hovering there, unsure if you can touch him that way.

“It doesn’t matter,” he responds, moving closer to kiss you again.

You don’t know how long you sit there simply kissing each other, tasting each other’s lips as if there will never be enough of this—this sweetness shared between you.

After a beat of hesitation, you allow yourself to touch his abdomen, feeling the firm indentations of muscle underneath your hand. He’s impossibly warm even though you’re on an ice planet—it’s like he’s his own personal space heater. His skin is soft under yours, and he smells good enough to drown in forever.

In response to your touches, Johnny’s hand leaves your face and travels to your side, sliding down your waist and lower to your hip. His fingers are close to the inside of your thigh, moving over the fabric of your pajama pants.

Your hand drifts to the waistband of his pants, too, though you hesitate to go further. You realize with a bit of surprise, though, that you very much want this, more than you possibly let yourself believe. There are still many things you’re apprehensive about doing or saying with Johnny, but in this present point in time, you feel positive that you want to feel him in, around, under, over top of you—it doesn’t matter how.

Johnny’s lips separate from yours, and he moves his mouth to the soft skin of your cheek, ear, jaw, neck. Wherever he can reach is fair game at this point. “You can touch me. If you want.” He says this while kissing your neck, letting his voice vibrate across your nerves and seep into the very fibers of your being.

You take up his offer.

You tentatively slide your hand past the waistband. You don’t go underneath his underwear, but that’s fine for you. For the both of you. Instead, you feel him over the fabric, caressing the curve of his hardening cock and teasing the sensitive head with trembling fingers. Johnny moans softly against your neck, sighing and pressing his hips a little closer into your hand.

“Should I let you have all the fun?” he asks, kissing your throat.

“No,” you reply, breathless but still amused, “that wouldn’t be very fair, would it.”

Johnny vocalizes his pleasure and agreement when his fingers slip lower, pressing between your legs and gliding over your clit through the layers of your clothing. Your breath hitches, but you don’t stop stroking his dick, and he grows bolder with his own actions, sliding his hand up and away—only for a second—and then down into your pants, burdened with one less layer and giving you more calculating touches.

He strokes your clit as if he’s never touched anything so gently, and it makes you grip the back of his damp head and pull him closer to you, if at all possible. He answers that need for proximity by coming back up to claim your lips again, your tongues gliding against each other’s in the room’s quiet.

Your fingers are sticky from Johnny’s precum leaking into his underwear and onto your hand, and likewise, you are growing increasingly wetter in his hold.

Johnny moves as if he means to climb on top of you, but he winces and grunts halfway through the motion and you stop, looking at him with wide eyes.

“Are you hurt? I told you this wasn’t a good idea…”

“Stop worrying about me,” he says, though he doesn’t try to move again. “It’s just a little pain...but, um...maybe on the side is better.”

You nod, and you both spend a few awkward seconds shuffling around on the bed so Johnny is spooning you instead, your back to his front. You feel a little disappointed about not being able to see him, but that dissipates when he resumes touching you and kissing your nape. You mean to reach behind you to take care of him, too, but he seems content with gently rocking his hips against your ass, grinding his dick between your cheeks.

“Is this enough for you?” he asks, his voice soft and deep.

“W-what?” You can guess what he means, but being asked takes you off guard.

“Do you like how I’m touching you?” Johnny applies a little more pressure on your clit when he asks this, and you try unsuccessfully to not shudder like a leaf in a windstorm at the sensation. Combined with the sound of his voice, it’s an electrifying kind of feeling. “Or do you want more?”

It seems like every part of your body is throbbing with yes. “I...want more.”

Johnny lays a kiss against your shoulder. You feel him pull your underwear to the side and drag his middle finger against your clit and down to your hole, teasing you as if he doesn’t think he’ll insert it. Your body tenses and you moan. You don’t know if you should press back against his dick or into his hand, and it’s the sweetest, yet hardest, decision you’ve ever had to make.

Johnny finally eases his finger inside of you and makes a sound you can’t quite distinguish. “Is this all for me?”

“W-who else would it be for?” Your words are almost lost to the pillow as you use it to muffle your increasing sounds.

“I’m flattered, really. You shouldn’t have,” he snickers, pumping his finger into you. He makes sure to drag his palm across your clit as he does, carefully but firmly enough to make you pant. He caresses your inner walls until he finds your G spot and then focuses his energies on pleasuring that part of you.

“Shit...Johnny…” You curl your fingers into the fabric of the sheets beneath you.

Johnny slips another finger into you, and the stretch sets your nerves on fire with a more intense bliss. His mouth returns to your skin, kissing and licking and biting you everywhere.

“Johnny, please…” You reach back to grasp his hair, needing something to hold onto. He slips his right hand to your front, grasping one of your breasts through your shirt and running his thumb over the hardened nipple. You two are a tangle of limbs at this point, blurring into each other in the best possible way.

Your abdomen grows tense and your stomach warms as you come closer to your orgasm. You find yourself gripping Johnny’s arm, wanting him deeper inside of you, yet nearly wishing he’d stop for fear of being overwhelmed.

“Are you gonna come? Good. I wanna feel you gush around me,” Johnny whispers into your ear. He slips his right hand past the collar of your shirt, palming your bare breasts and pinching your nipples between his fingers.

You moan brokenly as the cord tethering you to your composure snaps, making you come and clench around Johnny’s fingers. The sound of him fucking you with his hand grows wetter, and you hear Johnny cursing in response.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore of his fingers curling into your spot, he pulls them out and puts them in his mouth, sucking them clean.

“You taste so good.” Johnny sounds drunk with lust—as if him rutting against your ass wasn’t enough of an indicator. You crane your head towards him, grip his chin, and bring his lips down to yours, tasting yourself on his mouth. He kisses you hungrily as soon as your lips meet. You almost have to pry him away to say your next words.

“I want more...” you say quietly against his lips.

Johnny smirks. “How much more?”

“You know what I want.”

“Hm...do I?”

“John…”

“Yes, queen?”

You blow air through your nose in lieu of cackling outright. “Inside me, please.”

Johnny gives you a soft peck before gripping the waistband of your underwear and pushing it down your legs. You help him slide them off the rest of the way, and he does the same for himself. His dick springs up between you, flushed and wet with precum. He grips it and guides it between your thighs, though he doesn’t enter you just yet.

The tip is sticky as it pokes against your thigh and then slides through your lower lips. You shudder at feeling him so close to you, hard and warm and yearning. He rubs against you like that for a few moments, his shaft stimulating your clit and making you leak onto him even more, his dick glistening with it. Johnny grasps your hip and moves your body in tune with his own movements, and you swear you see a tiny explosion of stars every time the vein on his cock rubs your clit.

“You’re killing me,” you sigh, rolling your head against the pillow before quickly stopping. You don’t need the hassle of retying your scarf if it comes off—and God knows it will if you continue.

“I think I’ve tortured us both enough.” Johnny places the tip at your entrance and slowly inches inside. Even that much makes you gasp, and you continue whimpering as he spreads you open with his thick shaft. Johnny’s breaths grow more labored, and he groans long and low when he finally bottoms out.

There’s little room left for words when he starts thrusting, taking it slower than you expected—but you don’t mind. Even though you’re already soaking and pliable from his earlier actions, he takes his time with fucking into you, guiding you along his length and pushing his hips to meet yours in an intimate rhythm. When he brushes against that same sensitive spot with his dick, you feel like your body’s been gripped with an almost painful kind of pleasure. One that holds onto you and refuses to ever let go.

It’s all so overwhelming.

“I love you,” he moans, pushing his cock in and dragging it back out with all the leisure in the world, “so much.” Your mouth falls open, and you want to say something back, anything, but you can’t make the words come out. Instead, you’re taken aback as tears spring to your eyes, choking you and closing your throat off to any sentiment you might want to express.

This isn’t the first time he’s told you that. You both know this well. But within this context, it makes your head spin with a new kind of dizziness. It all feels so good, too good, too much to bear.

You bite his arm to keep yourself silent, though it’s too late, and he feels your tears dripping onto his skin. Johnny handles you as if you’re made of glass, drawing your face towards his as he looks at you and wipes your wet cheeks. You still aren’t comfortable crying in front of him, but he never minds.

“Look at me,” he says. Johnny’s still moving inside you, sliding into you all slick and deep, and it makes you feel nearly too vulnerable to tolerate, as if you’ve been flayed open. But you do it anyway, latching onto his warm eyes. His skin shines from a thin layer of sweat, and it makes his hair stick to his forehead. The lamp light hitting his face makes his eyes look like two never-ending pools of warm honey, and he cups your face and kisses you tenderly when you lock eyes, and it’s all just too much.

“John, holy fuck.” You don’t really mean to say that, of all things, but it can’t be stopped once your orgasm floods through you, only it isn’t the violent and quick kind—it’s more of a slow buildup that finally bursts apart, spreading ecstasy through your whole body. You moan and tremble uncontrollably as Johnny slowly strokes you through your climax, still rubbing your clit and fucking into you deep.

Everything becomes a tiny bit blurrier for you, but you don’t fail to notice his own reactions as he grows closer, his thighs trembling from the effort of keeping his pace even. Finally, Johnny crushes your body against his as if you could melt together, pulling out to cum over your thighs and stomach. He buries his face into your shoulder and groans against you, and it’s a sound you think you’ll want to hear for the rest of your life. He keeps stroking his dick in between your thighs until he’s spent, his chest heaving from the effort of it all.

You both lie there for a few long minutes, simply trying to catch your breath. You still feel the dried tears on your face, though you try your best to ignore them, not wanting to ruin the moment with unwelcome feelings.

Johnny pulls his hand out of your shirt and sits up, though it takes an extra bit of strength on his part. You feel strangely guilty about how much you dislike suddenly being parted from his touch. As if he can sense your unease, Johnny grasps your hand in both of his and gives it a long kiss before going to the bathroom.

You hear the water running. Then, Johnny comes back quickly with a small towel. He climbs onto the bed and helps you into a sitting position.

“I’m sorry it’s not warm.” He smiles sheepishly, dabbing the washcloth against your cheeks as he erases the remnants of the tears.

You give him a small smile in return. “Nothing on this planet is.”

He cleans the mess he left on your lower body before tending to himself. After he’s done, you both pull your clothes back on—because it’s far too cold to sleep without anything on—and Johnny finally finds a shirt.

In the dark of the room, you curl up against each other to keep out the chill. When you wake up in the morning, you know you’ll be greeted to more cold and snow. It’ll still be days before you can return to your ship. Depending on how many credits are left, you might have to swap a few meals for Reserve Paks instead of eating decent food. You can already taste the lukewarm, oatmeal-like consistency of it in your mouth.

Despite that...you still have your friends and teammates. You still have Johnny. Maybe this could be a peculiar form of happiness. Maybe this could be contentment. Something that belongs wholly to you.

You trace a circle on the back of Johnny’s hand, studying his features illuminated by the moonlight spilling through the blinds. You shuffle closer to be level with his ear, and he blinks at you sleepily.

“I love you too.”

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