Tumgir
#i know nothing about sabacc
arrothededushka · 4 months ago
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milfreva · a month ago
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Weirdest/random headcanons about Cal Kestis?
HMM i didn’t think i had any but you know what? i do
- his left hand is partially cybernetic, he got injured while working and had to have it half-replaced with low-end cybernetics that are at risk of damage especially w the work he does, and so he has to cover it up to protect it
- he can’t whistle for shit. did you hear him whistle when he dropped down that zeffo statue?? the subtitles said (whistle) but he said whoooo
- he has amazing luck with sabacc. no one can figure out why, or how, and neither can he, but he’s won most of the time since the 13th battalion men first taught him how to play. he used to earn some pocket money on bracca playing games, but nothing too extreme
- he’s a terrible cook. don’t ask why i just know it
- jaro tapal demonstrated the basics of niman/jar’kai to him when he was still training; he didn’t master or even get comfortable with the form seeing as he’s only supposed to know lightsaber form 1 as a youngling/young padawan, but the exposure and practice is why he’s comfortable using dual blades as well as double sided and single blades when he’s older
- he’s allergic to wasaka berries and nothing else
- some of the force echoes he senses give him nightmares. also a lot of the time he doesn’t have full control over his psychometry and so he gets unwillingly affected by a lot of things. also if he were to be in one of those torture chairs they put trilla and cere in he would probably get overwhelmed by all the past suffering in the chair :(
- and finally. the 13th battalion commander and cal used to be besties before,,,,,well,,, you know </3
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mandosmistress · 4 months ago
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First Class to Tatooine
Din Djarin x Fem!Reader
Part 4: Fasten Your Seatbelts
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gif by @trashcora
Rating: Explicit {18+ only}
Word Count: 7600
Summary: Fighting the Pykes serves two purposes for Din. Firstly, he will honor his word and help Boba. But more importantly? He’s going to get revenge on the scum who have hurt you.
Warnings: Canon typical violence, though Din is perhaps a bit more feral than usual since he’s out for revenge. Din’s thoughts are a little dark; lots of anger/angst/sadness. Guns (blasters). Neck breaking. Mild descriptions of injuries, mention of blood. Speeder bike accident. Body worship. Praise kink. Oral sex (M/F receiving). Vaginal fingering. Creampie. Unprotected P in V sex.
A/N: This chapter alternates between Din’s point of view and yours. Sorry it’s chonky, but they packed a lot of stuff into the BOBF season finale and I wanted this story to follow along with it, though I made a few small changes to streamline things. Hopefully it all makes for a good, uh, climax. Wink wink. Thanks for reading!
<-- Part 3
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Anazir drops you at Peli’s doorstep with a rushed explanation and, finally, a desperate plea. “Come on, please! Mando told me to!”
The frizzy-haired mechanic pretends that she is being majorly inconvenienced. That having to put you up in her spare room and make sure you take your painkillers at regular intervals is the worst possible turn of events. You don’t buy it one bit.
Mainly because she looks entirely too pleased with the prospect of having a live-in audience for her tall tales. Also, you have a feeling that she isn’t opposed to having someone new around to fleece at sabacc. Her sighs and protests seem downright half-hearted, especially since she steps aside to usher you in even as she declares she wants nothing to do with you.
“Sheesh! Well, Maker forbid we upset the tin can. What the kriff is he thinking? That I’m running a home for strays with broken legs?”
Peli is somewhat mollified when Anazir drops a hefty bag of credits into her hand. Apparently, Din had predicted her complaints and knew exactly how to address them. She stuffs the pouch of credits into her jumpsuit pocket and waves her spanner around to punctuate her grumbling.
“Well, boy, help her get back here already! What are you waiting for?”
Peli abruptly storms off down the passageway leading to her home, loudly muttering, “Kids these days! Karking useless!”
Anazir helps you get settled on the narrow cot in the spare room and unpacks your bag. There’s a small closet where he carefully places your things even though you tell him he doesn’t have to. You know he’s worried about having to leave you in your current state. He’s been at your side through this whole hellish ordeal. Anazir may have many annoying qualities, but he is always there for you when you need him. He’s your best friend and you love him more than ever at that moment.
Anazir sighs and fixes a wayward lock of your hair. “I’m so sorry, honey, but I really have to go make sure mom is ok. The Pykes are raiding every moisture farm between here and Mos Pelgo for water.”
“It’s ok. I’m fine, Anazir. Go make sure she’s safe.” You give him a gentle peck on the cheek. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”
“Yeah, well, I was too afraid not to since your hulking, heavily-armed Mandalorian boyfriend told me to do it. Can’t risk pissing that guy off. You sure like them burly.”
You snort with amusement. “Well, we can’t all be into skinny twinks.”
“I guess I do have the market cornered there,” he replies with a smirk. “Look, just rest up, ok, beautiful? I’ll be back soon.”
You’re already laying your head on the thin pillow and drifting off to sleep before the door closes behind him. All this healing wears you out, makes you terribly drowsy. The bacta dip had remedied your cuts and bruises and burns. It even cured your nasty concussion. But your crushed femur will take longer to mend. Bacta doesn’t fix broken bones all that well. And yours is a particularly bad compound fracture. Apparently, having half of a brick wall fall on your leg is really not a good thing.
You spend the next two days devouring Peli’s bantha stew and limping around the hanger, where you mostly just get in her way. You are incredibly clumsy with your crutches, but if you have to stay inside any longer, you’ll go crazy. In an attempt to be helpful, you and the little BD unit you previously befriended sit in the cramped control booth and listen to comm chatter. Occasionally you direct ships to land in 3-5, but mostly you nap in the stuffy heat beside the old, inadequate fan while BD stands guard at your feet.
And of course, you spend your time worrying about Din. Is he really going to mete out some kind of revenge on the Pykes? That’s crazy. And stupid. Crazy stupid. He’s out of his damn mind. The Pykes, one of the largest, most notorious criminal syndicates in the galaxy? You pray you dreamed up his angry declaration.
You really, really hope it was a dream.
The evening air is growing chill with the sudden, sharp downward temperature shift that accompanies nightfall in the desert. Suddenly, the beeps and whirrs of an astromech droid suddenly blare over the comm. You sleepily accept the landing request, not even noticing the type of ship that is making its descent. But Peli recognizes it by its outline as it descends.
“An X-wing? AN X-WING? Kriffing cops!” Frantically, Peli starts running back and forth through her shop, grabbing this and hiding that.
“Maker, girl, get a move on! Put away those parts there. Could be stolen. Or not. Who knows! Damn shady suppliers. Believe you me, you can never trust a Jawa! And over there, cover up that crate! Pit droids, put all these boxes in the storage unit. And someone hide R-5! You know, in case his previous owners reported him missing. That droid knows too much. GO!”
You scramble to do as she says. Well, you move as fast as possible for someone with a broken leg. Which isn’t very fast at all. BD scampers behind you, trying to help but mostly just tripping you up.
The X-wing settles down on its landing gear and the cockpit hatch opens. You can hear Peli’s voice, full of false cheer, carrying across the hangar.  She rambles on as the dust swirling around the ship slowly drifts back down.
There is a prolonged silence. And then…
“Bright eyes?!”
The pilot is nothing at all like you were expecting. No cocky ranger in an ill-fitting orange jumpsuit here.
Instead, it’s someone who does indeed have bright eyes. The little thing that emerges from the cockpit actually has the shiniest, widest eyes you have ever seen. You stare in confusion as the small green creature clings to Peli with a happy squeal.
However, the little guy quickly leaves her side when Peli tells him to go eat. He sees the dung worms the droids are serving up and scrambles over as fast as his little legs can carry him. Peli squabbles with the R2 astromech in the X-wing, attempting to get more information about this unexpected visit, but the droid is eager to depart now that he has made his delivery.
The mechanic mutters a few choice words as the X-wing abruptly takes off and leaves. “Wow, kid, did you get kicked out of school or something? They sure seem eager to get rid of you. Don’t know why…they’re probably just big meanies, huh?”
The child giggles and then turns back to his meal. He slurps down the slimy, wriggling worms with gusto as Peli fills you in.
“Didn’t think I was gonna see this little womp rat again, not after Mando said he gave him up.”
Wait, what? You struggle to connect the dots. This adorable thing? Mando? What does Din have to do with this little cutie?
Peli gazes down at said cutie with a tender affection you’ve never seen her extend towards anyone or anything before. “Well, kid, I’m glad you’re here, but I tell ya, I’m not gonna call you ‘Grogu,’ ok? I don’t care what that astromech said. It’s a stupid name and I’m not using it.”
Grogu? Grogu? This is Grogu?!
Peli animatedly tells the story in bits and pieces as she orders the droids around in a series of tasks that will make her new guest more comfortable.
“Can you imagine? Mando just left this poor baby on his hunk of junk ship all by his little lonesome! Idiot man. No clue about how to take care of a youngling. Then that wannabe bounty hunter tried to lay a hand on this sweet boy and look where it got him! Dead, that’s where. Oh, and this one time, the poor kid had to watch his old man get eaten by a Krayt dragon. That thing did make for some tasty barbecue though.”
You are flabbergasted. You had always pictured Din’s foundling as a chubby little human child, not this infinitely cuter green baby. And you’re really going to have to ask Din about the Krayt dragon story. No one’s crazy enough to get swallowed by a giant sand monster on purpose, right?
“Hi, Grogu,” you say softly when his big eyes find you. “Your dad told me all about you. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Patu?”
“Um, yeah. Patu.”
The child beams up at you and clambers onto your lap. “Patu!”
Later, Peli makes him a little pallet so he can sleep on your bedroom floor. You convince him to take off his very grubby brown robe so it can be thrown in the sonic washer. But he stubbornly refuses to part with the shimmering chain mail shirt he is wearing underneath.
“Come on, buddy. That won’t be comfortable to sleep in.”
Grogu only shakes his head vehemently and wraps his arms around himself even tighter. You finally give in when his little lip juts out in the cutest pout you’ve ever seen.
You sigh. “Ok, fine, you win. If you want to sleep in your armor like your dad, I guess that’s up to you.”
Grogu nods solemnly. “Patu.”
Then he grins toothily and digs his little claws into your blanket so he can shimmy up the side of your cot.
“Oh, no, honey, you have your own bed.”
Grogu’s tiny body curls up next to you despite your weak protests. Well, he’s probably a little scared and lonely, poor thing. Having to fly across the whole galaxy by himself and all. And he is a good little snuggler.
You kiss the top of his fuzzy head and carefully pull the thin blanket over you both. Grogu stares up at you with those big brown eyes and rests his tiny clawed hand on your cheek.
A strong sense of peace washes over you. It’s a happy, warm tingling that spreads through your veins. An effervescent sensation of utter rightness. You soon drift to sleep with a little smile on your lips, vaguely aware of Grogu gently patting your injured thigh as he contentedly nestles against you.
****
Din is filled with a rage that burns so hot it will either consume him or everyone around him. Hopefully, it’s the latter. And hopefully, those around him at the time will be his enemies. The Pykes.
He hasn’t felt wrath like this since before he met Grogu. The child had mellowed him, shown him how to let down some of his many defenses. How to set down some of that literal and figurative armor and let in…what? Compassion? Love? Peace? Happiness? Concepts so foreign he had barely been able to match the emotions up with their names. In any case, all things he never thought would be in his grasp. Never really thought his life lacked for want of them either. But slowly, these other feelings had edged out that fiery anger a bit, pushed it down deep so it wouldn’t rise to the top so quickly.  He has to admit, it was nice.
For Grogu’s sake, he had tried his best to overcome that urge to fight first and ask questions later. He’d attempted to avoid confrontation if possible. Tried to solve problems with communication. With compromise. Because, suddenly, a little one was depending on him. His foundling, his child, his ad’ika. And if he died as the result of some scumbag’s very lucky blaster bolt, Grogu would be alone and unprotected again. Just another orphan adrift in this dangerous galaxy with no one to care for him. And Din wasn’t going to let that happen.
So he’d learned how to create a little clan of his own and how to protect it.  How to help those in need and those who call him friend (a phenomenon he is still confused over). To do these things rather than just staying closed off and numb, driven only to dismantle and destroy, hunt and hurt.
But now, Grogu is far away and no longer in need of his protection. And there’s no question about it…he still has that potential for fury simmering within him. He is, at his core, a highly trained, lethal Mandalorian warrior, ready to fight the galaxy itself if needed. There’s not much left to fight for, but he’ll keep doing it anyway. He has a handful of friends and you, his lover, left to champion. Din focuses on the task of defending all he has left. And should he fail to protect, then he will avenge.
And he has failed to protect you.
He thinks of your beautiful face, bruised and battered from the bombing. Suspended in that bacta tank, eyes closed, hair floating around you like a halo. The thought makes his heart clench and ache. It’s a hurt reminiscent of lost parents, lost homes, lost clansmen. A lost covert, a lost creed. A child both found and lost on the same day. So much loss.
But you’re safe for the moment, injured but healing. Right now he wants nothing more than to get his revenge on those that dared hurt you. You. The only fucking bright spot in his life right now. If anyone thinks they’re going to take you away from him, they’re very wrong. And they will soon be very, very dead.
***
A bright ray of sunlight has found the gap in the curtains and is shining right in your face. With a grumble, you get up to tug at the scrap of fabric, trying to block the light for a bit longer.
Wait. You got up. You are up. On your own two legs, both of which are working just fine. The constant, aching pain in your left thigh is gone. What the kriff? How is it that your leg is fully functional again?
A baby coos and you shake your sleepy brain into gear. Oh, right. Din’s little boy. Grogu. He gurgles happily at you from the cot as he crawls to the top and plops down on your pillow, dragging the blanket over his head.
The child bursts into bright, happy laughter, as you carefully remove the plastoid mesh sleeve that encases your thigh. Gingerly, you inspect your leg. After some poking and prodding, you move it around again to confirm that your shattered bone has, in fact, spontaneously healed. What the kriff? Then it comes back to you, what Din had said about the child’s powers.
“Grogu, did you..?” More giggles erupt from the lump beneath the blanket.
Ok. Well. The magic Jedi baby thing is making more sense by the minute.
Then Grogu pulls off the sheets and reaches for you, the gesture an unmistakable demand to be lifted from the bed. “Ah?”
You scoop up the little bug and hug him tightly. “Thank you, sweetie. Thank you so much. Your dad is right. You are pretty amazing.”
“Patu!” Grogu stares up at you with those big, shiny eyes. He tugs on his chain mail shirt, his face questioning but full of hope. “Patu?”
Patu indeed. Din has a big surprise coming. And it appears it can’t wait.
“Yeah, Grogu. You’re right. Let’s go find your patu.”
***
The last few days have been a bit of a blur. Because he is livid. He’s able to hide it to a degree, but he is quietly seething inside. He knows he’s giving in to his rage too much but he doesn’t really care.
On his way here, he had come across two masked Pykes. They were swaggering down the dusty road, shiny new blasters at their hips. They won’t be swaggering anywhere anymore. A third Pyke came out from a cantina to investigate the sound of his blaster. That one had run right in front of him. He shouldn’t have been so careless. Din had wrapped his forearm around the creature’s neck and snapped it without a thought. No need to waste a bolt on someone stupid enough to give a Mandalorian his back.
He is channeling all his wrath and worry over you into this mission. He’s not just doing this to help Boba and Fennec. No. He’s really in it to avenge you. So, yeah, he has a feeling that the Pykes of Tatooine won’t trouble him and his, or anyone else for that matter, for much longer.
Because when someone truly angers him, Din doesn’t just hate. He obliterates.
He, Boba, and Fennec are standing in the middle of a bombed-out cantina. The cantina where you had worked. His heart had nearly stopped when he saw the burnt-out wreckage. It’s a miracle that you’re still alive.
The anger ringing in his ears almost drowns out Fennec’s voice as she reports on the gotra’s current status. They have a few guards stationed around the city. It’s not enough. That sums up the whole story, really. Too few allies, most of them inexperienced, up against a large, heavily armed, and well-organized enemy.
But Din keeps his negative thoughts to himself. He really wants to be wrong. If Cobb Vanth is able to lead the people of Freetown here, they might have the numbers they need to stage a proper ambush. He outlines this slim hope, their only chance for salvation really, and they develop their strategy. It’s not a great plan, but they aren’t really working with much.
When the protocol droid interrupts with news of a visitor, Din goes on high alert.
Outside, he stands in the over-bright sunlight, blaster drawn, finger on the trigger. Hovering behind Boba, he looks for a plausible reason to bring down one or two of those fishy fucks who think he can’t see them hiding on the rooftops.
It’s a good thing Fennec is slightly more restrained and rational than he or Boba. Rather unwillingly, they hold their fire. For now anyhow. Whatever. Let Cad Bane run off and tell his boss that there isn’t a compromise forthcoming.
However, before leaving, the sneering, blue-skinned bounty hunter sounds the death knell.
“The good people of Freetown aren’t coming, Fett,” he drawls. “You should have let the marshall keep that armor.”
It’s then that they accept the truth of their situation. Boba clearly knows. Din knows he knows, sees it in the slight droop of the older man’s shoulders as he urges Fennec to ride back to Mos Eisley. A decent strategy at this point, a last ditch attempt to take out the opposition’s control center. This plan also moves Boba’s closest friend, his second in command, out of the deadly fray. Din suspects that’s by design. Boba is ruthless and unfeeling with his enemies, but beneath that is his own brand of honor and integrity; he has the selflessness that’s required to arrange the deliverance of his friends even as he seals his own doomed fate. So, predictably, Boba then attempts to release Din from his role in this ill-fated endeavor.
But neither his own honor nor his thirst for revenge will allow Din to leave. No, he’s fighting on until the end. He draws his blaster and shrugs as he rebukes Boba’s offer. “This the Way.”
Anyhow, there’s not much left for him to lose.
When Din drops out of the sky to take on the Pykes that swarm the street, he is pretty sure that this is the last time he’ll charge into battle. He and Boba are vastly outnumbered. Defeat is almost certain. But he’s glad that at least he’s fighting to avenge you and aid a friend. For once, this isn’t just another hollow, meaningless mercenary’s battle.
Din blasts through bodies at a rate that surprises even him. He attacks with a determination not born of the will to survive, but of his single-minded desire to punish his enemies. So he doesn’t pause or falter. He just fights and fights and fights some more.
It’s a brutal battle. Endless bursts of plasma, churned up dirt, and piercing screams. His blaster is continually firing. Pew pew! There’s another one. Pew! And another one. Din’s whistling birds shriek as they find their targets. Four more down. He picks off a couple of rooftop gunners. Two more down. It’s a bloodbath and he’s at the heart of it. The enemy is going to win but he won’t make it easy for them. He’s going to rain down as much destruction, pain, and hurt as he can. Yeah, he’s gonna bring dozens of these bastards down with him on his way out.
***
You and Grogu careen down the dusty, well-worn road to Mos Espa. It’s been a while since you rode a speeder bike, so there’s a fair amount of swerving and engine revving happening. That fact, plus the urgency to find Din, has you whipping around corners and rapidly cresting sand dunes, much to the child’s delight. A real speed demon, that one.
Grogu peeks over the side of the saddlebag again. His ears flap comically in the wind and he squints his big eyes against the gusting air and flying debris. You glance back and shake your head. “No, honey, not there yet. Soon. Stay down for now, ok?”
Grogu ignores you as he smiles into the wind. Clearly, he doesn’t care one bit about the possibility of getting sand in those huge eyes. You sigh in defeat. “You sure love to go fast. Just like your dad.”
He nods and giggles excitedly. “Patu!”
Yeah, you’ll have to get the kid some goggles if he’s going to keep insisting on traveling at high speeds with the windows down.
Soon you’re at the cliffs, where you have to negotiate a narrow, zig-zagging path that drops down into the outskirts of town. This is where you should have started to take note of the many warning signs present in your surroundings. But you don’t. Basically, you miss all the blatantly obvious facts that indicate you are entering a war zone.
Your eyes are too glued to the dangerous path to observe the small plumes of smoke arising from various neighborhoods. You don’t hear the faint sound of explosions carried on the breeze over the whine of the bike’s engine. The ground shakes but you can’t feel it since you are hovering above it.
You remain oblivious because you’re caught up in the thought of seeing Din again. You need to stop him before he does anything stupid. And you have to get Grogu back where he belongs. With his dad. All you can think of is how happy Din will be to see his son again. You pray that the two of you can stop Din from doing anything stupid to the Pykes.
***
Just when he and Boba are nearing defeat, the people of Freetown show up. For a moment, it almost looks like the tides might turn. Pykes are retreating left and right. Din shoots a few in the back anyway. Not exactly the act of a noble warrior, but who cares?
Not him. Not anymore.
But when the scorpenek droids show up, he doesn’t even try to hold back his cold, dark, mirthless laugh. Droids. Of course. It all comes full circle. Droids finishing what they started.
“We’ve got problems,” he announces to his battle-worn comrades tonelessly, the fatigue and hopelessness finally creeping into his voice. “Real problems.”
***
Instead of having to find Din, he finds you. Suddenly, you see him come out of nowhere. He is racing around a corner and down the street towards you. You slow down and wave at him with happy surprise.
He stumbles in shock when he sees you but quickly resumes sprinting in your direction.
“Turn around!”
“What?” You skid to a stop in confusion, not understanding what Din is yelling at you. Also, why is he running like that?
“Cyar’ika, what the kriff are you doing here?! TURN AROUND!” he hollers as loud as he can.
“Huh?”
You stand there astride the speeder bike, still not able to figure out what he’s trying to tell you. Din races towards you and, much to your surprise, vaults onto the bike. He lands heavily on the seat behind you. Immediately, Din reaches around your body and pulls you tightly against him with one arm while slamming the bike into gear with the other. The speeder bike fishtails up the street, rapidly gaining speed.
You look back over your shoulder and peer over Din’s pauldron to see what he’s trying to get away from. That’s when you see the two gigantic droids in hot pursuit, aiming their huge blaster cannons at you as they scuttle closer.
“Holy fucking shit, Din! Go faster! Go faster!”
“I. Am. Trying!”
The bike flys around the corner of a building so fast that you are nearly thrown from your seat. Din is riding the engine so hard that it’s making horrible squealing noises and the entire bike is vibrating with an alarming intensity.
To your dismay, you see a green head pop out of the saddlebag. “No, Grogu! Stay down!”
“Huh? Grogu?” Din twists his head back to see what you’re looking at and he does such a double-take that he nearly swerves into a market stall.
“Kid! Wha- what are you doing here?!”
The baby laughs and somehow manages to launch himself up into Din’s chest. You shriek and pluck Grogu out of the air. As you clutch him in your arms to keep him safe, Din claps his free hand over the small daredevil and squeezes his fingers lovingly around his tiny body.
“How did you get here? What are you even doing here? Hey! You got the shirt.”
The scorpenek droids are quickly gaining, on you, spraying down a shower of red bolts as they go. Your brain is stuck on a looping and unhelpful refrain. Not good, not good, not good at all. NOT GOOD!
A streak of plasma goes by, so close that you feel its heat on your cheek.
“DIN! Later! The droids!”
“Sorry, kid, we’re in a bit of a bind—“
A bit of a bind?! Oh, is that all this is?
“—so hang onto the pretty lady while I drive, ok?”
For a brief and utterly ridiculous moment you think to yourself, aw, he said I’m pretty! But before you complete the thought, a bolt of plasma finally hits the bike. Amidst the billowing smoke and shrapnel flying everywhere, your entire body is launched over the handlebars. You hold Grogu tight as you both go tumbling through the air.
Your body tenses as you anticipate your violent return to the planet's surface. All you can do is curl yourself around the baby to protect him as best you can from the collision. But before you make contact with the ground, Din grabs you with both arms and pulls you into his broad chest. He awkwardly twists in the air so it’s his back that collides with the street, allowing him to shield the two of you even as he takes the brunt of the fall.
When your bodies finally slide to a halt, Din staggers to his feet and drags you and Grogu towards the entrance of a building. He deposits you there as gently as he can. Which isn’t very gentle at all, but you can tell he’s trying.
“Stay here…stay safe,” he pants. “Let me…handle this.”
The next thing you know, he’s igniting some kind of laser sword and running towards the giant droids. Which is absolutely crazy because he obviously needs to be running away from them.
Din tries to hack through a scorpenek’s shield, but it’s of no use. You stare in horror as the droid’s cannons take aim at him. Your knight in shining armor looks truly vulnerable in your eyes for the very first time.
But then, a deafening roar echoes through the street.
It’s as if the world ceases to make sense. You simply can’t process the bizarre string of events that follow. A karking rancor is leaping into the fray? It claws at the droids’ shields until they weaken enough for Din to break through. His strange glowing sword, made up of only black and white light, is somehow slashing through the metal droid like a hot knife through butter. Meanwhile, the huge beast tears apart the other scorpenek. But unfortunately, it throws off its rider, another Mandalorian, in the process.
The rancor is confused without his master guiding him. And it’s angered by the blaster bolts that terrified citizens are firing at it in an attempt to protect their homes. Din flies upward with his jet back to try and take its reins, but the monster bats him away. Another attempt ends up with Din being shoved through a ceiling and then nearly bit in two. Finally, your hapless warrior is thrown into the middle of the street, where he lands with a thud in a crumpled heap. You run unthinkingly towards Din’s still, prone body, a raw scream ripped from your throat.
Undoubtedly, in another moment you both would have been devoured by the enraged rancor if not for that amazing green baby. He strolls into the middle of the road like it’s all no big deal. Somehow, Grogu calms the beast. He uses his inexplicable powers to lull it into a deep sleep and then happily curls up next to it, all worn out and in clear need of a nap before lunch.
As the dust settles, Din wearily reaches up and gently cups your face in his hands. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself.”
He pulls off his helmet to wipe away the blood trickling into his eye from a gash on his forehead. He’s bleeding, sweaty, and filthy. He’s also the best sight you’ve laid eyes on in your life and the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He glances over at Grogu and then back at you.
“I think I need a nap too.”
“Yeah. I guess you earned it.”
He chuckles and leans his head on your shoulder wearily. “I have absolutely no idea why you and my kid showed up in the middle of this shit show. But I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah you are. Someone had to make sure you don’t kill yourself. Really, Din. Please don’t try to ride anymore rancors.”
“Ok. I won’t. I’d much rather be your ride, mesh’la.”
You shake your head disbelievingly. “Are you really thinking about sex right now?”
“Yeah.” He kisses you deeply, the adrenaline in his body no doubt finding a new outlet. “You look pretty hot, all covered with sand and breathing heavy.”
“So do you,” you murmur. He tastes like iron and salt and his lips are slightly gritty with dirt. It’s the best kiss ever.
The next time your lips meet, you are interrupted by the celebratory roar of a Wookiee and the clanking approach of the green armored Mandalorian.
“Get a kriffing room, kids. I’ll even pay for it, Djarin. I owe you one.”
***
Din doesn’t make love. He fucks. Always hard, fast, desperate, hungry. In the past, sex was just a release, a way to distract himself. It allowed him to forget his worries for a while. It made it so that he didn’t have to think a single problematic or uncomfortable thought for a time. It let him ignore the loneliness and despair that followed him wherever he went.
But with you, it’s different. So, so different. It’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.
Right now, he only wants to run his hands over you so he can convince himself that you are safe. Din needs to feel every inch of you and make sure you’re whole. He wants to worship your perfect body, show you how overjoyed he is to have you in his arms again. He yearns to etch all the sweet and tender words he doesn’t know how to say into your skin.
Din wants to take his time. To breathe you in, hold you, and not let go. He wants to make you feel good simply because he wants to give you every good thing in the galaxy.
It’s the best room to be had in Mos Espa. Which isn’t saying much, but it’s still a nice thank you from Boba. The kid even has his own adjoining room. Predictably, the stubborn womp rat had refused to spend the night with Boba and Fennec. Din doesn’t push the matter much. He just washes up the sleepy child along with himself and then tucks the little guy into his ridiculously large bed. As he smears bacta over the worst of his bumps and bruises, Din indulges in a moment of peace. It’s that simple contentment he always feels when watching his ad’ika fall asleep. Once Grogu starts snoring softly, he tiptoes back to you in the adjoining suite.
The room is as far as possible from the noise and crowds of the city. It has the softest bed and prettiest view. There’s a little balcony, just big enough for two chairs, where the two of you can watch the binary sunset against a backdrop of striated cliffs and rolling golden dunes.
Din assumes he should order some wine or a nice dinner to be brought up. That would probably be the sweet, romantic thing to do. But all he really wants is to feel you against him.
“Ner riye, I need you,” he murmurs, pulling you close. He kisses you long and slow. So soft and gentle that you melt into him. Tears wet your eyelashes because of all the words he can't properly express but he knows you feel his kiss. After thoroughly covering your mouth and face and neck with his warm lips, he looks at you and smiles.
“Riye. In Mando’a it means…Um, it’s hard to explain in Basic. But it’s something or someone that makes your luck go from bad to good. A, uh, person turns things around when you meet them. Someone who changes your life for the better.”
Din feels his cheeks warm up and hopes you can’t tell in the waning light of the suns that he’s blushing. He’s never said this sort of thing to anyone. He hopes he’s not mucking it up too badly.
So he captures your lips in his once more to stop himself from further awkward rambling. Kisses you again and again until he can’t wait any longer to undress you. Din slips your tunic over your head with tender care. He lays you back on the soft white sheets and gently removes the rest of your garments.
His mouth and tongue dance over your heated skin while you sigh and pull him closer. When he reaches your breasts, he sucks at your nipples until they pebble and quiet moans fall from your lips. It’s such a beautiful sound. The prettiest he’s ever heard.
Din trails soft, open-mouthed kisses down your body, lets his warm breath fan out across your skin. His hands glide down the outside of your thighs and then slip between your knees. He opens your legs like he’s pulling apart his favorite fruit. You’re so soft and sweet and juicy. All for him alone.
“Maker, you're so perfect, cyar’ika. Everything I’ve ever wanted.” He whispers into your skin. “Wanna taste you and drink you down when you come on my tongue for me. Beautiful girl. Ner riye.”
You whine at his words and cant your hips towards him, which he takes as an enthusiastic yes. Din kneels on the floor devoutly to worship the very core of you. He licks into your weeping slit, sucks on your wet folds. Laps at that swollen little bud until you fist the sheets and your whimpers fill the air. Gods, he loves the noises you make for him.
“Din…Din…” Your fingers tangle in his hair and your nails scratch at his scalp. “More…more, please…” The sound of you begging makes his cock ache.
He slides a finger inside you, feels you clench around it. He adds another digit and you moan and drip until his hand is soaked.
You spread your legs wider for him, inviting him to drown in your wet, your warmth. He groans with pleasure at the feel of those silky smooth walls and pumps his fingers, finding the rhythm that makes you gasp the loudest. When he finds that special spot inside you, you arch your back and keen with pleasure.
“Good girl. Let me make you come. Want you to soak my face…you taste so fucking good.”
You’re panting now, at his words and his touch. He slips a third finger inside you and sucks on your throbbing clit. “So good for me,” he purrs when you start writhing beneath him.
“Din…feels so…oh, Maker! DinDinDinDin!”
When you gush into his mouth, he feels like he could come too from that feeling alone.
He devours you, working you through your release until you practically sob “Din, please, I want you inside me. I need you. Please...”
He couldn’t deny you anything right now even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to. He wants to bury himself inside you, fill you up, make you cry out in ecstasy. Cry out for him.
With a blissed-out groan, Din sinks into your warm clutch. His hips slot so perfectly against yours that it sends both of you reeling with pleasure. “Fuck, honey,” he groans, “you feel like heaven.”
He rocks his hips into yours, making you beg him for more as he thrusts in and out, your fingernails scraping deliciously down his back. He’s so deep inside you, it’s as if he could reach the very end of you. Moving faster, harder, Din zeroes in on the spots within you that make you tremble and sigh for him. He slams into the special places that he likes to think only he knows until you wrap around him even tighter. Everything distills down into the feeling of his cock plunging into your wet heat. He gives and gives and gives, desperately wanting to send you into the depths of bliss together.
“Gonna come for me, cyar’ika?”
“Yes, Din, yes, yes…”
His eyes rake over the lovely sight below him. “I  wanna feel you soak my cock. Be good for me, pretty girl. Let me watch you come. Fuck, you always look so beautiful when I make you come.”
He presses your knee to your chest so he can pound into you even deeper and at last, you fall apart. You shatter like glass, so hard that your whole body tenses and quivers beneath him as you coat him with your juices. You wail his name and tighten around his cock until he can hardly stand how good it feels. How good you feel.
But he isn’t ready to let up. Instead, he keeps railing into you, growling your name as your thighs tremble around him. When you regain your senses, you bite his muscular neck and push your hand against his chest. “Let me make you come now, baby.”
Fuck yes. His strong hands dig into your hips as he rolls onto his back, cursing with approval as you grind into him, your nails biting into his chest. You nip a line along his torso and slide off him so you can lick a long stripe down to his cock. Your mouth wraps around him, your tongue hot and throat hungry for him. Fuuuuuck. He grabs your thick hair without thinking, so lost in the feel of your soft lips and tongue that he can’t think straight.
You moan with pleasure and the sensation makes his eyes roll back into his head. “Fuck, honey, I’m gonna come down your throat if you don’t stop that. And I wanna come in your perfect little cunt.”
You slip off him with a pop and crawl up along his torso. He bites the inside of his mouth and squeezes the base of his cock, wanting to last longer so he can feel more of this. Of you.
When you sink back down on him, your eyes lock on his. A gaze so full of passion and something else he can’t read. Din thrusts up into you, pulls you down onto his cock, meeting each rock of your hips. Maker, you look so gorgeous in the moonlight, your face alight with pleasure. Soft hair, tousled from being pressed into the sheets. Lips swollen with his kisses. Your breasts, marked with red and purple blossoms from his mouth, bouncing each time you drop down and fully sheath his cock inside you. He groans your name, sighs about how good you feel. He’s enchanted by the sight and smell and touch of you.
Din growls and flips you onto your back again so he can grind into your clit. He wants to see you fall apart for him one more time. Make you feel so good that you won’t be able to remember a single word other than his name. He wants you to collapse into him, helpless in your bliss. Wants you to let go, press against him so you’re even closer. Closer, closer, as close as possible. Blurring the line between where you stop and he begins.
And you do. You scream and tremble and he topples over the edge with you. When he comes, he floods you with his hot, thick seed. Din gasps your name, calls you every sweet endearment he knows and truly means each one. He pulls you tight against him as he thrusts into you hard a few more times, riding out his orgasm. You flutter around him and he shudders at the feeling.
“Cyar’ika…you feel so, so good. You’re so good…so good to me,” he stutters.
All you can say in reply is his name, made precious because of how rarely he hears it, uttered like a prayer over and over again into the crook of his neck. The two of you cling together, basking in the joy of having found one another. Of sharing this perfect, glowing moment in the wake of all the pain and chaos that preceded it.
His breathing slows and a peaceful silence surrounds you both. A warm desert breeze flits in from the open balcony door and glides over your sweat-slicked bodies. A million stars twinkle in the night sky framed in the window, calling to him as always.
Din tilts his head to look into your eyes. Letting you see the secrets of his heart on his guileless face. He’s still so unused to masking emotions, but, for once, he’s glad of it.
“Do you…do you have anything keeping you here? On Tatooine?”
“Not really.” You sigh contentedly and roll onto your back, weaving your fingers with his. “Just my jobs and Anazir, I guess. My parents passed away years ago. Mom got sick. Dad was in a mining accident. My sister ran off to join the rebellion and she’s busy roaming the galaxy now. She wants to visit everywhere, see every planet in the sector.”
For a moment, there’s only the faint sound of insects singing in the night and deep breaths filling the air.
“And you? What do you want? Would you like to do that too? Go see new places?”
“Yes, someday. But good jobs are scarce here. Good pay is even scarcer.”
“Well, I wondered…I thought maybe you could, uh…” He pauses and clears his throat. At last, he gathers his courage and squeezes your hand.
“I thought maybe you could come with me. Me, and Grogu too, of course. Come with us to Mandalore. I’ve got some things to, um, take care of there.”
Your utter silence makes him nervous. “I mean, if you want. Only if you want. But I would like that.”
You stare up at him, eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Tears of sadness? Terror washes over him. In a panic, he figures he may as well play his last card. Tell you how he feels, what he truly wants. Dank farrik. Why is this harder than taking on that rancor?
He brushes a lock of hair behind your ear and gently presses his forehead to yours.“Come with me, ner riye. To Mandalore. Please. I don’t want to be away from you.”
You take a shaky breath and swipe at the corner of your eye. Maker, please, he hopes desperately, let those be tears of joy. Do people really cry with joy? How would he know? Everyone he grew up with had only a visor for him to see instead of real eyes.
Then you smile even as your eyes threaten to shed more those glimmering tears. You kiss him softly, trailing your fingertips over his cheek. “I don’t want to be away from you either, Din.”
“Then don’t be. Stay with me.” He feels his chest ache as his heart is laid bare. No armor to protect him, no helmet to hide behind. Vulnerable but taking this risk because it’s true. He just…needs you.
“Ok, then. Yeah. Let’s go to Mandalore.”
“Yes. Together.” His heart swells at the thought. “You, me, and the kid.” He cups your face in his hands as he kisses you, pouring everything he has into your smiling lips.
When he finally pulls away for a breath of air, he looks at your sweet face, so full of caring for him. For him. Imagine that.
Din is pretty sure he’s falling in love with you. He’s new to all this and generally an idiot when it comes to relationships of any kind, whether it’s with the child or friends or women or, basically, anyone not actively trying to kill him. But he’ll figure it out. Apparently, he’s doing ok so far because you have agreed to come with him.
It occurs to him that he’s no longer alone in the galaxy now. He has Grogu with him again. They’re a clan of two once more. Him and his amazing magical kid who grows more incredible by the minute.
And there’s you. You said you’ll go with him. He’ll have you by his side as he takes on whatever his uncertain future holds. You, with your soft smile, your heart on your sleeve, and your small, perfect hand tangled up with his.
Ner riye.
✨The End (at least for now?)✨
***
Riye - “As when a series of bad luck finally ends and good luck returns, so is riye. But riye, also, can indicate that a person is the representation of that good turn, or that favor. Like a person who, upon meeting, changes lives for the better.” -Quote from izzyovercoffee.tumblr.com from their amazing blog about Mando’a and all things relating to Mandalorian culture.
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Tagging those who interacted with previuous chapters: @lucky-pascal​ @ceapa-mica​ @pastel-0-princess​ @the-scandalorian​ @prolix-yuy​ @parkjammys​ @littlemousedroid @[email protected]​ @max–phillips​ @mandoblowmybackout​ @theewokingdead  @furious-rogue-stuff​ @nicolethered​ @herefortheheart​ @solidago-sempervirens​ @idunnobutithink​
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thenightmarketofdathomir · a month ago
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So I'm seriously going through my soft looking little person but hidden unexpected predator phase again, so! I was wondering if your okay with a request for the oppress brother's with a seemingly innocent mate who reveals their more primal features? Cat like slit eye's or retractable fangs? Bonus fluff if mate can purr or make little happy chirps, I can just picture them learning this and it just cements this idea of "this is mine, they've chosen me and i've chosen them"
The wonderful thing about the Night Market is that it often teems with oddities. Sometimes what you wish for, you get, but sometimes... sometimes it's a roll of sabacc dice.
A forward, friends: in my own headcanon, a mating bond is forged through magic -- a song answered between hearts who know each others' rhythms. So it doesn't matter if you're of a predatory species yourself (if the nexus on Dathomir guides you to one another, for example, then it doesn't matter if you're human and he's Zabrak. You'll find each other.)
But for the benefit of anon, here, and now that I've disclaimed my feelings about it: let's get to some monsterfucking snippets since we're all so set on setting that magical system nonsense aside for the moment... and if you're at all leery: I'm not saying the boys are the monsters in these scenarios.
In summary: A few surprises the first time they took you to bed.
Feral: You led him by the hand but you held him down by the throat. His choked surprise, hands gripping your thighs, your arms over your head, chasing down that release with your panties pulled off to the side. You lost yourself a little bit -- too excited to hold it all in. A lash of velvet and muscle wrapped his ankle... at first. Confusion, then, he opened his eyes to flip you over and, in your pleasure, seemingly of its own volition, it flicked at the underside of his chin before he caught it: pulling you into him by the root so that you groaned before you could hiss. He held onto the tip for a minute, the forked end wriggling in his fist. "Not too tightly," he told you, and as your tail slunk around his throat possessively and Feral put his hands on your hips, guiding you into more familiar rhythms.
Savage: You didn't mean to pop claws on him, but fortunately for you, he wasn't upset about the condition you left his sheets, not the mattress, nor the bedspread. The pillow feathers floating everywhere he might've done without, but he plucked you off the headboard where you were clinging -- post-coital, panting, and still rigid -- and set you down with a tenderness in a cradle of destruction with a chuckle. He even kissed your temple tenderly. "You were utterly vicious," he murmured into your cheek. Completely feral for him, you thought... and that's when you saw the marks you left on him. "Nothing a bit of bacta can't fix," he assured you, nuzzling your throat until you calmed down, growing supple under his ministrations. Later, he'll buy you claw polish to match his.
Maul: He always said you had a forked tongue. Maybe he was reminded of that old insult when you wrapped it around him, indulging in the way he gripped your head when you took to pleasuring him: knees spread, hands on his knees, nose right up against his durasteel plating. You were careful, you thought, if enthusiastic, and he only frowned at the shock when you brought yourself off having barely touched yourself but found yourself stuck -- jaw open and eyes rolling. "Darling," was a note of warning. You could only squeeze your eyes shut. "Eyes up." You remembered to breathe through your nose as you blinked up at him, the membrane receded to reveal your secrets: doe-eyed and innocent, but slit down the centre as you drooled over his cock, one fang stuck in the silicon member. You whimpered, but he smirked as he helped you off of him, "I appreciate your enthusiasm, my dear."
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trixree · 3 months ago
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When they finally catch up to this latest branch of the illegal exotic animal trade, they do so in a dingy warehouse nestled deep within the Lowers. It’s the cliche of all cliches—an enormous space that reeks of mildew and raw sewage, various incompetent goons playing sabacc atop upturned crates and smoking death-sticks, rusty doors that are so ancient they have literal hinges that squeal and shriek when touched.
What Hound couldn’t have predicted is the bird.
It’s not all that big compared to some of the other animals here. In fact, it’s actually pretty small—its body is about the size of a large grapefruit. It isn’t the most vibrant animal, either. There are all sorts of creatures in here, crammed into too-tiny cages, in all sorts of gaudy colorations, with fangs and without fangs, with wings and without wings, small and large, liable to eat a person and not. It’s just sort of… green, with a pale gray face and chest. And round. It’s so round and puffy.
As the rescue guys come in and start to catalog and care for the animals, Hound notices that the Commander is… lingering by the bird. They’re a bizarre mirror of each other, the bird’s little head tilted at the exact same angle as Fox’s.
“What’cha got there, Commander?” Hound says.
The little puffy bird opens its beak and says, plain if but a bit croaky, “44th and 12th!”
“It talks?” escapes Hound.
“44th and 12th! 19th, eh?” the bird replies.
“I think they’re cross-streets,” Fox says.
The bird makes a series of clicking sounds, picks up one clawed foot, and begins to nibble gently at its nails, apparently finished with them. It is the clearest dismissal Hound has ever seen. This is saying something, seeing as Hound works with the Commander every day and the man's only hobby is dismissing subordinates with apathy.
“You think it picked up information from these fuckos?” he indicates the goons that his squad is busy loading into the prison transport with a thumb jerked towards the open door.
In reply, Fox begins to fiddle with the lock on the bird’s cage. It isn't actually a reply at all, Foxy. Please stop that, Foxy. You don't know where this creature has been.
The creature stops its nail care, one foot still raised, to watch him attentively. When the metal door swings open, Fox holds up one gauntlet, palm down, and waits.
After a moment’s consideration, the bird takes one little hop and perches on Fox’s hand.
“Good girl,” Fox praises her. This is a momentous occasion, as Hound is fairly certain he has never heard anything even remotely close to praise escape Fox’s mouth. The closest they've come is Fox telling Sargeant Dogma, "You're alright." The Sargeant wept. Fox was repulsed. Since then, there has never been a repeat occasion.
“Uhh, Commander?” Hound tries, despairing as the bird climbs its way up Fox’s arm towards his shoulder bell, blunted little claws click-clacking against plastoid until she settles at Fox’s neck and resumes her preening.
“We’ll take her back to HQ and see if she can give us any more information,” Fox says. His tone brokers no questions.
Hound has questions.
“She?”
Fox’s deadpan stare can be felt through his bucket. He says, reaching up to scratch gently at the bird’s fluffy little cheeks, “I’m naming her Hound.”
________________________
Word of Hound spreads through the barracks like wildfire. Human-Hound, as everyone is now calling him, despairs.
It turns out that Hound the Lesser had heard a whole lot more than just cross-streets where deals were taking place. She has a broad vocabulary from names to addresses to a colorful array of curses in many languages. Some of these curses might come from Fox himself, who has not let Hound out of his sight since acquiring her.
Thorn claims that he saw Fox brushing his teeth with Hound curled up and sleeping in Fox’s pocket. Stone says that he saw Fox feeding her bites of his lunch: a single apple. Thire claims nothing but laughs loudly whenever Hound complains about his usurper.
If Hound didn’t care about animals so much—all animals, even terrible little name-stealing birds—he might be tempted to do some off-leash training with Grizzer right around Fox’s office. But alas, Hound could never, and so he resigns himself to his fate. And the worst part of it?
For some reason, the bird hates him.
Thorn had hypothesized that it was the teeth painted on Hound’s bucket that is so off-putting. But when Hound enters Fox’s office on this bright and sunny Coruscant morning, sans-bucket, a green projectile flies at his fucking face—
Hound ducks with a cry, clattering noisily into the doorframe.
Fox’s little demon screams an ear-shattering scream of avian triumph.
“Good girl, Hound,” Fox praises. He clicks his tongue and the demonic creature returns to him, perching on a little metal stand—that’s new; where the fuck did he get it?—on Fox’s desk. “Human-Hound," Fox greets him.
Cautiously, Hound straightens out of his defensive crouch against the door. “Commander,” he grouses. “Why did your beast attack me?”
Fox has not yet looked up from his datapad. Without pause or hesitation, he reaches into a drawer of his desk and produces what looks like some sort of nut. He passes this nut to Hound, who takes it daintily in one claw and transfers it to her beak. Staring at Hound, she cracks said nut open and begins to chew.
“Training,” Fox says.
“Training?”
At this, Fox looks at him. Hound would really rather prefer Fox didn’t look at him with such disdain, but he’ll take what he can get. Fox tends to look at everyone with disdain, except for his avian monstrosity, Sergeant Dogma, and Commander Thorn.
“Did you need something, Sergeant?”
Hound sighs and steps forward with his datapad stack. “Yeah. Here,” he offers the stack up, eyeing the bird warily. At least her mouth is occupied with her treat. Less chance of getting bitten. Getting bitten? Fucking sucks.
Fox takes them with a wordless grumble and starts scrolling through the order. Hound eyes up Hound. Her little metal perch is, inexplicably, welded to the top of Commander Fox’s desk--a fixture as permanent as Fox’s under-eye bags.
Fantastic.
“Where’d you get that?” Hound asks, tipping his head at the perch.
“Pretty, pretty bird,” Hound croaks at him in her strange raspy bird-voice. He’s certain she’s just issued a challenge to him. He’s less certain of what this challenge actually is.
Fox gives him a withering look. “You were there,” he says.
“Not the bird! The perch!”
“I made it.”
“You made it?”
“Nar’sheb,” contributes Hound.
Hound gapes. “Did she just tell me to ‘shove it up my ass’?”
Fox barks out a laugh. It’s terrifying. Hound wants it to stop. He wants it to stop yesterday. Commander Fox laughing is simply unnatural, like General Yoda in an evening gown or Senator Binks speaking with a Coruscanti accent.
Fox offers his denizen of evil another nut.
“I’m leaving,” Hound says, backing slowly towards the door. "Just get me those 'pads... whenever."
All of Hound the Lesser’s attention is on him as she holds the nut between her skinny little claws. And then she begins to bounce, head bobbing rapidly up and down.
Fox starts to laugh. Again.
Hound rushes from the office like his life depends on it. Frankly, it just might.
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notquiteaghost · 3 months ago
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i’m referencing this in the next part of filt & taking the opportunity to admit to myself i’ll never write anything more than this tiny snippet, so here is a tiny drabble inspired by this art
----
Lots of things go on amongst his men that Cody pretends to know nothing about. He’d spent long enough breaking the longnecks’ rules, he knows to pick his battles. The sabacc games, the alcohol stills, the betting pools, they’re inevitable. He’d rather reprimand for the shit that gets people killed.
But Waxer and Boil seem determined to test the absolute limits of his patience.
“A ship,” Cody says, flatly. “A battlecruiser, the flagship of the Outer Rim fleet, the ship engaged in more combat than half the rest of the Navy put together– They brought a litter of kittens, barely old enough to not need bottle feeding, onto my flagship battlecruiser–”
“Darling,” Obi-Wan interjects, far too amused for his own good, “I can hear your blood pressure rising.”
Cody does not make a noise of inarticulate rage. He closes his eyes, and lets out a long breath, because if he let himself shout every time he had the urge his vocal cords would be long beyond repair.
“They’re good for morale,” Obi-Wan adds.
“Stop goading me into sparring when your ribs are still cracked,” Cody replies. He pulls his bucket off to run a hand through his hair, then over his face. “Why did it have to be tookas.”
Obi-Wan stands up from his desk, and walks over to where Cody is standing just in front of the door, which he’d barely let shut behind him before he started his tirade. “Because,” Obi-Wan says, curling a hand round Cody’s head, thumb massaging his temple, “it's Waxer and Boil, and they have some kind of latent Force sense specific to small creatures in peril?”
Cody huffs. His headache is already starting to recede. “Usually they have the good sense to leave them on-planet.”
“Any man who can walk away from a baby tooka is not a man I want in my army.”
“I want a divorce,” Cody says, as he pulls Obi-Wan into his arms and tucks his head into the curve of Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “There was definitely something in our vows about always taking my side.”
Cody’s armour starts to unclasp and fall gently to the floor, so Obi-Wan can move his hands to Cody’s shoulders. If the war ever ends, his Jedi could make a killing as a masseuse. “Cody, dearest,” Obi-Wan says, smile still audible, “I love you, and I will absolutely leave you in a heartbeat for a litter of kittens.”
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djarrex · 10 months ago
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I'm Not Going Anywhere
Echo x f!reader
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masterlist | read on ao3
Upon the return from the what was supposed to just be a rescue mission of his sergeant, Echo goes to pick you up from where he'd safely left you at Cid's. You're quick to notice that this particular mission broke him just a little more than he normally lets on. Conveniently, it's the first time the two of you have had a chance to be alone in too long - the short yet perfect opportunity to comfort one another served up on a silver platter.
EXPLICIT | 18+ only | ABOUT 2.2k words | established relationship, hurt/comfort, 'almost died sex' in a way, piv, some thigh riding, angst, fluff
| masterlist | read on ao3 |
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"You... almost died. Fuck, Echo, you almost died."
It’s not intentional - the words coming out harsher and with more bite than how you’d heard them your head, but, you know he understands. It's fear, even though he's standing in the very room you’re in - as himself and not as an apparition. He’s alive, and back on Ord Mantell with the rest of the squad as they always are following a mission.
The sound of his helmet being set down on a chair punctuates Echo's hum of acknowledgment, not agreeing nor disagreeing with your statement, but merely listening, understanding. With your face buried in your hands, you try your hardest to swallow a sob, but he knows you all too well; he knows every little thing you do in order to try to hide your emotions - including the lashing out when afraid, and the hiding when on the verge of tears. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body in the silence as he inches closer to you - nothing yet but calm breaths and soft sighs escaping his lips. As he shifts to kneel down between your parted legs, you hear his armor shuffle against the hard floor - his metal knees knocking against the surface - and then five, gloved digits are ghosting over all ten of yours where they're secure against your eyes.
He's silent - patient. This isn't the first time you've teetered on the edge of a breakdown upon Echo's miraculous return. Your hands are pliant, jelly-like - too easily pulled away from your face before being held tightly in his atop your thigh. You're slightly higher up than he is with your position sat on the bed and him kneeling before you, and you quickly avert your eyes with a turn of your head to stare at his helmet where it rests on the seat of the chair that sits beside the bed and against the dull-painted, peeling wall. It stares back.
Fuck - he's waiting for you to speak first. Like always. Echo never wants to say the wrong thing, and, well, it's sweet. He'd rather listen, and at times, that's all you want him to do. His voice, though - you need to hear it right now.
"I'm not sure what I would do if I lost you... I don't- I don't think I could-"
"I'm not going anywhere," he quickly assures. "Look at me." Echo's gentle request is simultaneous with the releasing of your joined hands as he moves to pinch your chin between his fingers. "Look what I've survived." He raises his right arm - the scomplink whirring as he rotates it in presentation. "I've made it out many times before, darling. There is nothing that I can't handle. You know that... you've seen that."
You can't help it, but your eyes glue themselves to the limb that has long since been stripped of its flesh and bone and adds to the notion that your love is more machine than man - ‘percentagewise’, Tech has said in the past, though he is human where it counts: his heart, among other things. His head slides into your vision, making you turn your attention back to him and that's when you see it - the look in his eyes. It's... different. Normally Echo wears the same expression post-mission - akin to one worn by a skilled sabacc player - to hide his emotions. Even with you, when in the presence of others.
But it's different right now. Echo takes this rare, one-on-one time with you and allows himself to indulge in wearing the face of how he truly feels. It's minute, still - the sadness engrained in his features - but not completely stoic. There is no reason to hide it in this moment.
"Are you okay," you whisper to him - his brows pinching closer together as he watches the way you search his honey eyes for an answer. Brushing your fingers across his cheek, it's his turn to lower his gaze. "It's just us," you affirm softly. "It's okay... I'm here. Echo, my love, I'm sorry."
Your sorrowful voice that speaks such sweet apologies is clearly unexpected and has his head quickly tilting upwards and meeting your eyes once again. Confusion laces his features as you apologize again and again; you wrap your arms around his head and pull him into your stomach. His hand - unsure of where to position itself at first - crawls around your hip to press into your lower back, returning your embrace. You are sorry. You're sorry that he feels he needs to hide his true emotions all the damn time, you’re sorry that he's experienced things that no living thing should ever have to, and you're sorry that his home had just collapsed into the sea it'd once stood tall over.
It's comforting silence as you hold him to you - something you both desperately need. Echo just lost his home, the place where he was created and raised, where he overcame the struggles of working with his batch and they graduated against all odds, where he became an ARC, where he stayed while he healed upon his rescue by his current squad and former CO's, where he bunked with the rest of his squad when not flying through the galaxy in the Maurader. Echo had watched it all come crumbling down - literally, and while he was still within those burning walls. You don't yet ask for the details of Hunter's rescue and how they’d managed to make it out of there in one piece; it's not the right time - Echo is still grieving for his homeworld, for his fallen brothers who'd died to protect it the the past, which arguably could now be deemed as sacrifices that were all for nothing.
Slowly pulling back from you, Echo wipes a tear that had paused its decent across your cheek. He looks at you with all the love and appreciation in the galaxy - making your eyes swell with even more tears. You shouldn't be the one who's crying.
"When are the guys expecting us to be back?" you ask with a sniffle - wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. Echo was sent to come and retrieve you from Cid's; they'd left you here before heading out to rescue Hunter, with Cid's hard-earned approval, and she even allowed you to stay in one of the parlor's spare rooms - the same closed-off room the two of you are alone in now.
"Well, I came to get you and to toss some credits Cid's way for the room. I believe we're going to rendezvous with Rex after refueling and restocking our supplies."
You hum - the corner of your lips tugging slightly upwards - considering.
"We're alone, love. For once," you point out - standing up from your seat on the bed, an action that he mirrors. "Can we- can we steal just a little bit of time for ourselves? To be with one another, even if just for a little while?"
Not even a second later and Echo's lips have crashed into yours - starving, desperate, yet tender. Arms flying up to wrap around his neck, your bodies press impossibly close together and that's how they remain as walks you the two steps towards the bed - the backs of your knees hitting the edge of the cheap mattress, causing you to fall backwards with Echo following on top. He's quick to roll under you, a pleasant change of positioning with his heavy armored-body now below you. As his tongue sweeps along the wet seam of your lips, his hand begins to knead and squeeze the clothed flesh of your ass. Your toes curl when his tongue starts its slow dance with yours in tandem with the shift in his armored thigh wedged between your legs and up against your clothed cunt. Absentmindedly, you rock your hips against his leg - grinding yourself against the smooth, hardness of his thigh plate and you moan into his open mouth when he bends his leg just the slightest to catch on your clit.
"Echo..." you breathe his name into the hot cavern of his mouth - his hand pressing into your ass and guiding your movements against him. After weeks and weeks of not having a chance to be alone with him like this, it's starting to feel like too much but still not enough. "I want you." To make your point, your hand trails down his chest plate and abdomen to find its home against his codpiece - squeezing it hard and shifting it up and down to give him a semblance of sensation down there beneath the pesky armor.
"Baby, take it off," he instructs with a groan - capturing your bottom lip between his teeth. "You know how."
Fuck, yeah, you do.
With practiced and skilled movements, the hindrance comes undone and is tossed onto the floor. There's not enough time to strip him down, to have him vulnerable and open and himself, so slipping his already painfully hard cock out from his blacks will have to make do. He's peeling your leggings and underwear off your hips and you assist with guiding them the rest of the way off before the discarded material joins his codpiece on the floor.
Echo hisses against your temple when your fingers wrap around his shaft - guiding the blunt head though your slicked folds before pumping his cock with the natural lubrication. Your lips return to his as he breaches you - your lower half sinking down against him, slowly, while his hand slides under your tunic to rub soothing circles against your heated flesh. Tongues languidly swirl together, matching the lazy speed of the upwards thrusts of his hips, and you cradle his thin cheeks between your palms as Echo tenderly fucks up into you - deep and deliberate.
It's just so long overdue. The steady rhythm you’ve found yourselves in, the precise angle accompanying the exquisite slide of his cock within your walls, has you swallowing each other’s moans and chests heaving into one another. It doesn't take long for the fire in your belly to spread to your toes, and you know Echo isn't too far from it, either. He's worked up - achingly so; his body screams for release but he's also tired. Worn. Sad. Having witnessed as well as being victimized by the truly terrible things that this new Empire is capable of is breaking him down more and more each day; the pieces of him that are still human are being held together only by the love you share for one another.
What would one of you do if the other were to go?
Almost like he can read your mind, Echo's grunts and labored breaths filter through your lips as the arm that's wrapped around your back presses you into him even tighter, like you'd slip right from his grasp as sand would through parted fingers. Moving to shower his face and neck in soft, open mouthed kisses, you echo his words in your head before speaking them against his jaw:
"I'm not going anywhere."
He very noticeably shudders at your words - his body tensing and thrusts stuttering then slowing way down.
You decide to take over. One of your hands crawls downwards to push his hip against the bed - it's not a hard press, you're not strong enough to actually hold him steady, but it's the gesture he so instantly understands. Echo keeps his body completely flat against the sheets, unmoving, as you raise your hips - the curve at the head of his cock catching against the rim of your entrance before sinking back down. You bury your face into his neck to muffle your combined sounds of pleasure and concentration, and work yourself up and down his girthy length in a euphoric tempo. Rolling your hips, grinding down, and rising up and down are the motions you alternate between and it has him breathing out deep, choked-out exhales into the room. His arms - both flesh and metal - keep your upper half perfectly pressed against his hard armor and everything inside of you tightens like never before. With a muffled mewl into his neck, teeth scraping along the rough flesh of the apple of his throat, you clench hard around his throbbing cock as your orgasm steadily buzzes through you. Echo's right there - the resistance put up by your fluttering walls strangling him when he briefly takes over to chase his own release.
The familiar blooming of that liquid warmth inside of you makes you whimper, and Echo's lips return to yours as you ride out the final wave together. Your tongues resume that tender, slow dance, twirling together with love and passion and has you humming into it. His arms don't loosen, you stay pressed tightly against him and his armor, his softening cock stays sheathed inside of you while you both float back down to reality. You're out of time, you both know this, but it's becoming increasingly difficult to find the will to separate from one another - the removal of yourselves from this comfort. Eventually, you'll have to lift off of Echo; he'll slide out of you and your combined releases will trickle out of you, he’ll tell you to lay back down while he finds something to clean you up with, he’ll secure his codpiece back on after redressing you, and you’ll walk out of the room hand-in-hand to throw some appreciative credits Cid’s way. You’ll then head back to the Marauder, to the guys, and they’ll brief you on the horrid details while on the way to meet with Rex. 
You don’t think you want to hear those details.
You know Echo doesn’t want to relive it.
-
tags: @bvcketfvcker @deewithani @chromia7567 @threevie @letitrainathousandflames @thefact0rygirl @justanothersadperson93 @ohtobeamoth @14mcmd1122 @tacticalsparkles @cheesemachine44 @damerondala @buckethead-over-heels @kriffclone @purgetroopercody @socially-anxious-fangirl @cloneygoodness @marya-komar @beskarprincessjenny @awkward-katiesaur @katiebits1 @kawaiitimecharm @shiny-mando @sapphichorrorpictureshow @fat-zygerrian @foodandbooksplease @the-siren-writes-it @ken-obiwan @parkotedarasuum @dinner-djarin @howie-ner-cyare @99squad @chewychewyque @obiwan-djarin @vaderthepotater @blackrose4242 @the-sad-batch @quantumowl @queen-simp @kaorikoizumi @mylifeinthetardisforever @sitherin-mxschief @alucas528 @escapedthesarlacc @sydnubabu @megalinditron @whatanoof @4rosydreams @ahsoka1 @colorfulloverbatturkey @venomous-ko @monako-jinn-stories @paige6768 @diagonallie5400 @bambiswriting @galacticgraffiti @commxnderwolffe @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @jediknightdjarin @mustluvgd
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obiwanobi · a year ago
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Catch me thinking about sith Anakin who got in a fight w/ Palps (did Palps cross a line? Did Anakin decide he had nothing to lose? Idk), barely managed to win and is now seriously hurting and a little freaked out winding up outside Obi-wan's quarters and Obi-wan doesn't have time to draw his saber let alone figure out how a sith lord managed to get so far into the jedi temple unnoticed and Force is that blood? before Anakin's passing out with only a murmered request for help.
LISTEN you can’t keep sending me perfect prompts, how do you know I can’t resist bloody men on their knees begging for salvation, how do you know me so well??? anyway here’s 2.3k of always-a-sith!Anakin who could have been the new ruler of the empire but said ‘no thanks, this is too much responsibility, I would like to be pampered by my favourite jedi now’ (with a bit of Ahsoka as Obi-Wan’s padawan!)
 He didn’t mean to kill him.
Well, not at first.
He didn’t mean to kill Sidious, but pulling his lightsaber from his lifeless corpse only felt like complete satisfaction. A weight on his shoulders he didn't know he carried disappeared, letting him stand up above the body of his master— former master, and gaze upon what was left of him. A shapeless form on the ground. A dark cape around an old man playing at being a god. A begging mess of futile promises when he realised it was the end for him.  
As mindless fury leaves him, his ragged breathing slows down and his fist unclenches around his saber. Sidious is dead. Now that the adrenaline rush is gone, his knees start shaking. His Master is dead. His face is wet with sweat and blood and tears. Dead and now Anakin has no one.
And then...  And then fear.
"You know," Ahsoka groans as the water starts boiling, "I don't understand how you got your reputation of Cool Jedi Master. Other padawans think I'm lying when I tell them you wear the ugliest slippers at home and gets excited by new tisanes."
"You gifted me those slippers."
"As a joke. And you still wear them."
"I'm not going to throw away perfectly good slippers." Obi-Wan wiggles his toes under the red and yellow fuzzy monstrosities, just to see his padawan rolls her eyes. "And they're really comfortable."
"So you're just going to stay there, then? Your whole battalion is out celebrating our first day of leave since forever, but you prefer to drink your tea alone and go to bed at 22:00?"
"No one wants an authority figure around when they're letting loose and celebrating, Ahsoka," Obi-Wan says, pouring hot water in his cup. He raises the kettle towards his padawan as a question, to which she shakes her head. "I thought you would be happy to see me putting sleep before work for once."
"I am, Master, but I thought it could be..." She trails off, fidgeting with the hilt of her sabers. For once, she looks like a typical padawan, just like he was at her age, dying to enjoy one night away from the temple and any kind of responsibilities.
"It's alright my dear," he sighs, "you can join them if you want."
Ahsoka suddenly perks up. "I can?"
"If you're old enough to be sent to the front, I think you can handle yourself for one night on Coruscant."
"Thank you Master! I promise I'll be careful and not come back too late!"
"You do that, and-- wait, Ahsoka," he adds as she's already halfway through the door, "make sure to stay around Cody! And no alcohol of any kind! And don't lose your lightsaber at sabacc again!"
"That was you!" she yells from the end of the corridor, "don't worry, I'll be fine! Don't wait for me to go to bed! Goodnight Master!"
Obi-Wan smiles, blowing on his cup. He already sent a message to Cody earlier to keep an eye on her, so he knows she's in good hands.
He has his herbal tea, his ugly slippers, no reports to read or write, and no immediate Separatist menace to plan for. For once, a perfectly good night to catch up on sleep and meditation.
So, of course, something has to be wrong.
The Force is bright. The Force is lighter than it has ever been for the past few years.
And Obi-Wan can't understand why.  
It's not just him that can feel it: Ahsoka has acted chipper since, more like the teenager she is, laughing with the clones and playfully teasing him the whole fly back to Coruscant. The temple has felt livelier than ever when they arrived, Jedi from all ages going about their day with a new spring in their step, greeting each other warmly in the corridors. Even Master Yoda has taken a few minutes during their Council meeting to note the shift in the Force. No Master could pinpoint the origin of this change, but all agreed that something good happened somewhere in the galaxy, and they were just feeling ripples of the effect in the Force.
Still now, the whole temple feels a bit more like it used to, before the war, and all Jedi are a bit happier without knowing why.
Only Obi-Wan feels like a noose tightening around him. Whatever it is, it's slowing making its way around his presence in the Force. Focusing on him and him alone. Doesn't matter how much Obi-Wan tries to hide himself, it's getting closer and never slowing down or losing interest.
Needless to say, Obi-Wan has a bad feeling about this.
But after almost three years of war, sullen faces and grim expressions, he doesn't feel like dampening the sudden good mood around the Temple just with a few words. He can probably deal with whatever it is by himself.
His tisane is cold when he finally emerges from his meditation. Nothing is clearer than when he started: the Force is deaf to his questions and inquiries, still light as a breeze. An airy unconcern for his restlessness. And yet, a thick pressure still looms around him, getting heavier each passing second now.
His fingers start pulling on his collar.
The clock on the wall indicates that he lied to Ahsoka when he said he was going to bed at a respectable time today. No diurnal Jedi would still be up right now, but he still considers going out to knock at Mace's door. Narrowed eyes and a very long sigh will be his first answer, but Obi-Wan knows that Mace would never refuse to hear him out. Yes, he finally decides when the pressure seems to creep even closer to him, it's worth waking up Mace.
He opens his door, wondering if he should take his robe with him, and instantly stops walking.
There, in the empty corridor of the Jedi Temple, at his door and on his knees, is a Sith. He knows it's a Sith only because he recognises this specific mass of hair, the large shoulders, the dishevelled dark robe. He knows it's a Sith because he has crossed path with this one enough times on the battlefield to recognise him anywhere. Outside of it a few times too. He isn't sure it's a Sith when the Sith raises his head up, bloody and bruised face torn in an agonizing expression, and his eyes are blue.
"I— I didn't know where to go," Darth Vader says quietly, with the kind of voice expected from a lost child. It gives Obi-Wan a second shock to hear his voice, making his presence suddenly real. "You said... You said if I ever wanted to, if I needed help one day, you would— I could—"
Obi-Wan remembers it. He remembers all the times he offered his help. His pleas for him to stop the violence, the appeals to reason, the multiple suggestions of a gentler path. His hand continuously outreached but never taken. He remembers the burning gold of the Sith's eyes too, and his black cape floating above the dead clones at his feet.
His laughter the first time Obi-Wan brought up the idea of lowering their blades and talking around a cup of tea. His sneer the third time Obi-Wan tried to change his misconceptions about the Jedi Order and play-flirt with him in the same breath. The silence the fifth time Obi-Wan asked him his name, his real name, the one a parent gave him.
The tears the last time he gave it to him.
"And you're always trying to save me," Vader adds more forcefully now, like the words anger him, "you're always here, showing up almost every time I'm sent somewhere with your stupid smile and stupid words, and you're always nice, and... and teasing, and disappointed when I kill someone, like you expect me to be better, and I don't understand you, but..."
Vader raises his hand towards him, and it's only this sudden move that shakes Obi-Wan out of his stupor. Before the Sith can touch his leg, Obi-Wan calls his lightsaber to him, ignites it in one fluid motion, half-expecting Vader to be up and swaying his saber in his face by now. But the Sith is still on his knees, and it's only now that the blue light of his blade is above him that Obi-Wan realises the state he's in. His face isn't the only thing bruised and battered: his dark tunic is stained with blood and ripped in more than one place, one of his arms is bent in an unnatural way, and it looks like a cut above his hairline is still bleeding, making his curls stick to his face in a mess of wet hair and burned skin.
"Vader," Obi-Wan says slowly, when his thoughts finally regain a semblance of coherence. A rapid investigation through the Force assures him that no other enemy is around and the calm and quiet of the night in the Temple isn't a prequel for a storm. "How did you get in here? What are you doing here? How—"
Vader's hand, stuck in the space between them, reaches once again for Obi-Wan. Foolishly, Obi-Wan lets him. His fingers twist themselves in the fabric of his pants.
"He made me killed them all.” Vader wobbles on his knees for a second, the hand on Obi-Wan's leg gripping it tighter. “No platoons, no battle droids. Just me. He sent me to the power station and I cut through them so easily, so quickly, they didn't even fight back, and I didn't think that..." he trails off, panting. "Until.... until I saw the electro-whips." 
"Are you talking about Naphtla?" he asks when Vader doesn't seem to be able to continue.
Naphtla. Outer Rim. Barely on the Republic radar until this afternoon, when nearby troops answered a distress signal and found a hidden Separatist power station operated by slaves. A third of them were dead, killed only a few hours before, and the survivors turned to the Republic for immediate support. Slaughtered like animals, the rescue team reported to the Council only a few hours ago, by one single man wielding a red lightsaber. According to witnesses, the darksider cut through the slaves like bantha butter, killing everyone in his path without discrimination, until he stopped for no apparent reason and abruptly left.
"You were the one who killed the people at the station there," Obi-Wan realises out loud, horrified, "the slaves from Zygerria."
Vader snaps his head up and his fingers tighten painfully around Obi-Wan's knee. "I DIDN'T KNOW!"
All Obi-Wan's senses and logical thoughts urge him to back out, put an end to this nonsensical charade, raise his lightsaber between them, get away from the dark, hungry void Vader generates in the Force.
But his eyes are looking up to him. Gripping his gaze with the same intensity as his hand on his leg. Bloodied face and pleading, on his knees. Full of tears.
Obi-Wan doesn't push Vader's hand away.
"I didn't know they were slaves, I didn't!"
"Vader."
"He never said! He sent me without telling him, he knows I don't—" A small noise sounding suspiciously like a sob swallows the rest of his words.
"Vader, who sent—"
"When I came back," he tries again, quieter. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to ask about this he, but Vader's head lolls for a second, too heavy to support, before butting gently against Obi-Wan's leg. Vader makes no effort to move, content to stay there, and after a second, a small, almost timid nuzzle against his thigh sends a series of shivers through Obi-Wan's spine. It shuts him up instantly. "When I came back, he looked at me for so, so long, before saying that he knew, he knew I was going to fail, that I was... just like them after all, and that I could never... And I was so mad, so angry at him, so I... I..."
The last words are muffled by the fabric Vader clings to. Hides into. There's blood on Obi-Wan's pants now.
"What have you done, Vader?" Obi-Wan asks, softer than he intended. "Vader," he asks again when no reply comes, without success. The hand not holding his lightsaber moves, hesitates for a moment, then settles lightly on Vader's hair, mindful not to touch any open wounds. His fingers nudge him to tip his head back, gently, carefully, and settle on his cheek to hold his face up, looking at him. "Anakin." His name, his true name, makes him blink a few times. "Anakin, what have you done?"
"I killed him," he finally admits, barely audible. He looks exhausted, more like a child in need of rest than ever.
"Who did you kill?"
"My master."
"Dooku? You killed Dooku?"
"No," Vader— Anakin frowns, like Obi-Wan should know better. "Sidious."
It's a bit much to process in one day. Another Sith Lord, Vader's master, concealed and kept a secret, now dead, killed by his apprentice —and does that make Vader the ruling Sith Lord now? Do Sith have rulers?— the lightness in the Force the same day, a half-dead Vader begging for help in the middle of the night in the Jedi Temple, and all of that while Obi-Wan is still wearing his ugly slippers.
He's so glad he sent Ahsoka away for the night.
Anakin doesn't let him time to feel the migraine coming.
"I can't do it, I can't be my master, I can't— and Dooku hates me, he will never help me, even if I let him have it all, he will never..." Vader seems to run out of steam, and lets his eyes close as his head falls once again against Obi-Wan's thigh. Closer. "You said you could help me. You said I could come to you at any time. You said you would always be there if I didn't want to... do this, anymore."
"I did," Obi-Wan assures him, his hand lightly petting his hair again.
Anakin lets out a long breath. His fingers tighten on the fabric of Obi-Wan's pants, loosen, and tighten again.
"You're the only one I trust," the Sith quietly tells the Jedi, and it's the saddest thing Obi-Wan has ever heard.
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mandocrasis · 10 months ago
Text
Always You
Tumblr media
gif by the incredibly talented @bestintheparsec
Pairing: Din Djarin x Mandalorian F!Reader (Paz’s sister)
Rating/Word Count: M / 4.3k
Warnings: some fighting, tiny bit of sexual references/language
Summary: The Covert is ransacked and you and Paz are looking for other Mandos who might have made it off world. You don't expect to find him.
A/N: What’s this? Another fic when I should be working on the other two? Yep because my brain said “I want Din to have a Mando lady & she’s Paz’s sister” and wouldn’t let go. See end of chapter for some additional notes. Reader has no name other than her last name and is petite - otherwise there are no other physical markers for her.
Series Masterlist + Next Chapter
Part 1
It's dim in your chosen corner of the cantina. Most don't even notice you tucked away in the back booth and those who do avert their eyes quickly. It's better that way and despite the fact that most have never seen a Mandalorian, it's clear that the stories of your people's abilities have not been forgotten.
There's no food or drink on the table before you, but the droid bartender won't be kicking you out anytime soon. They know you'll leave when you're good and ready, taking some food and drink to go. If you're feeling generous you'll even grab some for your ori’vod, providing him with something more than ration bars as fuel for his oversized body.
Not today though. Today you're in the cantina doing your very best to hide from him. Paz has been driving you up a wall, insistent on leaving Tatooine and going to a different outer rim planet to try and locate other Mandalorians. You don’t want to leave. All things considered, Tatooine isn’t bad. Well it is, but that’s what makes it great for the two of you.
Tatooine is home to all kinds in addition to being a popular waypoint for those with less than legal interests. That means most people keep to themselves and keep their mouths shut. It’s an ideal situation for two Mandos running from unknowable enemies. Not to mention that if other Mandalorians come through this area, you’ll be sure to know about it. A few well-made connections have left you in a position to be informed if a situation arises.
Why Paz can't see that Tatooine is the perfect place to be is beyond you. You have the feeling he just doesn't like the heat and grit of sand between his beskar'gam and kute. Despite appearances, he can be a real baby when it comes to things that make him uncomfortable. It's part of what makes the cantina an ideal location to hide from him. Paz hates the cantina, not seeing the point of it since he's unable to eat or drink inside its cool stucco walls. You're pretty sure when it comes down to it though, he just gets bored.
You're enjoying yourself, noting the regulars that make a daily appearance in the little watering hole and the ever rotating cast of newcomers. No one looks particularly dangerous and you find yourself fairly relaxed all things considered. The sensors on your helmet are continually scanning the enclosed space, so if something starts to happen, you’ll notice.
Another half and hour floats past, nothing of real note occurring other than a shouting match over a lost game of Sabacc. The sore loser had left before anything close to a shootout happened. A pity, as it could have been entertaining to watch.
That’s where you are, feeling calm and as close to tranquil as you can get when you hear it. A single name that no one else should know. Spoken in a hushed tone and picked up by your helmet’s audio sensors. Djarin.
You feel your blood run cold, pounding loudly in your ears. You look around the room for who said it when you hear something else that makes the panic in your chest rise. Laser sword. In context to one another that can only mean one thing. The Darksaber.
You’ve grown up hearing whispered stories about the Darksaber. The near mythical weapon first forged by one of your ancestors, destined to one day fall back into the hands of Clan Vizsla. The weapon that marks the wielder as the Mand’alor. It hasn’t been seen in years, not since The Great Purge when you were all forced to scatter or be killed. You shudder thinking back to that time, how you and Paz had barely made it out with your lives and all of those who hadn’t. The broad stripe of dark red paint on your left pauldron acts as a constant memorial for them.
You shake your head free from those dark echoes of the past and tune back into the conversation. Scanning the room, you discover the speaker to be a loose-lipped Duros chatting with two of his friends.
“I got out of there, I’ve never seen one Mandalorian let alone two and I know better to get caught up in that mess.”
Two Mandalorians? Who was with Din? Last you knew it had just been him and his foundling. You try to ignore the pain in your heart, thinking of the possibilities of who a second Mando could be. After all, he has a foundling now. Maybe he came across another Mando while he traveled and decided to make it a larger family unit. Frustrated but wanting to know more, you push yourself out of your booth and make your way over to where the Duros is sitting.
You know it won’t take much to intimidate the group of them, but your temper already flared at the thought of another Mandalorian being with Din. It’s difficult to resist putting on a little show. The cantina had been too quiet today anyway.
Striding over to the table, you watch his friend’s mouths run dry and eyes widen with fear, unable to voice your appearance to the Duros you’re about to demand answers from. You grab the back of his shirt roughly, spinning him around to face you. His red eyes widen impossibly larger once he registers the sight of your expressionless visor looking back at him.
“How do you know that name?” you grit out, slamming your hand on the table next to him.
His voice is shaky when he replies, barely able to get his words out. “It- it’s what the-the oth-other one called him. I d-don’t k-know anything else I sw-swear.”
“And the sword he had?”
“I don’t- I don’t know. It was b-black, had some fancy handle it came out of. I’ve never-never s-seen anything like it.”
It has to be the Darksaber. There’s no other explanation. You’ve never known Din to wield a sword anyway, always preferring his guns, hands, and flamethrower to anything else. As far as the other Mando knowing Din’s name, well, there’s probably an explanation for that too. You push down the way your gut churns, clenching your fists to keep from taking your anger out on this blameless alien. “Where did you see them?”
“Jab- Jabba’s old palace. I took off when they attacked. I didn’t want to end up d-d-dead like the others.”
You don’t bother to thank him, not having the patience for it. Sure he probably didn’t deserve that treatment from you, but the white hot heat of emotion had overruled your decision making. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to bolster the reputation of Mandalorians as a fierce and dangerous people.
Storming out of the cantina, you don’t even bother with the low profile you and Paz have been trying to keep, soaring into the air towards the ship with your sen’tra. You know Paz will try to ream you out for using it but this can’t wait.
Paz wants to find other Mandos? Two just fell into your lap and despite your own personal feelings about it, there is something to be said about strength in numbers. Not to mention the sudden reappearance of the Darksaber. Osik. Why did it have to be Din?
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15 years ago
“Come on Djarin, you can hit harder than that!” you yell across the training mat. You’d barely even felt his last punch, glancing off of your side where the beskar doesn’t cover.
Din mimics your movement, walking in a wide circle, waiting for another opportunity to throw out an attack. “I don’t know an’edee, you sure you can take it?” You can hear his smile from under the helmet.
You watch the way his feet move. He’s quick and you know it, but if you can just get him to misstep once you’ll have the opening you need. “Please, one of the initiates could hit harder than you, mir’sheb,” you tease back.
“Remember you asked for this,” Din says before lunging towards you. He expects you to dart to the side, or maybe charge back against him, both options that would allow him to use his heavier weight against you. Instead you roll, easily diving underneath his outstretched arms and quickly kick out at one of his legs. The beskar covering your shin connects against his leg hard, causing him to stumble and misstep as you hoped.
Taking advantage of his momentary loss of balance, you quickly push up from the floor and tackle him to the ground. Beskar clangs together loudly at the impact and as you both fall to the floor you’re thankful for the soft mats that cover it. A fall like that on solid ground would have hurt the both of you.
Din is pulling out of the sudden daze you’ve put him in faster than you would like, but you manage to grab hold of one of his arms, tossing your legs around it, and pull him into a tight arm bar.
“Tap out, cyar’ika?” you taunt. His helmet turns to look at you and you can tell he's weighing his options, trying to figure out how to get out of the hold. You pull on his arm a little harder - not enough to cause real damage but enough to send a message. You watch him deflate, the fight leaving his body as he accepts the position you’ve trapped him in.
He taps the floor twice with his free hand and you immediately release him from your hold. You get up from the mat and look down over Din, who is preoccupied with the slight twinge you left behind in his elbow. Offering a hand, you assist him in getting up from the sweat streaked mat.
"That shouldn't have worked. You're getting slow old man."
Din scoffs but doesn't say anything more. He doesn’t need to see your face to know how pleased you are. It radiates off of you, a lightness to your movements that makes the heavy beskar on you seem weightless. You tap his pauldron and walk away, leaving him helpless to watch the sway of your hips. It’s not right that a flight suit should hug your curves so perfectly.
He’s thankful for the protection his helmet grants, eyes snapping away from your ass when he sees who you’re approaching on the side of the training room. Paz. It’s probably best to not let your older brother see him very obviously checking you out.
“So? What did you think?” you ask Paz, still riding the high of endorphins from your victory. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest in a posture that would probably intimidate anyone but you. You know your brother. He’s not angry, he’s probably just bored. Or possibly hungry. Those often coincide for him.
“You still need to tighten up your form vod’ika. He got in a few hits he shouldn’t have because you were too open.”
You nod, genuinely listening to what it is he has to say. His criticism isn’t an insult, it’s notes. You can’t improve yourself without the honest feedback and you know he’ll give it to you, even if sometimes it isn’t what you want to hear. “Remember what I taught you, use your size to your advantage. The roll was a good move.”
You can’t help but preen under his praise. Despite being full-blood siblings, you and Paz couldn’t be more different physically. The two of you like to joke that he took all the big and tall genes with him when he was born, dooming you to a life lived at a considerably lower perspective. Paz utilizes his massive size in fights, dominating opponents before they even step into the ring with him. You’ve been working on improving your own technique, trying to use your seemingly disadvantageous size to your benefit. If Paz noticed, it meant you were doing something right.
Din finally makes his way over to join the two of you and stares right at Paz. He knows the older Mando will have notes for him too. Paz has stepped into his role as a teacher in the Covert fully, constantly analyzing to help others improve. “Say it already,” Din sighs.
Paz shakes his head slightly and gives Din a friendly shove to the shoulder. “You need to stop getting distracted by a pretty face, di’kut.”
You'd like to punch Paz. Maybe go a round on the mat and finally manage to lay him out on the floor. He knows full well about your feelings for Din, having pointed it out before you realized it for yourself. He knows and he's purposely trying to embarrass you with them. It’s the worst kind of sibling move and you very much regret stealing half of his muffin this morning. This is not equal payback, but you should have expected this. Paz doesn’t always play fair.
You expect Din to laugh, make some comment back that you're already trying to tell yourself won't crush your heart. Instead he replies with a simple shut up in Mando'a, looking as embarrassed as you feel. It feels like the air has been knocked from your lungs. Surely you're reading too far into things.
Unsure of what to do with yourself and feeling uncharacteristically timid, you mumble something about the showers and walk away from the two men. Your mind is racing, trying to figure out what Din's response means – if it means anything at all. You're well aware of the pain you could end up in if you're wrong, and yet you can't fight that small, inescapable hope.
After showering, you head towards your bunk, looking forward to resting up more after your spar with Din. The water was soothing on your muscles, but they're still sore. Taunts aside, Din can hit hard and has a talent for finding the spaces between your beskar. Paz was right – you do need to tighten your form.
Looking down the hall, you're surprised to see Din leaning outside your bunk door. It's impossible to tell whether he hit the showers too or has been waiting here since you left the Training Room. Either way, you can feel your heart begin to pound under your chest plate. It reminds you of a mallet striking against a gong. You do your best to tamper down your excitement, trying to seem unaffected, and you continue down the hall.
"Need me to teach you another lesson, Djarin?" you ask. If you tease him maybe you can maintain an effective facade. You know your shield of beskar won’t give you away, but your mannerisms will. He knows you too well for them to go unnoticed.
He pushes himself away from the wall as you approach, drawing himself to his full height, and you feel yourself go weak in the knees. Maker, he’s big. His shoulders are broad, taking up more space than you think any man ought to be able to. The dirty red of his chestplate fills your vision, making you wonder about the wide expanse of soft flesh underneath it all. The taper of the plate only draws further attention to the way his waist cinches in, dragging your eyes further down than you should be letting them travel. Thank the Maker you hadn’t given yourself away by dipping your helmet down to look too.
“If that’s your idea of a lesson, I think you need some tips from your vod on how to teach.”
You laugh, opening the door to your bunk and gesturing Din to follow. It’s not the first time he’s been in here, but something definitely feels different about him entering this time. For one, he hesitates for a moment, a slight action that you’d miss if you weren’t already hyper aware of his movements. Clearly whatever’s on his mind is important and you’d rather the whole Covert not overhear what you can only imagine will be his gentle rejection of you. It’s an embarrassment you’d rather not have publicized.
The bunk is small - designed for single occupancy unlike the larger rooms suited for couples and families. You’re thankful you at least had the forethought to clean up this morning. The prospect of Din rejecting you and seeing your underwear is a bit more than you can handle.
Normally when you return to your bunk you would strip yourself of your beskar’gam, relaxing into your bed with a holovid or a book stored on your datapad. There are also the nights where you would ignore those activities in favor of relieving your tension in a different way, but you’re trying not to focus on that when the man who often makes an appearance in those daydreams is standing right before you.
You’re not sure of what to do with yourself. The table only has one chair and you could offer it to him, but then where would that leave you? The bed? Not an option. Simply standing will have to do.
It’s only been a few seconds since Din entered the bunk but it feels like minutes and you’d like to die with how awkward this has become. You curse Paz for opening his stupid mouth. He just had to say something and now your friendship with Din was ruined forever. Lovely.
“Listen, about what Paz said earlier...”
You can already feel your heart sinking. This is it. This is the moment where Din casts you aside and you lose your crush and best friend all in one go. You brace yourself for impact, knowing that it will hurt but hoping you can keep a strong enough face until you can get him back out of the room.
“I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, I never meant for you to find out like that.” You’re pretty sure you heard him wrong. Or maybe you had spoken and heard it in his voice for some reason. Whatever the explanation, you’re pretty sure Din didn’t say that because why would he? Paz had been picking on you, not him.
“What are you talking about?” you ask.
He shifts on his feet before answering. “You rushed off to the showers before I could say anything. I get it if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine and I’ll still gladly be your friend, but I thought I should at least explain myself.”
At this point, you’re pretty sure this is all just a dream. A really vivid, tangible dream. You can’t even form words anymore, in Basic or Mando’a, for fear that nothing but foolish nonsense will tumble out. Unfortunately, your prolonged silence also sends Din into a full blown panic, unsure of anything going on inside your head. He plunges forward in desperation, determined to explain things even if it costs him his heart.
“I like you, Vizsla. I have for a long time and I never said anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have as friends.”
You could kiss him. The thought rips through your mind and your fingers itch to reach up and tear your helmet off your head just so you can put your mouth on his. You don’t though. That’s a choice for the both of you to make together, not one you can thrust upon him so instead you do the next best thing.
Carefully, you step towards him, reaching up to pull his head down to meet yours. There’s the small tap of metal on metal once your foreheads gently meet. “I like you too, Din. I think I have from the moment we met.”
Your confession is easy after his. He’d basically stolen the words from you, voicing the exact same concern you would have cited. You had decided long ago that having Din in your life but not knowing the full extent of your feelings was far better than not having him at all.
It’s surprising how quickly he can act despite the shock running through him. In a flash, his arms wrap around you tightly, pressing your body flush against his. The only other time you’ve ever been this close to Din is while training, but the two are like comparing meiloorun to jogan fruit. This is something tender and raw and you’re not quite sure either of you are built for such a fragile thing, but you know that you never want to let Din or this feeling to leave you now that you have it.
“Din?” you ask.
“Lek, ner karta?"
“Can I show you just how much I’ve wanted you?”
“Only if I can show you too.”
From there the two of you are inseparable. Not that you weren’t before – you used to look for any excuse to be near one another, but now there’s a certain quality to it that wasn’t there before. It’s the lingering touches and stares, not needing any reason to seek the other out except for the need to be close, the intimacy of it all. You try to keep it relatively low-key, but it’s the Covert and after a few less than discrete instances, everyone knows.
Most nights are spent in each other’s bunks. It doesn’t matter that you have to spend the night sleeping in your helmet. Any excuse to feel the wide expanse of Din’s body pressed up against yours is well worth the mild discomfort. Your faces remain a mystery to each other, but it doesn’t matter, not when his fingers are pressed deep inside you or your hand is wrapped firmly around his cock. It doesn’t matter when he palms your chest or teases your nipple while splitting you in half. It doesn’t matter when you hold him tight against your body, feeling him spilling out from between your thighs as you drift off into a satiated sleep. You don’t need to see his face to know that you love him.
Time slips by and then finally, on the day that you decide to repaint a piece of your armor, to show your love as well as speak it aloud to him – he’s gone. Slipped away from you like some phantom. Gone not only from the Covert but the entire planet and the only thing that the alor will tell you is that Din chose to leave on his own, working as a beroya now for the Tribe. Alone.
It’s a pain unlike any other. It’s one that cuts deep, cleaving you in two and leaves you broken on the floor of the Forge, unable to anything but cry out in your suffering. Paz is the one who comes for you. There to help you pick up the pieces the same way he did when you were kids during the Purge. After all, what is family for?
That decision, made without your input or knowledge, changes you irrevocably. You’re not sure you’ve ever truly come to peace with it. What you do know is that despite it all, despite the pain and sorrow, your heart still skipped at the mere mention of his name. Soaring through the skies of Tatooine, you curse the Duros that spoke the name Djarin within your earshot.
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You land hard on the sand outside of the Guardian, the ship you and Paz managed to commandeer. The grains shift below your feet, forcing your one knee to give out and drop into the dune, nearly causing you to tumble over completely. Before you can even try to get up on your own a firm hand wraps around your bicep and pulls you to your feet.
“Di’kut! What did you fly here for? Do you want our enemies to find us?” Paz shouts at you. His temper is predictable and rolls off of you. You ignore him, walking up into the ship and making a beeline for the cockpit. There are more important things to attend to than your hot-headed brother's attitude.
He follows close behind, ready to continue the argument about whether or not you’ll be staying on Tatooine. You cut him off before he can start up again. “We’re not staying here.”
Your sudden agreeableness gives Paz pause, but he’s not going to push it any further. Your risky flight makes him think that something happened while you were in town making a quick departure necessary. The two of you fall into your preflight rhythm, each going through your own checklists.
“Finally decided to see things my way?” Paz asks as he checks the fuel levels.
“No,” you reply, pressing a few buttons to your left to warm the engines. You can feel his hackles raise. “We’re going to a place called Jabba’s Palace on world. Din is there.”
The tension in the cockpit is thick, heavy in the air, but it’s no longer directed between the two of you. It evaporates Paz's anger towards you, catching on quickly to the gravity of the situation. It's been months since Paz has seen Din and years for you. You only know of Din’s foundling through the whispers of the Covert and weeks of irritating Paz until he broke down and told you himself.
You stare resolutely out the cockpit window, waiting for Paz to take his co-pilot seat. You’ve already decided not to tell him about the Darksaber. You don’t want him freaking out if you’re wrong and if you’re right, well, he can deal with the shock of it then. The other information you can’t hold out on though, despite how badly you don’t want to hear it in your own voice.
Paz sits and you keep your eyes facing forward, unable to deal with his reaction to the next piece. “He’s with another Mandalorian.”
You punch the engines, blasting the Guardian into the dusty skies of Tatooine. There’s no guarantee of what you’ll find at Jabba’s beyond Din and you only hope Paz doesn’t take his head off before you can get your answers.
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Additional notes: We are playing fast and loose here with the Mando rules because this is my fic and I can play with the not fully fleshed out rules if I want to lmao - basically it comes down to this - immediate blood family (parents, siblings) can see you without your helmet, otherwise you need to be married. Others can see any other part of you (wink wink) but the helmet stays on until you enter Riddurok (marriage) with another. There may be some other little changes and things but.... work with me here 😅
Also, this will be a three part series, but I am all for chatting about these two/writing some drabbles or headcanons for them. So if there’s anything you’re curious about drop me an ask and I’d love to talk about them! Also thank you to @escapades-to-rivendell for the beta and to @honestly-shite and @castleamc for listening to me ramble about these two
Everything Taglist: @librariantothejedi @janebby @spideysimpossiblegirl @roxypeanut @paperbag33 @danidrabbles @honestly-shite @sharkbait77 @stevie75 @tintinn16 @doin-stuff @hdghty @salome-c @greeneyedblondie44 @snow30285 @fic-appointment @kirsteng42 @athalien @missminkylove @niki_xie @tothejedi @readsalot73 @castleamc @nakhudanyx @quietpainter @spanishmossmagnolia @kirsteng42 @dihra-vesa @sergeantbannerbarnes
Din babes: @dodgerandevans @5pectre @jinxxy-bby @anastasiyax @escapades-to-rivendell @hmarsattacks @luthien-t @thisshipwillsail316 @lellowberry @adriiibell @max--phillips @quietpainter @kotemorons @fanficmybeloved @andiesturgss @djarinsimp @let-the-imaginationflow @girlofchaos @eclipseminjiu @perksofbeingivyy @seventhskycorps
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phoenixyfriend · a year ago
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Uncle Ben and Little Luke
AKA we combine several types of time travel for maximum Soft Chaos, let’s go
EDIT NOW THAT I’VE WRITTEN THIS UP: jfc this ended up much angstier than initially intended uhhhhhhhhhh sorry
So a common enough thing I’ve seen in time travel fics is characters getting de-aged when tossed back physically, to neither the age they should be in that time, nor the age they were from the time they left, but whatever is most convenient. This is usually de-aging OT Obi-Wan into his TCW self, for reasons relating to, chiefly, removing the damage of Tatooine absolutely destroying his body alongside PTSD-driven alcoholism, but also because fic writers are horny, and Ewan McGregor playing a late-thirties negotiator is on average more appealing to people than Alec Guinness playing a vaguely feral desert hermit.
So, here’s how it plays out:
We take Luke and Ben from some point in the OT. There are a variety of options depending on how angsty we want it to be. My first instinct is ‘right after Owen and Beru die’ but I want to have that sweet angst where Luke knows that his dad is Vader and that Obi-Wan was trying to convince him to kill his own father without telling him that.
We’ll go with shortly after Bespin, and then they end up significantly before TPM. The Obi-Wan of the timeline proper is, eh, let’s say eighteen. Not really ready to be a knight, but old enough that we don’t have to worry about “if we go save Shmi, do we somehow wipe out Anakin?” which is absolutely a worry. Anakin is a toddler, and is in no place to be evil, on account of being literally two years old. He can’t even explode people with his brain yet.
Now, Ben finds himself mid-thirties, as is traditional. He’s not upset at this, because his joints hurt so much less than they used to! His knees aren’t exactly teenage-perfect, but by the Force are they better than they were in the years before he died! His hair has color! He doesn’t have arthritis! And, goodness, no physical withdrawal symptoms! The psychological aspect is still there, but nonetheless, he’s in much better shape than he last remembers being.
Luke looks like he’s about six. He was recently twenty-two. This is not an upgrade. Ben keeps having to carry him. He can’t see over the counter when they enter a bar for information. He can’t enter the bar in the first place. He’s very annoyed by all of this.
Ben is not annoyed. Ben is having a lot of emotions, actually, but annoyance isn’t one of them. He didn’t get to help raise Luke the way he might have if Anakin hadn’t lost his shit, okay, he sees a small Luke and he wants to hug him and cry.
Luke would like to be able to purchase a speeder part without the lady at the stall asking him if he needs his “dad’s” permission.
Once they figure out when and where they are, they need to decide where and how to leave. There are general shenanigans to gamble their way into enough money to hire a ship. They are in the ass end of nowhere, but definitely not Tatooine. There appears to be a jungle. There appears to be a significant variety of man-eating creatures. There appears to be a temple to the Force of questionable origin. None of this is actually helpful, except for the moment they find a “baby’s first lightsaber” in the temple.
Luke only has one hand and, being a six-year-old, his body is growing too fast for him to bother with getting a wired-in prosthesis the way he could as an adult. He can get a more basic prosthesis, but nothing that attaches to the neurons. He’ll outgrow it too fast.
He’s tiny and he’s not used to doing things with just one hand. He uses the Force to do what one hand can't, and every time someone tries to tell him he's misusing the Force he whaps them with the empty sleeve.
So, you know, they find out what year it is. Ben has a breakdown. Luke is upset that he left behind his friends. Ben admits to him that Leia was his twin. Luke stares in horror because dude, she kissed him, you couldn’t have mentioned this earlier???
Ben points out that Beru and Owen were keeping Luke away from him for nineteen years, and then they had about three days of awkward travel to find Leia in the first place, and then Ben died. He didn’t have a whole lot of time to figure out how to tell him.
(This sparks an argument that lasts several days. All onlookers assume that Ben’s son is throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t correct them, even though this is a very valid reason to be upset, because the truth is much harder to explain.)
Sooooo they travel. Mostly, Ben plays Sabacc, cleans house, and pays their way towards Coruscant. Luke still really wants to learn to be a Proper Jedi, even though Ben is pretty sure that Luke would have... a lot of difference of opinion with the Temple, but sure. Coruscant. They can at least stop by, and see Qui-Gon, and Mace, and Quinlan, and Bant, and everyone else that’s still alive and not tragically deceased in the horror following the start of the Clone Wars and then the birth of the Empire, and Ben can have a nice sob over all his dead friends being alive again.
Ben is only barely holding it together while Luke is in the room with him at any given point. But it’s fine! It’s fine. He’s fine. All of his loved ones have come back to life! It’s great! HE’S FINE.
He is not fine.
Luke is also grieving all the people who haven’t been born yet, but he’s... significantly more okay than Ben is.
The closer they get to the Core, the more often people just assume Ben is Luke’s father, and then look shocked and uncomfortable when Luke flatly calls him by his name, and they just... compromise. This is the point at which Luke starts calling him “Uncle Ben.”
Ben cries in his bunk later that night. Luke overhears it and wonders how the HELL Ben is more unstable now, when there’s a chance to fix things and no Vader or Empire trying to kill or capture both of them, and all his friends are alive.
(Luke will later learn a lot about PTSD and realize this is actually a fairly normal situation, to process significant events and emotions only after gaining safety or catharsis.)
(Twenty years on a ball of sand with an alcohol addiction and debilitating fear of the man you raised as your own brother is not, in fact, safe or cathartic.)
At any rate, they’ve settled into that pattern by the time they reach the Inner Rim. The Inner Rim is the part of the galaxy at which they’ve collected enough money (and mental stability) to travel a little better, and to take a few more risks.
Risks like “manipulate people with those baby blues.”
Ben tells Luke that he’s a menace, after he pouts so cutely that he gets a free scarf added on to a purchase that Ben makes. Luke responds that Ben has no room to talk, since he flirted a free breakfast out of that one inn owner.
Also, Luke is currently physically six. That is objectively a situation that sucks. He deserves to use it for all it’s worth if he’s stuck like this.
“You know, if you keep wearing all-black and looking longingly at the velvet cape and Space Chanel boots, the temple is going to worry that you’re a darksider.”
“Uncle Ben... you told me, yesterday, that I sparkle so brightly in the Force that it’s almost blinding.”
“Yes, but the gloves--”
They don’t agree on this, but Ben relents. He does actually understand good fashion, unfortunately, and he’s not unaware of how much Leia taught Luke about such things.
Luke’s about forty years ahead of the curve, of course, but Skywalkers are prone to such things. It’s usually in regards to technology, granted, but...
They get to Coruscant. Ben is very obviously a Jedi. He knows all the right words and walks like a Soresu master and feels warm and comforting in the Force. They let him in with minimal questions. They note down “my first padawan left the order to have a child, but died shortly after; I consider Luke here to be my nephew, and have raised him as such,” and move on.
Luke is vaguely annoyed because he already had an uncle (and aunt) that raised him, but he admits that a person can have more than one uncle. He can live with this. Ben was more family to Anakin than Owen was, in some ways, so it’s kind of true. Luke is even working on feeling more childish affection for Ben instead of the complicated mess of emotions that come from being lied to about some very large and important subjects, and then seeing the person saying those lies have regular emotional breakdowns due to something as small as Luke saying he likes the curve of the hull on that freighter.
(Apparently he sounds just like his father did as a child. This is almost heartwarming.)
The thing is! The thing. The thing is, they almost make it to the Halls of Healing to get looked over for weird viruses, or Outer Rim Parasites, or whatever the hells needs to be happening. They almost make it without Ben having a flashback to dead younglings or brainwashed troopers or the declaration of a Sith Empire. They almost make it without incident.
Then Ben sees Qui-Gon, and freezes, and does not move again.
Luke cannot get him to restart.
People are staring.
They haven’t even made it to Medical, Uncle Ben, come on.
Young, local Obi-Wan comes over and asks if there’s something he can do to help. Or maybe this “Ben” knows Qui-Gon? Master Jinn doesn’t recognize Ben, but maybe Luke knows more?
Luke does know more, but what Luke actually says is “he probably needs a mind healer.”
(Ben will not appreciate this.)
(Ben is unfortunately standing in the middle of the hallway and completely unresponsive, and is unable to argue with this assertion.)
(Ben is pretty much proving this assertion entirely correct, actually.)
Obi-Wan is helpful, if a little bitchy in the manner of most late-teens individuals, and offers to help get Uncle Ben down to the Halls of Healing. It involves Obi-Wan gently pushing on Ben’s shoulders, and Qui-Gon offering to carry Luke so he can be in Ben’s sights (because Ben is a Mystery, and Qui-Gon is quite fond of those, so he wants to stay involved). Ben kind of just... shuffles on down.
There are medical tests. They ask about how Luke lost his hand. He refuses to talk about it. They ask how Ben got all his scars. Luke says he doesn’t know. They ask if he knows why Ben looks like he’s been through a war. Luke says it’s because he probably was.
They check for foreign viruses. They find evidence of thus-far-unpatented vaccinations. They ask Luke if he knows what he’s vaccinated for.
“How would I know? I’m six.”
They agree that this is a good excuse.
(It is not. He’s lying. They do not know this.)
They do some more tests. They find a lot of questionable medical bullshit in Ben’s body. Most of this is from the clone wars, but they don’t know this. Someone realizes they haven’t gotten a ping back from the Shadow Network regarding “do we have permission to pull the medical file of a Jedi that isn’t in the normal database? We’re assuming you know who he is, since we don’t.”
The Shadow Network does not know who Ben is.
The healers, of course, go “huh, that’s weird, but maybe the name he gave his nephew was fake. We can’t exactly ask ‘Ben’ for more details right now. We already had to sedate him. Let’s check the DNA!”
The DNA pulls up as Obi-Wan Kenobi.
The padawan who brought this guy in two hours ago.
“Huh, that’s weird. Let’s call in Kenobi and ask if he knows what’s going on.”
Obi-Wan absolutely does not know what’s going on.
They ask Luke.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, lying through his teeth and not even pretending otherwise.
“You’re not a very good liar,” teenage Obi-Wan tells him.
“I’m not trying to be,” Luke says. “Can you get Master Yoda? I feel like we’re going to need him.”
They normally wouldn’t get Yoda on the request of a six-year-old, but they also normally don’t have a catatonic thirty-something Jedi who looks like he’s been through a war popping up in the medical database as the pimply teenage padawan that broke his pinky trying to do a Badass Ataru Flip last week.
Or... whatever Luke i... is... oh dear.
“Young one,” Qui-Gon asks, while people whisper-shout behind him, not realizing he’s cutting the Correlian Knot and just asking the kid himself. “Do you know why your midichlorian count is so high? It’s almost unheard of.”
“Uncle Ben said my dad was the Chosen One,” Luke says, because he is capable of being a little shit and is actually really eager to let Ben deal with some of the fallout. He feels for the man, really, but he’s also tired of being the one to field every single question.
Also, the expressions that pass on Qui-Gon’s face are hilarious.
(Luke may or may not be more affected by his six-year-old brain than he would like to admit.)
“Thank you,” Qui-Gon says, sounding more than a little strangled about it.
It takes another three hours for Ben to wake up.
He listens to the questions. He hears what they say his ‘nephew’ said. He looks at Luke.
“Is this revenge for not telling you about Leia?”
“It’s not revenge,” Luke does not lie. “I just don’t know how to explain it.”
“It’s pretty easy to explain.”
“It’s not my secret.”
“This is revenge for the Leia thing.”
“No,” Luke says. “Revenge for the Leia thing was when I ate a live frog in front of you.”
This is the point at which someone interrupts and points out that they appear to be stalling.
“Oh, he is,” Luke tells them. He gestures at Ben. “I can’t tell you more, because it’s more his story than mine.”
“I’m afraid, Master, that I am very likely to have an emotional breakdown if I allow myself to consider the reality of this situation for longer than the fraction of a second I already have,” Ben reports, full of false cheer. “Suffice to say, I am far from stable and have only held out this far for Luke’s sake.”
“Can you explain why you have my DNA?” Obi-Wan asks, as the person who’s most concerningly involved in this situation.
“You can,” Ben says, smiling like there is absolutely nothing wrong in the slightest, ever. “I’m you, from the future. I actually died and spent a few years dead before coming back. I’m not sure why I’m younger than I was when I died, but I appreciate being able to put on my shoes without my knees attempting to mutiny.”
“He needs a mind healer,” Luke reiterates, in case the strained grin hasn’t made it clear. “So do I, but not as much.”
“I have felt literally every person in this Temple save for Luke and Yoda die,” Ben reports, looking a shade more manic than a few seconds earlier. “It’s very overwhelming to feel you all being alive again. I may be approaching a mental breakdown, and I’ve been rather strictly advised against using alcohol to treat my traumas again.”
Luke kicks him in the thigh. It’s not a very hard kick, because he is very small, and he does actually like Ben. “I’m not letting you turn into an old drunk again.”
After several seconds of silence, a healer quietly suggests that everyone clear the room, and asks if someone could fetch Master Yoda as the youngling requested.
(THIS IS ALMOST THREE THOUSAND WORDS. I started it less than two hours ago. Why am I like this.)
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sameheart-sameblood · 10 months ago
Text
Live While We’re Alive
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(gif by @rex-is-best)
pairing: commander wolffe x f!reader
summary: you thought being a newly recruited civilian doctor to the GAR was hard enough until you developed a hopeless crush on Commander Wolffe
words: 2.8 k
warnings: mature, some suggestive talk, mutual pining, medical exams, co-workers to lovers, a doctor having inappropriate thoughts about their patient 
a/n: I started writing this awhile ago and then lost all creative motivation but I've been in a Wolffe mood the past few days and sad we didn't get to see him in The Bad Batch so here we are. I'd like to apologize to my doctor dad and all medical professionals everywhere lol. Also, I had intended for this to end in smut but then got lost in feelings so there mayyyy be a chapter 2. We'll see ;)
read on ao3!
You want to fuck him. It’s been decided. This realization couldn’t have come at a worse time, though. You’re surrounded by Jedi and Clone Officers in a very important meeting detailing your next mission. But you only have eyes for one of the men and he’s currently standing at the head of the room giving a briefing to the holo of Master Yoda. It’s a testament to Commander Wolffe’s presence that you barely notice the little green Jedi Master he’s conversing with. Well, his presence and his extreme handsomeness.
When you’d first met him, you’d been truly intimidated. The other women you worked with nodded in understanding, whispering they had been thrown off by his cybernetic eye and prominent scar. But that wasn’t it. You’d noticed those things, but that wasn’t what made you uneasy.
It was the fact that he took one look at you and seemed to see right into your soul. You couldn’t explain it but you felt like with just a glance, he could tell your deepest insecurities. And stars, did you have a lot of those.
You had worked your way up through the medical field and had started your residency at the biggest hospital in Coruscant. After your training ended, you had secured a permanent job there. It had been difficult, to say the least. Though you knew you were qualified, even more so than most of your male co-workers, you still doubted yourself often.
Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi had come to visit you one nondescript Thursday afternoon, telling you of the need for doctors in the GAR. He said you came most highly recommended when he was searching for recruits but still, you thought a mistake had been made and that someone soon would realize and send you back to your normal life. It was a recurring nightmare you’d developed in the past few weeks that shook you from your sleep.
You had agreed to join the GAR, sympathetic to the cause and wanting to do your part. The next few weeks had consisted of you getting your bearings and meeting the rest of the staff at the base . Kix, the clone medic in charge, had helped you learn the ropes and had introduced you to all his brothers. At first, you had been overwhelmed by the sea of identical faces. As the weeks had gone on, you’d learned everyone’s names and they’d made you feel welcome, like one of their own.
The Commander and you had crossed paths several times. He was polite but distant. Not like you blamed him. He had more important things to do than exchange drawn out pleasantries. With each run-in, though, he seemed to be making more of an effort to be personable. Unfortunately, each conversation left you looking more and more like an idiot. Or a di’kut. The boys had been teaching you some Mando’a.
You were a medical professional, a well-respected doctor and yet Wolffe made you feel unsure of yourself. It had been so long since you’d had a crush that you didn’t realize this was what the beginning of one felt like.
*******
As you sit around the war room table, you feel even more like a school girl. Instead of paying attention to whatever Master Yoda is saying, you’re transfixed by Wolffe’s face. The hazy blue light from the holo reflects off his features, making him look ethereal. His scar looks even more prominent and you blush, remembering how often you’ve wondered what it would feel like to let your fingers trace it.   And his lips. They’re moving, responding to whatever the Jedi has said. They’re mesmerizing and now you’re thinking of what it would be like to kiss him. Or even better yet, to have those lips pressed against the plushier parts of your body.
You continue to stare until you realize his face has turned to you. It probably only takes you a second to come back to reality but it feels like an eternity. Somehow you’re able to respond to the question.
“Yes, Commander. All medical personnel are prepared for an 0800 liftoff. Kix will take his team with the 501st and I’ll have my staff along with the 104th. We’ll reconnoiter once we’ve landed on Hisseen.” The rest of the table nods, moving the conversation along. Wolffe stares at you for a moment, a hint of a smirk on his lips. You avert your gaze, finding the table a much safer object of your attention.
The discussion wraps up and Wolffe stands at attention, puffing his chest out, before Master Yoda disappears. Once again, your eyes are drawn to him. You’re not sure how but he makes something so mundane look indescribably attractive. Wolffe’s head turns in your direction but you’ve already bolted from your seat, hoping to cool down in the hallway.
Kix pushes through the crowd to get to you. “Hey, Doc. How’d the meeting go?” You shrug. “Nothing new to report. Just making sure we’re all set for our campaign.” He’s shifting back and forth, a sort of glazed look in his eyes. You realize he’s not paying particularly close attention. It’s the look of someone asking you something just so they can request a favor in return.
“Hmm oh yeah, that’s nice. Say, Doc, do you think you could cover for me for a few hours? I have some urgent business to attend to.”
“Since when is playing Sabacc with Fives and the boys urgent?”
“Since I remembered how terrible they are at it. I can make a real killing playing against them.”
You laugh. It’s true. You’ve come to love those men but a lot of them are really horrible at the game. You’ll need to give them a remedial course if you have any downtime on Hisseen. “Of course. What do you need me to do?” He rewards you with a huge grin. “Nothing hard! A few higher ups coming in for their physicals. Just the usual. Make sure they’re in tip top shape to get shot at by some tinnies.”
He gives you the list. It’s only a handful of men but the last one on it makes your blood go cold. “Commander Wolffe needs a physical?” Kix is oblivious to your inner turmoil. “Oh yeah, but he knows the drill. Honestly everyone can do it themselves at this point. We’re basically there to oversee it as a formality.”
You swallow down your apprehension and nod. “Sounds easy enough. Go have fun. And take it easy on them, will ya? Let them keep a little of their dignity intact” Kix just grins and shoots you a wave as he runs off.
*******
Your first few appointments go just fine. The officers are professionals and Kix was right, they could do these routine physicals with their eyes closed. You give them all your seal of approval and settle in to do your paperwork before your last, most anticipated patient arrives. The forms in front of you hold no interest and you find yourself checking the chrono every few seconds.
It’s not easy but you manage to finish your work. You set it aside and take steadying breath. Five more minutes and he’ll be here. You scold yourself. The Commander has never been anything but professional. You’re the one thinking these very unprofessional thoughts.
And you’re a doctor, for kriff’s sake. Your patients should be able to come to you without worrying you may be fantasizing about what they look like naked. But these are uncharted waters. It’s your first time having to deal with a patient you’re this attracted to. They really should take your medical license away.
Just as you’re thinking of packing it all up and handing in your resignation to the Jedi Council, a knock at the door snaps you to attention. Well, here goes nothing. You scold yourself once again for checking your reflection in the mirror before answering the door.
You had tried to adopt a passive, professional look to your face before greeting Wolffe but it must not have worked. “Everything alright, Doc? I’m not early, am I?” You shake your head.“Not at all. Punctual as always, Commander.” You beckon for him to come in and take a seat. You close the door, then sit across from him at your desk.
Your datapad hums to life and you busy yourself opening the appropriate forms you need to fill out. The weight of his eyes is heavy on you and your cheeks heat up in spite of yourself. You push on through as best you can.
“Well, Commander, how are you feeling today?” There’s that ghost of a smirk again but it vanishes so quickly you're not sure if you imagined it. “I feel like a million credits.” You giggle despite it not even being that funny. You’ve got it bad. “Glad to hear it. This should be quick then.” You gather your equipment and get to work.
First, you take his weight. Then, you listen to his heart. You press the stethoscope to his sternum, thankful you can do this over his blacks. He observes you the whole time. “And what about you? How are you today, Doc?” You risk a glance and meet his eyes. That was a mistake.
“Me? Oh-um just fine. Maybe not like a million credits but a few hundred at least.” You trail off dumbly but he humors you with a chuckle. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard that sound from him before. It’s like music to your ears. “Anything I can do to help? You do look a little flushed. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” You avert your eyes again.
“No. I’m alright. It’s just, uh, hot in these uniforms. The coarseweave doesn’t breathe.”
“You sure? Maybe I should be the one giving you a check-up.”
You realize he’s toying with you now.
“That won’t be necessary, Commander.”
You move on to check his lungs. “Breathe in for me.” You move the stethoscope to his chest, then move it around a few different spots on his back. “You can call me, Wolffe. If you’d like.” He breathes in every time, not even needing prompting, ever the dutiful soldier, even when he’s teasing you.
“I would like that. Thank you, Wolffe.”
Next, you measure his blood pressure. You’re shocked that it’s so low. He sees the look of surprise on your face. “Something wrong?”
“Not at all. The opposite, in fact. Your pressures are great. I just thought with your lifestyle they might, understandably, be a bit higher.”
“What kind of lifestyle do you think I have?”
You’re backtracking as quickly as you can. “I just meant, your life as a soldier, it must be extremely stressful.”
There’s that smirk again. “It is. But you don’t get to be a Commander by not being able to handle the pressure.”
“Of course. But even so, if you’d like some stress relief techniques I can suggest some.” He hums as if really thinking it over. Thankfully there’s only one part of your exam left. Which is good because you’re not sure how much resolve you have remaining.
“Everything looks great. I’ll just do a head and neck exam and then I can send you on your way.”
You need to touch him for this part but you stop yourself, hands hovering but not quite meeting their destination. You feel like once you touch him, really feel his skin under your fingers, there may be no going back.
Wolffe sees your hesitation, then slowly reaches out to take your hands. You watch with wide eyes as he guides them to his neck. He looks up at you innocently enough but you can tell he’s laughing internally. You try to reign in control of the situation.
“Sorry, I just got distracted.” The Commander studies you but this time it’s in earnest. “Are you nervous? This’ll be your first time in an active war zone, right?” You had been anxious but not about that. But now that he mentions it, yeah, you honestly don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.
“Yes, I’m not sure what to expect. I guess you could say I’m a little scared.” Wolffe gently holds your chin, directing you to look back at him. “I won’t lie. It’ll be overwhelming and frightening. Battles can seem never-ending. But I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
You’re staring into each other’s eyes and you don’t want to stop. But then he’s clearing his throat and gently removing his hand from your skin. You realize you’ve been resting your own hands on his shoulders this whole time. “Thank you, Wolffe. I do feel much better knowing you’ll be there.” You offer him a smile, hoping it conveys just how much you appreciate him looking out for you.
You begin your exam, gently kneading where his neck meets his shoulders, checking for any anomalies. Then you move to his throat. The throat you’ve so often been distracted by. It’s featured prominently in your daydreams. You move your hands along it, under his jawline. Having a man this powerful baring one of the most vulnerable parts of his body to you is intoxicating. Focus, di’kut.
Everything feels normal except for some knots you find resting right below the surface of his smooth skin. “Lymph nodes feel good. You’re a little tense, though. But I bet it’s from that bucket you have to wear most of the day.” He hums in thought. “True. But even so. Maybe you could give me some of those ideas for stress management?” He looks up at you with big eyes. There’s mischief in them but something else. Vulnerability?
You gulp audibly. “Of course. There are a few that work particularly well, um, like deep breathing techniques, going on walks, talking with friends, meditation, journaling, physical activity…” You’re rambling, fighting a losing game against your resolve. Wolffe thinks on it. “Physical activity seems like a good place to start.” His hands come up to gently cover yours that are still resting on his neck.
The sensation of his calloused fingers on your skin sends shivers down your body. You close your eyes, feeling the last of your self-control topple over. “Wolffe,” you whine “We shouldn’t…” He immediately drops his hands, worry etched on his face. “I’m so sorry. It’s just- I thought you wanted-.” He cuts himself off, snapping up to his feet and to attention. “Doctor, you should report me to General Plo Koon for immediate disciplinary action.”
Dank Farrik, you’ve just ruined everything.“Wolffe! No, I’m not reporting you to anyone. If anything you should report me for being so unprofessional.” His shoulders relax a bit but he still eyes you as if you’re a live grenade that might explode at any second. “What do you mean?” You sigh in frustration. This isn’t how you wanted to confess your feelings to him.
“I…want you, Wolffe. The second I realized that I should have asked to be re-assigned to a different battalion. Instead I thought I could push those feelings down and continue to do my job. Looks like that was a mistake.” You hang your head, avoiding his piercing gaze. He’s silent for just a moment but it feels like an eternity.
“So, you want me and I want you?” You nod your head, ashamed, as he continues. “Then what’s the problem, Doc?” Your eyes snap to his, not believing what you’re hearing.
“Isn’t it wrong of us?”
Wolffe sits down on the exam table again, genuinely thinking on it. “I don’t see why. We’re both consenting adults. We don’t work directly with each other- I report to General Koon, you report to General Kenobi- so there’s no real conflict of interest. The worst we’ll face is a little ribbing from the boys if they find out.”
You raise your head to look him in the eyes, needing to make sure he’s serious and that this isn’t some twisted joke. What you find staring back at you is hope and promise. He senses your trepidation and gently takes your hands in his. “I’m sorry if I came on strong. But the thing about this life is that there are no guarantees. Tomorrow isn’t promised and so I figured I’d rather go for something, someone, that I want and have my heart broken rather than regretting my inaction.”
Your eyes roam the scars on his face, evidence of just how true his words are. You’re heading into active battle tomorrow. One or both of you could be injured, or worse. You step towards him. He spreads his legs so you have room to get closer. You rest your forehead on his, breathing him in.
His hands come up to caress your sides. You take a shaky breath. He questions you softly. “Cyar’ika?” Ah, now that’s one of the new words you definitely remember. His vulnerability makes you ache and the decision to hand your heart over is an easy one. “You’re right, Wolffe. Might as well do some living while we can.”
*******
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redminibike1 · 10 months ago
Note
If you're still taking confession prompts! Codywan + “ you don't get it, do you? “ “ get what? “ “ that i don't want to spend even as much as a second without you by my side. “
Oh yay!! This one really is perfect for Codywan, isn't it? Had a lot of fun with a little fix-it! Thank you so much for the request!! You always make my day haha
Catch the little reference to the Nuum fern, art by @heathenhouse found here. I’m sorry, I had to include it, Nuum has stolen my heart! Although the Nuum fern is usually more sentient than it is here, I wanted to reference the Mimosa pudica (common name is Shameplant haha), a cute little plant whose leaves fold when touched! Again, thank you Mattias for telling me about that wonderful plant haha
Dynamics: Cody/Obi-Wan
Warnings: none, I don’t think!
Confession Prompts
Writing Masterlist
Prompts are open :)
Cody arrived at the Temple with Ghost Company by his side, and Obi-Wan wasn’t there to greet them.
The thought shot across his mind briefly, concern and disappointment like a meteor across a night sky, until Mace stepped forward, leaning hard on his new cane, and the only thing he felt was happiness and home.
“Master Windu,” he greeted, bowing. “I hope you’re well?”
“With you here?” Mace smiled, “How could I be anything but overjoyed?”
Cody didn’t have the Force, but even he could hear it singing, as he walked into the Temple, filled with laughter and chatter and life.
He settled in quickly to the small quarters that he was provided with. It was nothing like his room on the Negotiator, cramped and grey and impersonal. Sunlight filtered in from the little balcony, the couch was plush and soft and covered in a thick wool blanket, and a plant waved lazy leaves from its place on the dining table. Waving the door closed behind him, he placed his duffle beside the couch and moved into the small kitchenette, filling up the kettle and placing it on the stovetop. As it boiled, he moved towards the empty shelving unit, running his hand over the dark wood and glancing out the window. 
Speeders raced by, everyone eager to move from one place to another, and he allowed himself to imagine Obi-Wan peering over his shoulder, chuckling softly, hair brushing Cody’s cheek. “They move quickly so they don’t have to think about anything else,” he might have said, clicking his tongue in that way of his. Although he knew that Obi-Wan was busy, organizing the final steps in giving the clones citizenship, and overseeing his first Senate session as representative for the Jedi Order, Cody still wished he was here, so he would know exactly what Obi-Wan could comment about the traffic.
It was no matter, really, Cody thought. He would see Obi-Wan soon, and he had plenty to do in the meantime.
The kettle whistled, and he moved to make himself a cup of tea. Perhaps he would go and check on Ponds, or Rex, or Ahsoka, or Padmé and Anakin and the newborn twins. The day stretched before him, wrought with potential, and any vague longings quickly fell to the wayside.
...
Days passed quietly, sun slipping across the sky. Cody filled his days with activities, taking the subway through Coruscant to see everything that he’d never had time to before. Yoda dragged him into a Crècheling class, where Xion tackled him in a hug, and dragged him over to introduce him to the others. It was...lovely, reading stories to the children, or telling them his own, letting them crawl into his lap or sit on his shoulders, babbling about their latest lessons.
Ponds joined him often, Mace in tow, and the three of them formed an anchor in the sea of energetic children, providing candies as Yoda taught, and talking quietly amongst themselves during the lessons.
And all the while, there seemed to be a space at Cody’s side, a gap that everything seemed to acknowledge. He’d turn to share a smile at one of Xion’s many antics, or to exchange a quip and a nudge of his shoulder. Every time, a jolt would echo through his body, as he found nobody there.
...
When he finally spotted Obi-Wan, almost a month had passed. He caught a glimpse of red hair as he walked with Gree through the crowded main hall, a flash of blue eyes and a flick of tan robes. His breath paused and his pace slowed, but Obi-Wan was already gone.
Cody took to watching the news in the evening, breaking from his decision to ignore anything that wasn’t important enough to be conveyed through word-of-mouth. The Senate sessions were being covered more than they ever had, and criticism of the corrupt system had skyrocketed. Obi-Wan was featured often, shown as he stood at the head of his pod, clad in his simple Jedi robes that clashed greatly with the elaborate dress of the other Senators.
He spoke differently than them as well, simple and soft, weaving the perspective of the Jedi as they attempted to maintain peace in the Republic, as they were dragged into the war, as they fought and lived and died alongside the clones. There was so much love in the way he described the Temple and the Negotiator, so much longing and melancholy, that Cody’s heart ached for him. Forced into the role of politician that he so despised, Obi-Wan hadn’t yet had the chance to experience the peace that they had fought for.
In time, Cody hoped, the bustling stress in the Senate would diminish, the stacks of bills would be passed, and Obi-Wan would be able to return home.
Two more weeks passed, and nothing seemed to change. Politicians hemmed and hawed, as Chancellor Organa gave speech after speech begging for movement, and Obi-Wan seemed to grow more haggard every time the camera panned to him.
Finally, Cody saw him, really saw him, on the way back from an evening class with the Crèchelings.
The hallway was deserted, and Cody was alone, two very uncommon events. He turned the corner, tapping out a reply to Luminara about meeting for a cup of tea, and slammed straight into somebody.
Stumbling backwards, Cody flailed to grab his datapad, already trying to blurt out apologies even as he tried to regain his balance.
Looking up, he met silver blue eyes, lined with dark circles and familiar laugh lines, and stopped talking altogether.
Obi-Wan smiled tiredly, straightening his robes and placing a steadying hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry Cody, I was completely distracted.”
Cody smiled, eyes darting across Obi-Wan’s face, taking in every detail that the news cameras couldn’t quite capture, blurred in his memory with weeks of absence. “Obi-Wan, hello.”
Obi-Wan took his hand away, and Cody felt the place where it had been like a brand. “Hello. It’s been a bit, hasn’t it?”
Somehow it felt awkward, and Cody struggled to find words. “Yes, it has. You’ve been busy, I imagine. You look exhausted.”
“There is a lot to do.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “We do what we must. How have you been?”
“I’ve been...good. Really good. I’m helping out in the crèche a lot, exploring the city, catching up with everyone. I thought it would be hard, after a lifetime of war, but it’s been wonderful.”
Obi-Wan nodded for a moment, eyes darting to the side, before a smile broke over his face. “That’s wonderful, Cody, it’s absolutely amazing to hear that.”
Cody fought not to squint, noting that Obi-Wan was using his politician’s smile. It was strange, and a little hurtful, to have that smile turned on him instead. “Yes, I’m glad. But tell me, how’s everything going for you? I’ve seen a few of the Senate sessions, and it’s looking pretty rough.”
“It’s...it’s interesting. You know how I feel about politicians. Of course, I should stop saying that now that I’ve officially become one. But I’ll survive, of course, and everything will settle in time.”
Cody nodded, opening his mouth to respond, but Obi-Wan continued.
“I’ll let you go, Cody, I’m sure you’re tired.”
“Oh!” Cody nodded. “Yes, I’m sorry for keeping you.” He looked down. “Perhaps we could grab a bite to eat sometime? Like you said, it’s been a while.” Glancing back up, he blinked, exhaling softly in the empty hall.
The routine continued, of crèche lessons and dinner plans and touring the various museums and food trucks in the city. But the gap had Cody’s side had widened, less like a phantom ache and more like a newly amputated limb, bleeding and clawing for attention. His conversation with Obi-Wan haunted him, filling him with questions and doubts. He had thought that their relationship was seamless, intimate, forged in fire, but he was no longer so certain. If a few weeks of separation had limited them to missteps and stilted small talk, what would the next months have in store? Would they one day become strangers, limited to nods as they passed in the hall, impersonal smiles that forgot years of war, of paperwork sessions and endless battle and talking late into the night?
Life became more grey, like a hollow victory, with the growing knowledge that his division from Obi-Wan might not be a temporary necessity, but a long-term fact of life. He still laughed, still entertained the crèchelings with stories and games, but all the while his mind would drift to Obi-Wan, to the curve of his smile as they sat around a campfire, or the twinkle in his eyes as they played Sabacc.
Mace noticed first, a few days later, eyeing him curiously as they ate lunch outside their new favourite noodle-stand.
“Cody, what’s happened?”
Ponds’ head shot up, and he wheeled around to face Cody. “What? Did something happen?”
Mace squinted, shrugging. “He’s felt...dampened, recently. And he talks less.” He smiled at Cody. “Not too noticeable, but sometimes you look saddened, during gaps in conversation.”
Ponds frowned. “Cody? Is everything alright?”
Cody sighed, poking dejectedly at his noodles. “It’s nothing. I’m just...I haven’t seen Obi-Wan in a while. Well, actually, I did, but it was worse than not seeing him at all.”
“How so?” Mace asked.
“It was like we were strangers. We’ve known each other for years, talked to each other every day, but we hardly knew what to say.” He shook his head. “It’s probably nothing, but...I miss him, I guess. I’m sorry, that’s stupid.”
Ponds moved closer, nudging his shoulder. “It isn’t. We’ve all had to make big transitions, and a constant in your life has been taken away. Of course you’re feeling disconnected.”
Mace nodded sagely. “Everything is out of order right now. It will settle in time. I can speak to Obi-Wan, if you’d like?”
“No!” Cody shook his head, inhaling. “No, it’s alright. You’re right, it’ll settle.” “It will,” Ponds said, nodding, “but you should still talk to him. All the change that you’re struggling with, he’s struggling with too.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Cody leaned against the wall, digging into his noodles with more vigour. “I’ll try.”
It was another week before Cody found the courage to actually try. The Senate had postponed their session for the next two days, a designated period for the Senators to return to their home planets. Although Cody had already heard from the news, it was Mace’s message that settled him, saying, simply, We’ll keep the meeting short.
He was waiting outside the Council chambers when they gave out, trickling into the hall in small groups. Shifting nervously, he smiled at Luminara and Plo, and kneeled to greet Yoda.
Mace and Obi-Wan came out last, heads bowed together, and Cody looked up towards them with a rapidly beating heart.
Yoda chuckled, hoverchair moving away. “Speak later, we will.”
Cody nodded, distracted. “Of course, Master. Call me anytime you wish.” He stood, as Mace broke away from Obi-Wan with a flash of a grin, joining Yoda to continue down the hall, and stepped forward.
“Cody!” Obi-Wan’s eyes were wide, and he fumbled with the sleeves of his robe. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I wanted to ask you to lunch,” Cody blurted. He tugged on the collar of his t-shirt, smiling weakly. “If you’d like to, of course.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes darted across his face, as if he was looking for something, before he smiled. Cody almost cried, because it was his smile, not a Senator’s smile, soft and genuine and a little shaky, as if he was out of practice. 
“I’d love to.”
They went to Cody’s new favourite food truck, although Obi-Wan protested in favour of Dex’s. 
“Next time,” Cody promised, with all the bravery he could summon. “I have a park I want to show you.”
Food cartons in hand, Cody led them to the nearest elevator, and pressed to the correct level, quite a bit deeper underground.
“There are parks that far down?” Obi-Wan asked, skeptical.
“You’ll see,” was all that Cody said, vibrating with anticipation. 
They talked as they walked, about their favourite food spots, about little Xion in the crèche, and about little Luke and Leia, growing more and more with each passing day. It was easy, simple, and Cody basked in it, wishing that he could freeze them in place, could stop the rotation of the planet.
The garden was small, hidden behind a cluster of deteriorated buildings. Cody led them through the alleyway, and smiled at Obi-Wan’s barely audible gasp, as he saw where Cody had taken him.
In the darkness of the lower levels, the inhabitants had cultivated a sprawling garden of completely nocturnal plants, glowing with the efforts of many. Buildings surrounded it on all sides, and yet all the city noise seemed to disappear, in the face of climbing vines and mushrooms that lined the path of stones. Small strings of lights hung from wooden beams, providing all of the energy for the plants, which glowed and swayed in the warm air. 
“Cody…” Obi-Wan stepped forward as words trailed away, leaning down to inspect a small fern-like plant, glowing purple. He touched the leaves, gently, and inhaled as they curled inwards, shying away from him. 
“How--” Obi-Wan looked up at him, glowing, as if he’d become another plant in the garden. “How did you find this?”
“There was this woman a few levels up, when I was wandering around, who was watering a purple fern just like that one. I asked her where she’d found it, and she said it was one of the few plants that grew down here, given to her by a Jedi long ago. Then she told me about this place, and said I had to see it. Apparently it’s been here for decades, and everyone who lives nearby helps to upkeep it. She contributed the fern.”
“It’s a Nuum fern. Yes, it must have been given to her by a Jedi. Force, Cody, I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“Yes, I haven’t either. I thought of you immediately.”
Moving deeper into the garden, Obi-Wan looked at each plant in turn, eyes bright with wonder as they chirped, or flickered, or spread leafy arms as if to welcome him. Cody watched all the while, chest aching as if the joy would burst from him, and he placed the cartons of food on the lone bench, moving to walk beside Obi-Wan. He pointed out the little flowers deep in the garden, growing in a thin layer over the soil, and chuckled as one of the vines ran over Obi-Wan’s shoulders, ruffling his hair. He resisted the urge to stretch a hand out and fix it, to brush it back from his forehead.
Eventually they made their way back around to the bench, and Obi-Wan sank into it with a sigh. “Cody, I--Thank you, for bringing me here.”
Cody chuckled, handing him a carton of food. “Of course.”
They ate in silence, and Cody took the chance to absorb the sounds of the garden, and the feeling of Obi-Wan next to him once more. The space that had been growing, gaping, was gone in an instant, and he settled in the reality of true peace.
“Do you…” Obi-Wan began, eyes on the distance. “Do you ever consider leaving Coruscant? Living somewhere else?”
Cody paused, lowering his food, and turning to glance at Obi-Wan. His face was blank, untelling, and Cody’s heart sank. “I don’t...I’m not sure. I’d like to travel, but, well, I like it here. I like the Temple.”
“There’s so many planets out there, so many people to meet. Coruscant is only a fraction of what the galaxy has to offer. I’d hate for you to miss out.”
“I apologize,” Cody set down his food, shifting to fully face Obi-Wan, who still refused to look at him, “I don’t really understand. Do you wish for me to leave?”
Finally Obi-Wan looked at him, eyes wide, shining in the purple light. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s alright if you do. Really, it’s fine. I--perhaps I’ve shoved myself in with your family too much--”
“Our families are the same, Cody! I don’t--”
“Okay, maybe--maybe I remind you too much of war. I’m sure you get enough of that in the Senate--”
“Cody, that’s not it at all! Cody, stop.”
Blinking, Cody looked at Obi-Wan. “Then what is it?” “Of course I don’t want you to leave! I dread the thought of you leaving! But--but the only thing I dread more is the thought of you staying because--because I’ve made you feel that you must.”
Obi-Wan fell silent, breathing heavily, and Cody tried to summon words. His mind raced, trying to piece together the past weeks. All of Obi-Wan’s actions fell into place, his absurd logic untangling their bizzare interactions and his blatant absences. Obi-Wan had been avoiding him, in some flimsy attempt to free Cody from his non-existent binding, to allow him to make a decision, to leave if he so wished.
Cody couldn’t help but laugh, and it felt like the night breeze and warmth and relief. “You don’t get it, do you?” 
“Get what?” Obi-Wan looked slightly offended at Cody’s laughter, mouth twisted into a pout. 
“That I don't want to spend even as much as a second without you by my side. Or--or knowing that you’re nearby, or that I’ll see you at the end of the day. I like it here, on Coruscant, in the Temple, but it would be nothing if it wasn’t your home as well, if--if you didn’t share it with me. I don’t want to leave.”
Obi-Wan furrowed his brow, mouthing words that Cody couldn’t make out, like he was trying desperately to process what Cody had just said. “You--you don’t?”
Huffing impatiently, Cody moved closer, placing a gentle hand on the back of Obi-Wan’s head, tangling fingers in his hair. “I love you.” He pressed their foreheads together, gently, and chuckled. “I love you, Obi-Wan.”
“Then--” Obi-Wan stuttered, eyes darting, “then I guess you can stay.”
“Oh, I can, can I?” Cody smiled, and kissed him, in the garden that needed no light, feeling as if the sun was shining directly on him.
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beckyh2112 · 5 months ago
Text
back to Fox^2
Ponds let himself into Mace's quarters. His Jedi was meditating in the central room, had been since he returned from questioning Palpatine.
Bad sign.
Until Mace finished meditating, there was nothing Ponds could do to directly comfort him. But he went and got down the weighted blanket they mostly used on Caleb when the Force was just Too Much. He checked the food supplies and put in an order with the quartermaster. He chopped vegetables and made a stir fry.
By the time his Jedi finished meditating, Ponds had made enough stir fry for both of them and sent an extra box of it to Gree. His di'kut brother might be getting all of his flimsiwork done while he sat with Fox, but he was terrible about actually eating.
"Ponds."
"Mace." He handed his Jedi a plate of stir-fry then sat down on the floor with his own. They ate in companionable silence. After seconds for Mace and thirds for Ponds, he set his plate aside. "All right. What happened?"
"Too much." Mace gathered the dirty dishes with the Force and stacked them on one of the side-tables. "I can confirm Sidious has Commander Fox."
Ponds clenched his fists. "What is that demagolka doing to him?"
"On the surface, he's keeping the commander as a pet."
"What," Ponds bit out. He knew he wasn't shielding his anger well; he could see it in the sudden tightness around Mace's eyes. But honestly, he thought he was doing pretty good by staying seated and not immediately running off to the prison to commit a murder.
Mace grimaced. "He invited me to share a meditation with him. It was... Unpleasant. In it, he had Commander Fox's constrained in such a way that he looked like a Guard-red fox."
"If I crack his skull open, do you think Fox can get out that way?" Ponds mused, tapping his comm awake and checking the guard roster for Palpatine.
"No, Ponds."
"What if Master Che did it-"
"Still no, Ponds."
---
Ponds had learned something from General Windu that he was refusing to share, so Thire had been recruited to grill him over a group lunch. Well, Thire had agreed to come along and have food with them at least. He didn't want to know what the Chanc- the Sith Lord was doing to Fox.
He knew far too much about what the Sith Lord had already done to Fox.
"I've been meaning to ask," Thorn said, a phrase which never heralded anything good in Thire's experience, "what's with Wolffe's boytoys?"
Bly choked on his drink, while Ponds gave Thorn that flat look he'd honed from watching General Windu. "Boytoys."
"You know, those two CTs he's always got with him."
"They're the other survivors of the Malevolence."
"OH." Enlightenment crashed across Thorn's face. "Yeah, okay, not surprised. Lots of vode get like that with other survivors."
Ponds's look got even flatter. Bly, who could clearly only be allowed to play sabacc with natborns, winced. (Most of the GAR was very expressive by Guard standards, but Bly took it to another level.) Apparently this was another thing that was Guard-normal, or at least Guard-common knowledge, and GAR-disturbing as heck. Which usually meant one of the GAR CCs was going to try to hug him. Gree was still with Fox, so...
Don't get him wrong, Thire was glad as heck the rest of the CCs hadn't been through what the Guard CCs had been through. But the distress from the GAR was so much, everything he had learned in the Senate insisted it had to be performative. He knew it wasn't, but he couldn't make himself believe that.
He tried to lighten the mood and preempt any hugging attempts. "Thorn, I'm begging you. Please. Please. Call them boytoys to his face."
That got snickers from the other three. "Make sure his bucket's off and you're recording," Ponds added. "I want to see his face."
---
His owner was showing him off. That meant his owner wanted people to focus on him instead of anything else his owner was doing. That meant he needed to be lovely and obedient and delightful.
Fox knew how to be lovely and obedient and delightful. His owner had made sure of it.
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snippy-tano · 12 months ago
Note
hi bri! can you write something happy with kix please. he’s so sweet 🥺 i love your writing and hope you have a lovely day 💕
Ahhh! Thank you for sending in an ask! I really appreciate it and I hope that I did you request justice! I used another prompt I received a while ago about some specific Kix ideas and I decided to combine them. I’ve included that below.
Self indulgent for sure, I had surgery to fix my ankle a few years ago and it took me forever to admit how much pain I was really in. Someone finally admitting to Kix that they need help? Gah
I’m hoping to do a lot more writing this week. I’ve gotten sooo many adorable prompt requests in recently and they’re just all so freaking cute and I want to do them. So here’s hoping we’ll be able to vibe some more this week. 
Without much further ado, here it is! I hope you like it! Thank you for reading!!! :))))
Tagging: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @mackstrut, @dissapointingpancake, @ahsokatano-thetogruta, @welcometothepedroverse, @lightning-wolffe, @fractiouskat, @mandaloriandin, @lussyyung, @lowkeyodinsong, @str-wrs-fics, @bantha-shit, @dominhoe-squad, @Snipskixandbeskar
Taglist is here!
Masterlist is here!
 --------------------------------------------------------------
Hurting
Things hadn’t been going that great for you. 
I mean in the end it was entirely your fault. One misstep while on Onderon and you were down and out for the count. It was stupid and entirely avoidable. You shouldn’t have gotten as injured as you did, but sometimes these things happened. It was horribly embarrassing and not something you wanted to go through again, but all in all, you were still alive, inconvenienced, but alive.
After a quick look over by the nearby medic, you were ordered to get some rest and given some stims to help with the pain. 
Except you weren’t one to let a little pain slow you down. And if you were being honest, stims made your head a little foggy. You couldn’t really afford for that to happen with your job, not when there were so many men out there depending on your work.
So you pushed through. 
Somehow, you managed to survive the rest of the campaign and were safely back in hyperspace, on your way back to Coruscant to restock before heading back out to the front. You wouldn’t be on the planet for long, but you hoped that you’d get at least a day to visit your sibling who was working at the Senate. It had been months and frankly you needed the break. 
It was getting late, most of the men heading back to the barracks and the officers trickling out of the bridge as time continued to tick on. Within another hour after the first officer left, you finished your work, wrapping everything up so you could hit the ground running first thing in the morning. With a flick of your first, your holoscreen went dark and you spun in your chair, shakily climbing to your feet. 
Your joints popped and you felt a familiar twang in your neck from sitting all day at your workstation. At the slightest bit of movement, your ankle protested, sending shooting pain up your leg. You hissed in a breath, thankful no one was around to hear it. Clenching your jaw, you began to move forward, focusing all your attention on not appearing in the incredible pain you were in. 
Your CO noticed you leaving and broke away from his conversation for a moment to offer you a quick nod in your direction. You returned the gesture with a wave and moved on, feeling your eyes start to burn. 
The door closed behind you and your trembling hand rested against the cool wall. With no one in the hall, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. After ten breaths, you were ready to move again. 
It was slow going. 
Most of your effort, usually dedicated to speed, was devoted entirely to appearing without any kind of limp. It worked for the most part, troopers offering you smiles or waves as you passed, recognizing you from your presence in the mess hall and occasionally at sabacc nights. 
You were two hallways from your quarters when you could feel your strength fading rapidly. The hallway had mostly emptied, everyone either on their night shift or getting some much needed rest. You couldn’t stop yourself from sagging against the wall, squeezing your eyes shut.
Kriff, your ankle was killing you. Karking hells.
It was okay. It’d be okay. 
You were almost there. You could make it the rest of the way. Then you could sleep.
Hearing your name called from in front of you definitely wasn’t expected.
Your eyes snapped open as you felt your stomach bottom out when you saw a familiar medic standing not far from you. He was without his helmet and gloves and held a small datapad in his hands. It had been a few days since you’d seen him, but the concern etched across his face made you regret not telling him what was going on. 
But considering you didn’t really want a lecture from Kix, you had to find a way around this. 
“Kix! Hey! How’s it going?” Your voice came out higher than expected and you bit down hard on your lip. 
Kix narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. “Are you okay? Because you don’t look okay, no offense.”
You let out a nervous chuckle that you hoped Kix took as a genuine laugh at his small attempt at a joke. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”
He didn’t seem to buy it, narrowing his eyes and taking another step towards you.
“How’s your ankle? You haven’t been back for more stims which should have run out-” He looked at his datapad quickly before meeting your eyes again, “-two days ago.”
Kriff.
“It’s better. Getting there.”
“Then do you want to swing by the mess hall with me? I could use a new cup of caf.” Kix motioned over his shoulder and you swear your life flashed before your eyes. 
When you could walk like a normal person, you were going to kill him.
You grit your teeth. “Sure. Why not.”
Kix offered you a smile and waved his hand to motion you first. 
Yup. He’s dead to you.
Biting down hard on your tongue, you took three normal steps before your ankle finally gave out, sending you careening towards the ground. Kix’s datapad hit the floor, but you thankfully did not. 
Kix tightened his arm around you and helped you stand back up, making sure you were steady. “How did I know that this would happen?”
“Because you’re sickeningly good at reading people?” You offered and he let out a sigh. 
“Come on. Lucky for you I happen to be an excellent medic and have some supplies on me.”
With a sturdy hand keeping you balanced, Kix picked up his datapad and carefully helped you hobble to your room which was not far from where you were. It was slow going and wholly embarrassing, but thankfully you didn’t run into any other troopers along the way. 
You punched in the code to your quarters and the door slinked open. Kix helped guide you to your bed and sat you down. The lights flicked on as Kix dug into his medpack that had been slung over his shoulder. You took the moment to lean back on your hands, taking a few deep breaths in the hopes of quelling the shooting pain radiating up your leg.
You heard the soft clinking of armor and opened your eyes, looking at Kix kneeling beside you. 
“I’m going to take off your boots and see what we’re dealing with, okay?” His gaze was firm and you knew that he would be careful, so you gave him a nod. 
More gently than you could have imagined, Kix slipped off your boot, hardly jostling your ankle. It was horribly swollen and a deep bruise nearly stretched around your entire ankle. Kix let out a breath, but didn’t say anything. He only reached into his medpack and pulled out a few things before getting to work.
Kix was largely silent, quietly making sure nothing else had been aggravated over the last week and that your ankle was on track to recovery. He didn’t press, didn’t ask questions, just made sure you were okay. 
You on the other hand watched him work, nervously chewing on your nail.
“Aren’t you going to ask why I let it get this bad?” Your voice was small and you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, flooding your senses. Kix didn’t look up, only continued to carefully wrap your ankle.
“No.” He said, a slight furrow between his eyebrows being the only indication he was upset with you. “Just promise me you’ll try not to do it again.”
You could feel your eyes start to burn and turned your head away, clenching your fist against the blanket on the bed. You were so wrapped up in holding it together that you didn’t notice Kix had moved closer until his hand was gently clasping over yours. 
On instinct, you spun to face him, feeling like your heart was weighing heavily in your chest. 
He didn’t look angry, in fact, the look in his eyes was kind, gentle, in a way you had never really seen before. His fingers carefully unwound your hand and gripped it to keep you from clenching your fist again. 
“You don’t have to tough everything out in order to not be a burden on anyone else. You are never a burden and you never will be. If you’re in pain, you shouldn’t have to suffer through it.” Kix said and you could feel your lip begin to tremble. “If you are hurting, please ask for help. There is no shame in asking for help.”
Your head drooped as you squeezed your eyes tight. Kix exhaled softly before you felt his finger touch your chin, lifting your head. Instinctively, you opened your eyes and met his warm gaze. He offered you a gentle smile.
“You’re the toughest person I know, and considering I know a lot of Jedi, that’s saying something. You will get through this, but you don’t have to do it alone.”
You couldn’t stop the sob that escaped from your throat and when he saw your face crumble, he didn’t flinch. He moved closer, wrapping his arms around your shaking shoulders as you sagged against him. 
It was therapeutic in a way.
Sometimes letting everything that had been building up out in an instant did wonders for your mood. 
When you could finally feel your chest stop gasping for air and your eyes begin to dry, you felt lighter, less in pain. Your ankle was still throbbing, but your mind had calmed. 
Kix seemed to sense you calming because he pulled back slightly, keeping his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you. “I know you have an aversion to stims, but I’d like you to try to take one so you can actually get some sleep. Since I’m guessing you haven’t been sleeping since you were hurt.”
Your nose crunched. He was right. As usual.
You hadn’t been sleeping. Quite the opposite actually. 
Kriff you were exhausted.
“If I take it, will you stay? I don’t like how slow they make me.”
Kix nodded once, brushing a thumb under your eye. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And as you drifted off once Kix had administered a stim and helped you change into something more comfortable, you couldn’t help but think that Kix was the kindest person you had ever met. His fingers tangled gently in your hair, lulling you to sleep and reminding you that he was there despite your foggy mind. He quietly read to you, an old romance novel that had seen better days. Not something he would normally be interested in, but it was your favorite and he didn’t hesitate to read it when you had requested it. 
You fell asleep wondering what you did to deserve such kindness. 
But when it was Kix showing you that kindness, it didn’t seem that hard to accept. Kix wasn’t going anywhere. He never would. And that made it all seem a little bit easier.
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maulslittlemeowmeow · a month ago
Text
Catch Me First
Chapter 8 - It’s A Trap!
Warnings: Tame chapter, not 18+ but the rest of the story is so like... minors pls still go away. Boys Being Boys, minor scuffle and alcohol consumption
Summary: Wolffe faces the music. Cody had warned him about Sabacc Night, and Wolffe had struck a deal with him. Now he has to put up with Cody’s taunting.
Pairing: Wolffe x Reader (cis female)
WC: 2131
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Why was he doing this? He knew what was coming; All of his brothers were going to torment him through the entire night, until they were all too plastered to walk back to the barracks. Cody had made it abundantly clear that he’d be spearheading the operation, and with Cody at the helm, Wolffe knew he’d be getting more than an earful. Not even Rex could deter him when Cody got going.
Wolffe groaned as he dragged his feet down the hall to the normal meeting place, wishing he had just kept his cool at 79’s. But how could he? When he saw Cody’s mouth so close to his girl’s neck, Wolffe short circuited. So now, he had to pay the price.
The door slid open after Wolffe punched in the code and he was greeted by several other clones in various amounts of armor. Cody, Rex, and Fox were already sat around the usual table bullshitting, and they all turned to Wolffe with smiles. Cody and Fox already looked like they were a drink in. Cody had stripped his armor down to his waist, and Fox matched him, Rex was fully armored- ever the goodie goodie.
“He shows himself! ‘Bout time, Wolf’ika!” Cody calls, standing up to greet his brother and wrap an arm about Wolffe’s shoulders. Wolffe shoves him away, his cheeks already starting to heat. The boys only laugh at his obvious discomfort. “Come on, you’d better start drinking before the rest show up.”
“The rest?” Wolffe growls, looking at his brother with bared teeth.
“Of course! Neyo and Bacara are joining us too- they were so shocked, Wolffe.” Cody adds the last bit with a mocking tone, really twisting the knife in Wolffe’s gut. Wolffe can only slump down into his usual seat with a groan and hide his head in his gloved hands.
“Just my luck that they were free tonight.” Wolffe grumbles.
“Oh, Wolf’ika- I don’t think they would have missed this for the world.” Fox buts in, sliding a drink to his embarrassed brother. Wolffe takes it greedily and knocks back a good amount of it, hoping that the quicker he got hammered the easier this would be. Rex offers him a pat on the shoulder, and Wolffe accepts it, knowing that Rex will be joining in on the teasing just as much once the whole band arrives.
“You really did bring this on yourself, vod.” Rex admonishes, and Wolffe can hear the smile in it. Rex may be younger than Wolffe, but he has always been the most level-headed of the group. Wolffe wishes he had more time to slam his drink before Neyo and Bacara waltz in, but no such luck. The two arrive together, already laughing when they see Wolffe’s slumped posture. Soon after, he feels Bacara’s unmistakable gesture of ruffling Wolffe’s hair, shoving his head down in the process. Bacara was the second eldest among them, and Wolffe had always thought they were pretty similar; he’d never admit that he emulated him a bit.
“Ah, Wolffe- you’d really had Neyo and I fooled that you were some hard-ass, thought nothing could shake you, vod’ika.” Bacara teases, leaning over the table and giving a wry smile. “But the minute you get some good tail, you lose your damn mind, boy!” The rest of the men howl with laughter, and Bacara shakes him with a firm hand on his shoulder.
Wolffe weathers the onslaught with another pull from the bottle in his hand and a sour expression. The others say their hellos and settle at the table, Fox having to grab another chair for Neyo. Rex begins dealing cards and Cody distributes drinks. Cody always got his hands on the good stuff, which is why Wolffe had told him it was the required payment for his humiliation. He’d at least get bombed beyond reason in the process. There was an unsettling silence as the clones looked at their hands.
Here it comes…
“That must be some good pussy…” Fox is the one to break the silence, and Wolffe lets out a deep sigh. He’d of course fight, tell them that it wasn’t just her pussy that was good, but it would only dig him into a deeper hole. Bacara and Neyo especially would call him soft.
“Oh, Fox- she is so pretty… Especially when she cums.” Cody drawls, the rest of the clones look to the 212th commander with looks of utter shock, then Wolffe can feel all their stares turn to him and he bristles.
“You-...you shared, vod?” Neyo gasps at his side, and Wolffe groans again, knowing Cody is going to answer for him.
“Oh, no no no, Neyo. He showed the whole club who she belonged to.” Cody takes a card from the stack and then holds his cards against his chest as he leans forward on his elbows. “Had her creaming on his fingers while she played tonsil-hockey with one of his men’s girls.”
Wolffe sinks lower in his chair and rests his forehead on the table, wishing he could just disappear when the feeling of eyes on him intensifies. It’s silent again. Wolffe can just feel how smug Cody is, embarrassing him in front of all of his brothers. Why did I do it…? Why didn’t I just leave a hickey and be done with it?
“You know there are places you can do that without the threat of getting decommissioned.” Fox drawls. Cody wheezes a laugh and Rex chuckles, sounding more knowing of the subject than Wolffe cared to know. He looked down at his cards before throwing them back on the table, shit hand anyways…
“Fox has a point, vod’ika… She sounds dangerous for you.” Bacara mutters before leaning forward to take a card. Wolffe looks up from the table’s surface to see the firm scowl on Bacara’s mug. Well, that’s nothing new, at least.
“You have no idea…” Wolffe laments, a soft look in his eye. Wolffe had no idea how he got so twisted around her little finger. All she had to do was bat her lashes at him and he was melting. All of that playing predator and prey, and he was the one caught in her snare.
“Poor Wolf’ika’s got it bad, boys.” Of course it’s Cody again. He was just older than Wolffe, and he always had to rub it in his face. “You should have seen his face when I had my hands on her-”
“So this is your fault.” Rex butts in, raising a brow. Wolffe has never been more glad to have the stable brother on his side. Cody sputters a bit and Wolffe finally lifts his head to grin at his older brother. Cody glares at him and Wolffe wonders if Fox will have to pull them apart by the scruffs of their necks again.
“Oh come on- how could I just… This is the first time he’s ever- and it was so easy!” Cody complains, now looking at Fox and Bacara like they’re going to punish him. Being the middle sibling was a rough racket, and Cody and Wolffe often hot-potatoed the lickings that came with the title.
“Cody, she was dancing all nice and sweet with her friend and you came out of nowhere like a fucking nexu to get your claws in her.” Wolffe chides, settling back into his chair with his arms crossed. “You placed bets with your troopers on whether you could get me to hit you.”
Fox and Bacara turn to Cody and Wolffe thinks that they might give him a real whooping, but Neyo pipes up. “Did you?”
Wolffe only grins. “No.” He knew he was looking pretty good right about now, he managed to not get to blows with Cody- a true feat; as he’d dragged the fucker to the floor over lesser slights.
“Maybe she is good for you… I’m surprised it didn’t turn into a full on brawl between the 212th and 104th…” Rex teased, trying to ease some of the tension at the table. The sneaky little shit then lays his hand out and reaches for the small pile of credits in the center of the table. The bubble bursts and the rest of the clones groan as they toss their cards on the table.
“Proud of you, Wolf’ika.” Fox mumbles, offering him a smirk. “Cody, you know exactly what you were doing. You’re lucky he didn’t lay you out like he did after the last tactical meeting.”
“I still won…” Cody whines, shuffling the deck.
“Only because your boyfriend got involved.” Wolffe needles, his teeth bared in a grin. It was an old joke, but one he loved reminding Cody of. He’d always said his older brother compensated with the amount of women he bedded to distract everyone from how he looked at Obi-wan. Cody slams the stack of cards down on the table and shoots around the table to trap Wolffe in a headlock, the two struggling for a moment before they fall to the floor and roll around a bit. Neyo and Rex move to stop them, but Bacara waves a hand to settle them.
“Let ‘em get it out of their system. Besides, Wolffe’s earned it.” His tone is full of mirth as he watches his younger brothers tousle on the floor. Wolffe has managed to wrap Cody in an arm bar, pulling just to the point of pain, threatening to pop Cody’s limb right out of the socket.
“Come on, you shit. Tell ‘em why you did it.” Wolffe growls through grit teeth, bending Cody’s arm just a bit harder until his brother is clawing at his legs. “Go on.”
“One of my shinies had her in the back hallway before Wolffe found them- ow, you di’kut!” Cody yelps, Wolffe having shoved his head a bit harder into the ground with the back of his calf. “The poor bastard thought he could look big and bad around the 212th if he told them he’d been knuckle deep in a commander’s girl. I figured I could make a few credits if I could get Wolffe to act up.” Wolffe shoves him away, taking that as a win with how easily Cody squealed and tapped out. But Cody never shuts up… “But Wolffe’s the one fucking a force-sensitive!”
The energy in the room shifts again. No longer are his brothers amused at the tomfoolery between Cody and him, now Wolffe’s hackles rise with the impending lashing he’s about to get.
“Wolffe…” Fox starts, but Wolffe doesn’t meet his gaze.
“Who?” Bacara growls.
“The one Master Plo picked up from Naboo. That sweet little thing that moped around the temple for a few months.” Cody sneers, rising from the floor and rolling his shoulder, muttering under his breath about how Wolffe took it too far. Wolffe stands as well, swiping his drink from the table and polishing it off.
“Wolffe… That’s dangerous.” Fox continues, his words careful. “A girl you picked up at 79’s is one thing. But this one already has a record… and she works for the republic.”
“Yeah, what are you going to do when she gets assigned to my destroyer and all my boys start chasing that tail?” Cody teases, having returned to the table. Bacara beats Wolffe to the punch, literally, and swats Cody in the back of the head.
“You really stepped in it this time, vod’ika.” Bacara mutters, leaning back in his seat after retrieving the cards, shuffling them again before dealing. Neyo offers Wolffe another drink and he takes it gratefully.
“So what do I do..?” Wolffe sighs and slumps back into his seat and doesn’t even bother looking at his hand, suddenly feeling just how fragile things were. He’s surprised to hear Bacara hum thoughtfully, a soft smile curling his lips.
“That’s tough.. The first one is always gonna grip you a little too tightly- make you think of leaving everything behind for a chance at something domestic.” A few of the others are nodding, Cody and Fox aren’t a surprise- but there is a strange far-off look in Rex’s eyes that worries Wolffe. “But it’s a trap. You can’t have that, Wolffe, and you know it.” Bacara’s words cut deep, and Wolffe wishes he’d just let Cody have his fun, that would have felt better than this.
“Eh, she can entertain herself just fine with Boost’s Pantoran while I’m gone…” Wolffe muses, clearly closing the subject. He picks up his cards and takes one from the stack, trying to ignore the look Fox is giving him. The rest of the night flows like usual, Wolffe losing the only credits he has managed to squirrel away since last time they played, his poker face is shit now that Bacara’s words bounce around his head.
-----
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Mando’a Translations:
Wolf’ika - little wold (the idea came from Moth To Flame: The Bartender And Commander by allisgalaxy)
Vod - brother
Vod’ika - little brother
Di’kut - idiot
I didn’t even write this, I just took off their leashes and sat back to watch the bullshit unfold. I based their “ages” off of their numbers, just seemed easier for my brain to figure out the dynamic, which worked out because Fox and Bacara totally read as the “serious older brothers” to me. But boy oh boy, is that more angst I smell on the horizon?
If you would like to read more of my work, you can check out my Masterlist or my AO3. If you would like to be added to my taglist, send me a message <3
Taglist:
@eyecandyeoz @eloquentmoon @kimageddon @misogirl828​ @nxctuaryninetythree @ben-is-a-hoe​ 
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vagrantblvrd · a year ago
Text
In the vein of those Din and Luke meet on Tatooine before they live the Star Wars?
I propose that Din is the ~sweetheart from back home story Luke tells people if they ask about that kind of thing, you know?
Nineteen year-old Luke who gets tossed into the deep end whe he joins the Rebellion, right?
Farm boy from Tatooine in a starfighter squadron filled with people like Wedge and Janson.
And all the hurry up and wait that happens, and a card game that springs up between missions. Some late night somewhere - Hoth, maybe - and it was just a little too much to toss and turn all night in the bunks, maybe tale a stroll through base. Stop by the hangar because someone’s always there - weather lie this you can bet someone’s fixing something or adapting it to make it work in these conditons, and anyway, anyway.
Hell of a lot better than being stuck with your own thoughts you know backwards and front.
So anyway, one of those kind of card games, you know? The ones where people don’t ask why you look so damn tired or comment on how jumpy you are because they’ve all been there. (It’s a war, everyone loses sleep, everyone has nightmares. Everyone’s lost someone, or worry about losing someone and anyway. They get it.)
Janson’s just finished some story about a girl he knew from somewhere, before he joined the Rebellion and the trouble they both go up to and the fond memories he has due to all that.
Swings over to Wedge who sighs and gives Janson this look because he just won’t stop about it, and Luke only half hears the story because he catches a glimpse of Han stomping by, scowl on his face the way he gets sometimes.
(Another fight with Leia, probably, that Luke’s at that stage of things where the thought doesn’t sting so much anymore, thinks he actually likes this better anyway, because he’s seen the way Han looks at her and anyway.)
Luke goes over to where Han’s stomping around the Falcon, muttering and swearing and Chewie’s who knows where, maybe that still in one of the storage levels helping people who are totally not involved with it refine the end product or some such, Luke wouldn’t know.
Takes a while for Han to notice he’s there and when he does Luke almost rolls his eyes at the whole...Drama bit he does. Trying to get Luke on his side, paint himself as the innocent in the scenario - which, if he was? He wouldn’t be trying nearly this hard to convince Luke, so.
Luke lets him vent for a bit and when Han runs out of steam, starts to look a little lost like he has no idea how the hell whatever argument he and Leia had got so out of hand he stormed off the way he did -
“You up for a game of sabacc?”
Because Han tells anyone who’ll listen just how good at it he is, no one better for parsecs around, and anyway.
Better that that be left alone with his thoughts, right?
So Luke brings Han into the game, and Wedge and Janson give Luke this look because the whole Drama between him, Han, and Leia is the best entertainment they’ve had in a long, long time, and anyway.
“You got one?” Wedge asks, looking at Luke over his cards, like an absolute bastard, because of course that catches Han’s interest.
“Got what?”
Luke is like, oh, no, but Wedge is smirking at him and Janson’s no better and then there’s Han who is worse than all of them put together.
“Sweetheart from back home,” Wedge says,and he and Han share this look - it has to be a Corellian thing - and Luke.
“...I wouldn’t say he’s my sweetheart,” Luke says, and the way his face feels he has to be blushing. “But, uh. There was someone.”
And, okay.
He’s not so clueless  he doesn’t know the reputation Mandalorians have with most people, has heard Han talking about this one in particular that pops up in his life every so often.
Mostly though, it’s kind of.
He just doesn’t want other people having this piece of his life, you know? Things are weird enough after Yavin and the Death Star and the Rebellion and Luke’s role in all that and he didn’t ask for any of that, could do without it, but he’s just the guy they ask to smile and post of pictures and...yeah.
SO.
He tells them this story about that time he was in Mos Eisley, right? He had this part-time job working in a hangar for someone named Peli when the farm wasn’t doing well.
Han looks at Luke as he mentions that, this slow realization on his face because look, okay, look.
Han’s met some nice girls - and maybe boys, who knows - like that, ones he had a good time with before moving on and Luke is steadfastly not looking at anyone at the table. (Cargo crate with an old tarp thrown over it to make it just that much more classy and all.)
Focused real intent on his cards and Han is both impressed and a little horrified because one, he never would have expected something like that from Luke - look at the kid, for crying out loud! - and two? That’s Luke. Like a kid brother and Han knows the kind of guys (and girls) who meet sweet kids like him in places like that - look at Han!
Anyway, Han keeps his mouth shut and lets Luke tell his story. Glances at Wedge and the others who all look the same mix of impressed and horrified because Luke, and almost gives himself away by laughing because yeah, the dumb kid gets to people like that, doesn’t he.
Luke, though He knows his friends, looks up and give them looks. “It wasn’t like that,” he says, because most of the time it really wasn’t like that.
He met a lot of interesting people back then, that’s all.
So anyway, back to Luke’s story about this guy he met working for Peli.
Drifter, you know? Not the chatty sort, but not rude about it. Just. Not much to say to anyone, which was fine Luke made up for it himself just fine.
Anyway.
This guy comes in with his ship all chewed up - literally, Luke finds out later when he pries a tooth jammed into one of the landing struts when the guy mentioned it didn’t fully retract - and this tired sigh.
Peli set Luke on the guy’s ship, told him that since he didn’t want droids near the damn thing he’d trust her to know what her people could do and that Luke would be just fine fixing his ship, so, you know.
That was a thing to watch.
And then Luke gets to work, has to call home to let them know he won’t be back that night because he’s got a big job in the works and the guy needs it done ASAP and there’s a couch in Peli’s office she lets him sleep on when stuff like this happens.
He’s still working when the guy gets back from...doing whatever it is he was doing, Luke knows better to ask, and Luke is like.
He knows ships, you know? Knows machines, a hell of a lot better than people sometimes, and they don’t make fun of him, don’t stick him with dumb nicknames.
So he’s working on the guy’s ship, maybe talking to it to, fond little pats when he’s done with a repair or comes across some old repair job someone did that’s coming apart. And it’s not like anyone told him not to take care of that while he’s there and all, you know?
Peli said get his ship fixed, and maybe she meant the newer stuff, but Luke is there and it’ll just take a second and really, the ship’s old, been through a lot. Fixing this one little thing with all the rest won’t hurt anyone and it’ll keep her flying a little longer, and just. No harm to it.
And then the guy is just kind of there?
Watching Luke being a weird guy, talking to his ship like it’s a person, finding small things wrong with it that haven’t set up an alarm anywhere yet, but Luke just knows. Like a splinter under your skin you don’t realize is there just yet but something’s not right, that kind of deal.
Gives Luke this look, right, but Luke shrugs and spins some nonsense about older ships like his and these common issues they share as part of the manufacturing process and might as well take care of it now before it becomes a problem, right? No extra charge, something on the house since the repairs that were asked for are so extensive.
Anyway.
Luke ends up chattering a bit when he realizes the guy doesn’t mind? Doesn’t always answer Luke but he doesn’t tell him to shut up or pull a blaster to intimidate him the way some of them do, and anyway.
Luke finishes the repairs around dawn, dead on his feet and wishes him luck before he goes off to catch some sleep on Peli’s couch before he heads home to the farm.
Doesn’t think much about the whole thing, but then a few months later the same ship ends up in Peli’s hangar. In better shape this time, just needs a once-over, make sure everything’s running fine and fuel.
And the guy, okay.
Gives Luke this little nod on his way off to do whatever, doesn’t stop to ask Peli if she’s sure Luke’s good at his job, and he gets this. Nothing warm and squishy, he barely knows the guy, but it’s a pleased feeling knowing that at the very least he trusts Luke’s work.
Luke’s done by the time the guy gets back, but it’s one of those days where he’s not keen on getting back to the farm - Uncle Owen asked him to stay behind a year to help out, just a little longer and he’s.
Upset at being left behind by the others, by being stuck on Tatooine for another year. Needs time to cool down before he says something he knows he’ll regret, and Peli’s good enough not to pry.
They end up playing sabacc, Peli cackling as she cheats her way to victory - Luke pauses his story to give the others this 0:D smile when he tells them she’s the one who taught him how to cheat at sabacc and not get caught at it, but anyway, they want to hear the rest of his story, right?
Peli gets a call from a supplier, something about a parts dleivery being delayed - Imperial interference or some such - and she leaves to go take care of it, annoyed because she was about to clean Luke out and leave him destitute when it comes to nuts and bolts, and then it’s Luke and the guy.
Who’s giving him this look right - well, Luke assumes, because helmet but he’s not telling Han and the others that bit, and anyway.
It’s still kind of early as these things go and Luke’s feeling a little more reckless than usual, and invites the guy for a hand or two if he doesn’t have anything else to do.
He’s not really expecting the guy to say yes, but he does and it’s not so bad, really? Guy must be in a good mood because he answers more of Luke’s questions or offers tidbits about himself without being asked. Doesn’t even glare at the pit droids when they creep a little closer.
Little guys love Luke, you know, but this guy obviously doesn’t like droids so they usual stay clear, but this this time their curiosity gets the better of them.
So they play a couple of hands of sabacc,and the guy knows, okay, clearly, obviously knows Luke is cheating the whole time. Hell, Luke’s not even trying all that hard to hide it, but he doesn’t say anything about it.
Gives Luke a look a few times, but they keep playing and they each win a hand.
Luke’s in a better mood by the time they decide that’s enough for the day, offers to buy the guy dinner, even.
(But becuase Din, and helmet, that’s a little awkward, y’know?)
Gets a no, because the guy has rations or whatever in his ship and Luke figures hey, okay, no problem and figures he’s good to go home now. Apologize to Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and such because he does get it, just.
Yeah.
He doesn’t see the guy around for a few more months, and when he does -
“You need to see a doctor.”
Because the blood. So much blood?
Also a vibroknife, and it’s just.
Messy.
But the guy is like no, no doctor and Luke is like you are going to die if you don’t see one but still the no doctor thing, and Luke drags him to this place he knows. Sketchy part of Mos Eisley - sketchy-er part-  and knocks on a door.
This lady he knows, used to be a doctor way before. Used to be with the Galactic Navy, served on a Venator-class star destroyer before things changed, she says.
Anyway, she has a soft spot for Luke after he helped haggle a shopkeeper down on some supplies she was trying to buy this one time.
(Patched him up once or twice too, accident at the hangar or taking the wrong shortcut, that kind of thing. Didn’t want to worry his family, and anyway, Mos Eisley, right? Things happen.)
She’s surprised to see him this late at night - or not, because, again, Mos Eisley - and freezes when she sees who he has with him.
It occurs to Luke, when he sees the look on her face that hey, maybe there’s a reason someone like her is living in a bad part of Mos Eisley, and maybe people like this guy who’s been bleeding on Luke for the last however long might be one of them, but.
She was a doctor and that meant somthing once upon a time, and also the look on Luke’s face, the way he swears nothing will happen to her even though they both kind of know there’s no way he could keep that promise if his...friend is determined, but anyway.
Doesn’t matter all that much since the guy passed out before Luke got to her place, and he stays under the whole time they’re working on him.
Luke helps her patch the guy up, another pair of steady hands and they manage to save his life, which is great!
Luke apologizes for not thinking when he went to her place, but the blood and worry and she was the only one he could think of, and anyway.
She tells him not to worry about it, someone would have found her sooner or later anyway, and hey, really, don’t worry about it.
Still, better safe than sorry and Luke gets the guy back to the hangar before he wakes up. Gets him into the bunk on his ship and then, because he’s covered in the guy’s blood and it’s late as hell, decides to call home to let them know he’s got another long night - last minute job that came in and he’ll be back to help with the farm in teh morning.
And then!
Peli’s out of town, off-planet, business or whatever, and Luke’s the only one at the hangar and wakes up to the guy standing over him.
No blaster in his hand but Luke gets the feeling he doesn’t need one, and anyway.
“I said no doctors.”
Which, okay.
Luke recognizes he’s in a dangerous situation, but also?
It’s early as hell, and he didn’t get a lot of sleep the night before what with saving the guy’s life and Luke’s pretty sure he didn’t get all of his blood out from under his nails.
“They’re not anymore,” he says, and puts his arm over his eyes to block out the light. Figures if the guy’s going not going to kill him for saving his life he might as well get more sleep.
He hear this little huff, annoyance? Something, but he’s tired and falls asleep before he can figure it out.
(And the part Luke doesn’t tell Han and the others who are all just. Staring at Luke because what the actual hell, Skywalker, they thought you were some dumb kid living on a moisture farm, not...whatever the hell this story is turning out to be, is that he tells the guy - they didn’t take his helmet off, that no one saw his face.)
Anyway, Luke doesn’t get murdered on Peli’s office couch, but he does get more sleep. When he wakes up the guy and his ship are gone, but one of the pit droids gives Luke a little stack of credits. Enough to cover the medical supplies Luke’s not-doctor friend used on him, and figures it’s as close to a thanks as he’s likely to get.
In present day hangar on Hoth everyone is still staring at Luke who is like what, none of you guys had experiences like that growing up where some guy bled all over you and then kind of threatened to kill you for helping him? Weird.
Han makes a mental note to have a talk with Leia - when she’s talking to Han again -  about their idiot friend who is either the luckiest bastard in the galaxy or...hell if Han knows, but someone needs to keep an eye on the kid, okay?
But back to pre-Star Wars Luke and his ~sweetheart story.
He doesn’t see the guy again for a while, but this time he does the guy comes over to where Luke’s working on his speeder at the back of Peli’s hangar. It’s been acting up and he has this deal with her where she lets him use the hangar tools and equipment if he pays for any supplies he uses in the process. 
Business has been slow, Imperial activity in the area for some reason and scaring their usual customers away for the time being, and anyway.
Nothing else to work on, so tinkering with the speeder when a shadow falls over him and he looks up to see the guy watching him.
Awkward about it too, and Luke watches him totally not fidgeting before he rolls his eyes and flaps a hand to the toolbox just out of reach.
“Hand me the hydrospanner, would you?”
He’s half expecting the guy to walk off in a huff, but is pleasantly surprised when he sets the hydrospanner in Luke’s waiting hand.
Luke thanks him and goes back to work, and realizes after a bit that the guy is still standing there??? Seems less awkard now, though, and Luke slides out from under the speeper - has it up on a lift or the whatnot - and looks at the guy.
Tells him it’s nice to see him, especially when he’s not bleeding - “Wait, you aren’t bleeding, right?” HArd to tell with the armor and such - which makes the guy sigh.
Luke grins, and the guy sits on one of the crates nearby as Luke goes back to fixing the speeder. Occasionally Luke will ask for a tool and the guy will hand it to him.
Luke chats with him while he’s working, gets some answers back and it’s just.
A nice time, you know?
And then when he’s done and the speeder is back up and running, well. Luke needs to take it for a test drive, little spin, and if the guy’s not doing anything it might be nice to have some company???
Wedge and the others are like OH? GOING FOR A DRIVE WITH YOUR SWEETHEART? TELL US MORE.
But, like. Nothing happens, okay? They go for that drive, Luke shows off a little because he was a dumb - dumber - kid back then and anyway, anyway.
It’s not until they’re back in Mos Eisley and Luke drops the guy off at his ship, parked in a hangar down the way, that anything happens, you know?
The suns are going down and it’s pretty out, hardly anyone on the street with them and, almost enough to make them forget about being in Mos Eisley.
Luke’s leaning against the speeder, right, and the guy’s watching Luke watch him, and he cocks his head a certain way and Luke follows him into the hangar and nothing happens, okay, really.
Just some talking, the guy getting ready to leave in the morning and some stuff he ordered got dropped off. Luke helps him load his ship, and when they’re done it’s starting to get dark out, and Luke really should head home -
But the guy stops him, and on his arm and some of that awkwardness is back, and Luke is just.
Doesn’t know what to expect, because usually this is where a kiss might happen, but - the armor the others don’t know about because shhhh, no talk of Mandalorians when Han’s around -
Luke is just standing there, not sure what to do, and then the guy leans down, presses his forehead against Luke’s and says, “Din,”
Luke is like !!! because this is clearly something important, something big, and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, mess things up. Is about to ask, but the guy beats him to it.
“My name,” he says, like this is something he hasn’t told many people. “Din.”
No last name, but Luke figures even this much is a big, big deal, especially since they don’t even really know one another, and anyway, it doesn’t matter, so.
They stay like that a little longer - Luke doesn’t know what they’re doing, this thing with Din, but it’s nice and he likes it - and then one of the hangar mechanics comes stumbling in, drunk as hell and Luke and Din break apart, all awkward and flustered.
Luke says he has to get home, Din says he should get some sleep since he’s leaving early the next morning, and anyway, anyway, that’s Luke’s sweetheart from home story.
Because, you know, because.
Uncle Owen got a couple of droids the day after that and Luke’s life stopped being his for a long, long time.
Han and Wedge and the others look at Luke because what even was that story? Everyone else had the schoolyard crushes and the like. Luke gets the mysterious drifter who almost died, but then Luke saved him by taking him to a former doctor who was on the run and hiding out in Mos Eisley and almost got murderized for it -
“Guys, he wasn’t going to kill me,” Luke says, which while true is nowhere near the point, Skywalker, just shut up for a second, okay?
- and then he gets the scenic drive and romantic kiss goodbye to someone he never sees again???
(They all agree not to mention the part where Luke’s family was murdered and the whatnot because yikes, but still. What was that story?)
Luke is just, “Tatooine,” which is as good an explanation as anything else he could have given them really.
AND THEN.
Fast forward a few years to this distress call through the Force fro a tiny green gremlin kid that Luke answers.
Has to go through a platoon of Dark Troopers to do it, and when he does -
He doesn’t expect Din to remember him, not really, because what’s one dumb kid on some terrible desert planet to someone like him who probably stopped on a hundred other planets with other dumb kids like Luke around, so.
Still, knowing it’s Din and seeing what he’s willing to do for Grogu - what he has done, when Grogu shares his memories of his adventures with Din and what Din tells him himself - makes it easier to invite him to come with Luke and Grogu.
(Always the plan to do so because he doesn’t want to repeat the mistakes of the old Jedi order, but it being Din is so much better.)
Go back to Yavin or wherever he’s starting his school and Din is all awkward around Luke?
At first he thinks Din does remember him, and overall awkwardness of their past and present and anyway, he’s obviously not going to say anything and doesn’t want to? So just move on and such.
Only thing is, with Din living there with Luke and Grogu, Luke gets the chance to get to know him better? And Din is obiously trying, for Grogu’s sake, probably, Luke doesn’t know.
It’s still Din, though, awkward and a little stilted and just.
Adorable, really. Sweet about it.
Nothing really happens other than the awkwardness going away after a while, Din looking a little more comfortable around Luke and such.
And then the speeder they use to get to the small town a few miles away for food and supplies and the whatnot breaks down and Luke sets about fixing it, back of the little workshop area he as set up and it takes him a while to realize Din came out to see what he was doing, and then just never left?
Sitting there on some cargo crates, Grogu dozing in his arms because it’s early yet, but when Luke glances over at them Din shrugs, Smile in his voice as he tells Luke that Grogu woke up when Din was getting ready and refused to be left behind, and now here they are.
Luke snorts, and looks around for the hyrdospanner -
- and Din puts in his hand.
And where it should be a nice, normal little gesture, Din has to go and make it all meaningful, you know?
Hands Luke the hydrospanner, but their hands brush, touch lingering and Din is looking at him.
It’s been years, but Luke still remembers how to read Din’s body language, the tilt of his head, way he holds himself. Subtle things, an anyway.
Din watches Luke work, and Grogu wakes up somewhere in there taking over Din’s job of handing Luke tools and the whatnot, but that’s fine with Din because now he gets to watch the two of them, right?
Luke explaining what he’s doing, what’s wrong with the speeder and what he’s doing to fix it and such. Grogu follows maybe half of what he says, not all that interested, but he’s thrilled at the chance to help and that’s the important part.
And then when he’s done and the speeder is back up and running, well. Luke needs to take it for a test drive, little spin, and if Din’s not doing anything it might be nice to have some company???
(Not that Luke has called him by his name or anything since they met again on Gideon’s ship, didn’t think Din remembered him or that he was welcome to use it, and anyway, Yes)
There’s only the one sun this time, and it’s jungle rather than desert, but Luke still knows a nice little road they can take. Scenic, lovely, and Din gives him another one of those looks because he remembers this, okay.
Luke grins, because this is...it’s nice, really, and then Grogu pops up, super delighted because Luke is still kind of terrifying behind the wheel of a vehicle. Incredible driver/pilot and all? But still terrifying, because of those things.
They get back to the school, Luke pulling up in front of the school. Leans against the speeder watching Din and Grogu get out, Grogu thrilled out of his little mind because they went so fast and it was amazing and they watch as Grogu goes inside still chattering to himself becuase so cool.
Din looks at Luke, who’s still leaning against the speeder, soft little smile on his face because it’s been a good day.
And then Din cocks his head in a certain way and Luke follows him inside, because what else is he supposed to do?
They can hear Grogu somewhere in the little apartment Din shares with him, happy as anything and entertaining himself and anyway.
“Hey, hi,” Luke says, like an idiot, but that’s fine, it’s great.
Din’s kind of an idiot too, it works for them.
There’s some talking, and Grogu wanders in, clearly hungry and no choice but to make dinner and so on. Luke and Din moving around one another comfortably, don’t really think too much of it, and Grogu helps where he can, also snags little bits of food here and there and is all 0:D? when they shoot him looks, because clearly he’s done nothing wrong his whole life.
Grogu starts nodding off after dinner, and Luke cleans up while Din puts him to sleep, and then it’s finally Din’s turn to do the leaning.
Leans on the counter watching Luke who gives Din a look, like what are you doing, there are dishes to put away -
And then Din stops the whole leaning thing, at least for now, because he’s doing the thing where he presses his forehead against Luke’s, and it’s -
Luke knows what this is now, what it means to Mandalorians, to Din.
And if he still didn’t, there’s no misunderstanding the emotion in the way Din says Luke’s name, like hey, hello, and i’ve missed you so much, and there you are, i found you.
Which should be strange, right, because they barely even knew each other back then, but Luke says the same things to Din when he says his name, when Din hears Luke say his name for the first time, and anyway.
Luke’s not some dumb kid anymore (still dumb, according to Leia and Han and everyone else in Luke’s life, just not a kid), and Din’s not the same man he used to be.
And anyway, this is better isn’t it? All that time to find out who they were, live a lifetime of experiences with everything the galaxy threw at them only to meet once another again afterward? Learn who they’ve become since Tatooine, settled in their skins and anyway.
Not bad for a second date.
Han and Wedge absolutely lose their shit when they meet Din and realize why Luke’s story about his sweetheart from home was a little weird in places? Spots where Luke had to talk around the armor and fact Din’s Mandalorian and just.
Also the bit where Luke was all casual about the almost being murderized for saving Din’s life
“Guys, he wasn’t going to kill me, how many times do I have to tell you that?”
And Din is like. “...what? You thought I was going to kill you?”
“No!”
“Well we did!”
And anyway.
Yeah.
Leia, who has also heard Luke’s sweetheart from home story - it took them a long time to find Han after Cloud City, and there were nights where none of them could sleep and nightmares were plentiful and anyway, she’s heard the story - takes one look at Din and Luke and how happy her idiot of a brother is, and is just.
Finally, someone who makes her brother look like that.
(Happy. Din makes Luke happy.)
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mandoinevarro · a year ago
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WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE
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Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1
Words: 8.4k 
Rating: E
Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?
a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 
……………
Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.
Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”
“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”
“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”
“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”
“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.
“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.
“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”
Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”
“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.
“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.
“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”
“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.
“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.
“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  
Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.
It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.
“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.
“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.
Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.
“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”
“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.
You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.
You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.
Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  
Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”
“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”
“The cards,” Greef urges.
“You’ll be rich.”
You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  
“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”
Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”
“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”
The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”
Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…
Maker’s fucking mercy.
You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.
You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.
The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.
And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.
You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.
You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”
“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”
Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.
She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”
You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.
Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”
“On the ship. I need to get back.”
“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”
“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”
Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”
“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”
The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  
“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”
Silence.
You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…
“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.
The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  
“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”
He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.
“Business.”  
You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?
“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  
“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”
“He told I did that?”
“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”
“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”
“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.
You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”
“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”
That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.
“I was, actually.”
He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”
“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”
You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.
“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”
Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”
“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”
“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.
Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.
“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”
“Then why?”
You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”
He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”
You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”
And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.
“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…
“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.
With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.
But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.
Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”
You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.
“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.
“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.
A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.
“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  
Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.
The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.
“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”
Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.
“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.
“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  
He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.
“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—
The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He���s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.
Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”
Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.
“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  
“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.
“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.
You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.
“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”
Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.
Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.
The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  
The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.
“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.
Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.
Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.
The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—
A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.
“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”
“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”
No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.
Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.
“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  
He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—
The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.
Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.
But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.
You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”
The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.
“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”
“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.
He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.
“Mmmando,” you sob.
Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.
“Mando, I…”
“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.
Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.
“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”
“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”
There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.
You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—
Zium!
It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.
…………
Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo
Taglist: @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon​ @benedrylcumbersnatch
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second-stars-totheright · a year ago
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AD ASTRA - CHAPTER SEVEN
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CHPT VII. THE PROTECTORS
Description: Tatooine proves as unforgiving as you remember it as Mando is betrayed by his temporary Bounty Hunter companion.
Length: 5.5k
STARS’ MASTERLIST
AD ASTRA MASTERLIST
Din Djarin x Jedi!reader series. Friends to lovers, (Somewhat) slowburn, female!reader, JEDI!READER, possible smut, jealous!mando, reader has problematic childhood, fluff, saviour complex!mando, canon star wars characters mentioned, Obi wan x padawan!reader, dad!obi wan, general star wars bloodshed etc
Chapter Triggers - Blood, needles, stitching of wounds, death of Toro Callican, tough childhood, lost family, use of blaster/g*n.
AD ASTRA PER ASPERA
“To the stars through hardships”
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The following day was spent finishing up the final adjustments to the Razor Crest, double and even triple-checking that everything was in order so you didn't have to return back to this maker-forsaken planet any time soon. Peli Motto was surprisingly caring, and damn was she sassy for her older age, but you would wholeheartedly admit you hated the feeling of the gritty Tatooine air and the woman alone couldn’t compel you to stay any longer than you had to.
Satisfied the job was complete, you spent the rest of the morning playing sabacc with the pit droids who were quaking like a leaf the second they had seen you sit down to play, thinking you'd been as unfriendly as Mando had been. Luckily, you were not and instead sipped a glass of water greedily and entertained the child bouncing on your knee.
He thumbed, well clawed, over your cards as you held them in front of him. You smiled, showing him the values of each one and letting him pretend he had a say in which one you put down, receiving a happy babble from the baby when he thought he was playing himself.
By the time it had reached mid-day you realised the child was getting antsy, choosing to try and chew up the deck you held out to him instead of merely stroking them gently as he had been doing before. You sat, confused by his sudden change in attitude when the kid's mood took a turn for the worst and he began squealing, bottom lip quivering pitifully.
"What is it, kid? I changed you about an hour ago." You received no response obviously, "How about we play a game, huh? Do you want to play a different game?"
"Maybe he's hungry" Peli offered, though the tone she'd said it in meant that she already knew that was the case and she didn't want you to feel dumb for not realising it yourself.
"Hungry? I already fed him twice today" You said incredulously, confused as to why this kid was so ravenous suddenly.
"Kid of his age should probably eat around four or five times a day I'd say," Peli replied, collecting the wet cards up from his needy, barely-toothed mouth.
"Five times? Kriffing hell, kid. Where do you put it all?" You asked, picking the child up and resting him on your hip the way that felt unnatural to you, but it was how Peli had shown you. You stood from the table, ready to take the kid aboard the ship where you had kept some leftover broth. The mechanic spent the free morning explaining to you some basic meals suitable for a kid at his stage of development. You didn't even realise there were things children of his size should never eat in case they were to choke on them. You knew that kids were a handful, but you hadn't bet on so many do's and don'ts with the little monsters.
"How about it huh? You want some food?" At the sound of a meal, the child quietened down, his cries becoming a low whimper as he snuggled into your neck to watch you prepare his meal for him. You could feel something wet dripping down your collar bone, and you weren't sure whether it was tears or drool or even snot from the menace's tantrum, but you figured it was best you didn't know. As much as that thought grossed you out, you were just happy you had been able to satiate the child's needs. You heated the leftover stew over the small makeshift hob the Mandalorian had in the hull of his ship, feeling the child's sniffles simmer down as the meaty smell met his button nose and instead he began chittering happily, realising he was about to be fed.
You laughed as his mood swung around, taking the food off the heat and allowing it to cool down before you handed it to the child. Peli had nearly had a heart attack when you had almost given him a piping bowl of the freshly made broth last night, scolding you for nearly burning the child's little grabby hands in the mixture.
You waited a moment, setting the kid up on a crate and tucking a piece of cloth Peli had suggested you fashion into a bib inside his brown robes. you watched him squeal happily as the bowl was placed in front of him. You had to hold it yourself due to how big it was and hand him the tiniest spoon you could find, though it was still much too oversized for the poor boy.
You watched him practically dive into the food, chuckling at how hungry he indeed had been and thankful you had Peli's guidance to keep you from burning the excited child. Mando would have killed you himself if you had.
The child had finished his meal in less than five minutes flat, sitting back contently and burping. You laughed, wiping the remnants from his giggling mouth and standing to wash up the cutlery you'd used. You had never thought you would enjoy the domestic side of life, being much too wrapped up in self-pity and fear for the past few rotations to even comprehend having children or a husband (or even wife for that matter). Settling down wasn't really an option for you since day one. The Jedi teaching was instilled into you that attachment and the strong emotions that came with it had the potential to lead down a dark path, and you'd witnessed it yourself in the angry yellow orbs Anakin had glared at you with the day he mercilessly killed the younglings. Every single one except you.
"The Emperor has big plans for you, Y/N," You still heard his empty voice echoing in your head, and the thought made you shudder.
If only it were possible to bury away awful memories like those. But instead, ones like that had been haunting your brain since you were a young girl.
You were mid-reminiscing when you heard a small creaking sound coming from behind you, assuming it was just the child trying to get down from the crate you had set him on. But something was wrong. Something felt wrong.
And then the feeling of the force signature was back, only stronger. Invading every single one of your senses as though you were standing right in front of the man himself. Your nose was filled with his familiar smell of the soap Anakin always used alongside a more natural sweaty undertone he carried after a long day of training or fighting, a scent you hadn’t known since you were seven years old. Some part of him was there with you, for what reason you weren't sure.
But before you had any chance to question it further, the sharp frame of a blaster collided with your temple and you felt your vision blank for a moment, before it came back in a single flicker and died out like a broken light. The last thing you heard was the kid screaming, sending a sick feeling to your gut before your consciousness was completely stolen from you altogether.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・
Din stalked his way into Peli's workshop, part of him hopeful that you had been able to take care of this Toro Calican guy who had double-crossed him, but his heart sank when he saw the area empty. That only worried him. He saw the older mechanic in a set of cuffs by the entrance to his ship, eyes wide at his arrival. But before he could ask her what exactly had happened Toro came strolling down the ramp, the child in one arm and a blaster in the other. Not only did the sight of the kid now in his grasp scare him, but the fact you were at the charge end of the weapon, hands raised in surrender and a trickle of dried blood leading down your cheek raised red flags in his head, and his leathered hands curled into fists at the sight.
"Took you long enough, Mando." The man smiled devilishly, and Din watched you scoff at his words, "Looks like I'm calling the shots now, huh, partner? Drop your blaster and raise 'em or this pretty lady a' yours is gonna get real messy,"
The Mandalorian hesitated, thinking over his few options carefully. He guessed the only reason you hadn't taken the guy out already was that he had the child and one small mistake could be fatal for the innocent little guy. He stared at your solemn face briefly, wondering if you were okay seeing you was clearly wounded, before lowering his weapon and throwing it on the sandy floor.
Toro pushed a set of handcuffs into your palm and shoved the blaster in your back to gesture towards the beskar clad man.
You said nothing. You were thinking of all the ways you would have slaughtered the man behind your were it not for the child being in his hands. You couldn't be stupid and reckless, not when his life depended on it.
"Cuff him," He ordered, raising the blaster towards the Mandalorian as you did as you were told, walking over to stand behind him so you could reach his own surrendering hands. There were questions you needed answering like who the hell was this guy, and why was he picking a fight with you. Instead, you said nothing. You could say nothing, not right now at least, and raised your hands to grasp his wrists gently, cuffs ready to lock around him. "You're a Guild traitor, Mando. And I'm willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape."
You almost growled in anger when you saw the stranger waving his weapon towards the child's face, were it not for the fact you noticed a flash charge in Mando's hand, clearly there for you to see.
Bingo. You were glad the man under the suit was as smart as he was buff. You could have kissed that cold helmet out of gratitude for his quick thinking. You didn't, but you very well could have. Instead, you reached up and gently slipped it out of his palm as a way of telling him you understood the plan.
"Fennec was right. Bringing you in won't just make me a member of the Guild, it'll make me legendary." Toro's finger inched towards the trigger meaning you had no time left to waste. You squeezed your eyes shut to be sure you didn't damage them in such a short range and detonated the flash.
The assailant grunted, covering his eyes at the sudden blinding light but shooting in the general direction he'd seen Mando standing. By the time the glare had simmered down to a low lustre, his two captives were nowhere to be seen, leaving Toro Calican reeling back in fright.
He knew he was absolutely kriffed.
He caught a glimpse of Beskar to his right, but he was much too late. Mando had shot him dead in the chest, leaving his body to fall off the ramp with the kid still in hand. The child made a noise of fright, seeing the ground coming fast and hard, but was gladly surprised when he felt two arms snatching him out of the bad man's grasp.
The child looked up at his saviour, giggling and throwing his arms around happily when he saw the eyes that had been watching over him for the past few days while his other carer was gone.
"Hey, little guy," You spoke affectionately and he simply chittered in response. You hadn't thought you'd grow so attached to the young Jedi, much too afraid of what his powers meant for you than anything else, but seeing that bastard waving a blaster in his face had worried you infinitely.
Peli came up behind you, also cooing and shushing the child as Mando checked over Toro's body, looting anything of value.
"You need to get that head of yours looked at, missy," The curly-haired woman said, stroking the child's ears gently. The trail of blood had mostly dried up at this point, but the gash where the blaster had connected with your temple looked red and angry.
"I'll see if the kid’s okay first," You said, your eyes not leaving the child's sweet smile directed at you, "And that hunk of Beskar too, I guess," You said, pointing over your shoulder at Mando.
"So I take it you didn't get paid?" Peli asked, somewhat dejectedly as the Mandalorian came strolling over as if on cue, you immediately handing the child to the comfort of his arms. His gaze was locked on the nasty cut on your head, and he was left racking his brain if he had any Bacta-shots in the small medkit on board the crest. His annoyance at your irresponsibility the day before was long forgotten. He would have been a hypocrite for chewing your out about trusting a stranger to watch the child seeing as the man he had trusted nearly killed all four of you.
The burly man pulled out a pouch of credits that he had unremorsefully snatched from Toro's body, tipping out the contents into the mechanic's wrinkled hands. Her eyes widened comically; this was much more than it would have cost him for the repairs, especially since you had helped with a significant amount of the work.
"Will this cover me?" Din asked, and you sensed a teasing tone to his words. It was hard to spot at first, what with his few words and lack of expression, but over the past two months you had known him, you'd grown to be able to see the subtle wit in his humour.
"Yeah, yeah this should cover you," Peli nodded, a little stunned for what to say, before turning to you and smiling smally, "I'll see you three around then. You better get that stubborn head of hers fixed up, mister," The woman patted you on the back, neither of you really being the type to hug but you understood the intent behind it anyway. Your odd trio made your way up the ramp, turning around and catching Peli's somewhat sad gaze. You waved to her, a grin plastered on your face.
Perhaps not all of Tatooine was bad after all, you mused as the door shut on the sandy planet.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
"Would you quit being such a baby?" Din chastised as you winced at the sharpness of the needle against your temple, "I'm nearly finished now,"
"I probably am a baby compared to you, old man," You gasped as one particular bolt of pain shot through your, gritting your teeth tightly. Truthfully, you were used to the tough love treatment from Shenzi, but it didn't make the process any less painful. You cursed Mando for forgetting to buy more bacta pouches, particularly for a man of his profession, but there was little you could do now except bite your teeth together to prevent the hisses of pain escaping any more.
"I'm only a couple of years older than you, wise-ass," The cold man responded somewhat teasingly, wiping a small trickle of blood from your cheek, much more gently than you would have expected from such a heavy-handed guy, "I'm done now anyway,"
You stood, inspecting his handy work in the mirror across from you in the refresher. You had been sitting in the small cubicle for the past twenty minutes, bickering like children about his technique as a medic. He only knew enough to get by, but he too was used to a lack of sympathy when it came to scrapes and pains and thus didn't have much for you back.
"Hmm. Not too bad. Could have tried to avoid the hairline though, gramps," Mando huffed, throwing the bloodied rag he'd been using to clean your wound at your face, making you snicker at his theatrics.
"You're on your own next time, baby," Din hadn't even realised what he'd said until it slipped out, trying to tease you for the fact you were behaving quite childishly and instead giving you an affectionate pet name. He was relieved for the fact you laughed it off, tending to the child who had been staring at the two of you in wonderment, but it still didn't quell the sudden shyness he had felt.
He didn't know what about you had sunken itself deep into his flesh, but he had noticed himself much more playful and light-hearted than he used to be before you happened. Then again, when he was alone on the Razor he didn't have much to be particularly giddy about. Before you and the kid, his life had simply been about providing for his covert, one bounty at a time.
You made him laugh more than he had in a long time and for that alone he was grateful, but he found himself looking forward to your friendly quips towards one another, the way you would tease him like a child though he knew you could snap him in two given the chance.
"How about you, sweetheart? That beskar hold up or do I need to play nurse droid too?" You teased, sliding down off the crate you were using as a seat and collecting your nightclothes, fully intent on passing out in your makeshift bed and leaving him to sort it out himself. Still, you found yourself waiting for his reply, wanting to make sure he actually wasn't injured and needed your help.
"Nope," Mando replied shortly, holding the child out to you as he whined and grabbed his hands out for your, the child himself more than ready for bed. Being held hostage was tiring work for a little green fella like him, "Kid wants you though, you'd think he'd have got tired of you by now."
That was one thing he'd noticed in the few hours you’d been back on the crest, the way you held the child, tending to his every little cry and coo over third meal you had made together for yourselves and the kid. You looked very out of place and uncertain of your actions as you did, but the kid seemed to quieten down quicker than usual as though you had understood his problem. You had seemed very disconnected up until this point, leaving him to do most of the care work which he hadn't minded. If anything, it reminded him of being back in the covert. Mandalorians were ruthless hunters and killers, but their main priority in the covert was each playing their own role in raising the foundlings, Din having done so himself ever since he was a boy.
He wasn't complaining. Actually, he thought the sight was sweet of you actually taking an interest in the child.
He had tried pushing down the thoughts that had immediately sprung to his tired, touch-starved mind when he realised you looked so exquisite holding a child. Yes, the kind of thoughts that fuelled naughty holo-films or the thing that had him turning a shy cheek to you when he had called you baby not ten seconds ago.
You took the little boy from him, holding him out at arms' length to see his big, round eyes stare at you tiredly. He cried out impatiently, making you chuckle and bring his head to rest on your shoulder, remembering Peli's advice that a short temper usually meant tiredness.
"You tired, squirt?" You asked affectionately, smiling when you heard no reply and instead felt the boy's head fall limply on your shoulder.
"I think that's a yes," Din teased, speaking as quietly as his vocoder would allow. He watched you smile toothily, stroking the child's head gently, "You seem different with him." He noted though he was thinking about how his heart warmed to see you be so affectionate, something he hadn't seen in the time he'd known you. You would throw around pet names jokingly, as would he, but you were quite wooden when it came to physical affection. Though, who was he to talk? He wasn't exactly the most welcoming of men, quite literally being wrapped in a thick metal wall, all day every day.
"Well, the little bugger's grown on me." You smiled at the man behind the visor, feeling oddly vulnerable that he was staring at you so intensely, probably waiting for you to make a mistake and to drop his child or something, you thought cynically.
"Do you remember much about your family?" Din didn't know where he had gotten the balls to ask you such a personal question, knowing how touchy of a subject it was for both of you. It had just slipped out, part of him beginning to wonder if this was how it was going to be for a while. Just the two of you and the baby, traversing the galaxy with mischief usually following.
In all honesty, you were probably one of the only people Din felt comfortable doing so with. Part of you understood each other in a way no one else had. Even Omera, as much as Din had wanted to drop everything and stay with the gorgeous Sorganese woman, living in peace drinking spotchka for the rest of his natural life, hadn't fully accepted what his creed meant to him. But you did. He had always been holding his breath around Omera, his obvious amorous gaze on the woman meaning he was much too afraid to say the wrong thing, much too delicate with her as he would be with a lace glove.
It was different with you, who was now thinking over his words solemnly. He felt like he could be himself around you, as though he could say exactly what came to his mind and you would have been thinking the same thing.
"Bits and pieces. I was taken in by my father when I was very young so I never knew my birth parents. But he was good to me. He worked as a tutor of sorts on Coruscant, and so I attended school there where he could keep a close eye on me," You went quiet for a moment as you thought about the half-lie you'd told, "How about you?"
"I knew my parents before they passed, but it all changed when the Mandalorians found me," The man started, looking at the floor as he recounted his time growing up on Nevarro, "As children, we didn't need to wear helmets and so we shared rooms with each other, got taught the ways of the Mandalore until we were old enough to swear by the creed. After that, we were assigned a cabur, a protector, who taught us how to fight properly." You didn't have the heart to tell him you already knew the way they were raised from all the times you pestered Shenzi about it, and that you had meant more about him in particular. But you found solace in hearing him speak about something so tender to him, so you didn't mock. Instead, you nodded quietly waiting to see if he had more to say. It was a rare occasion you heard his deep voice talk so much with no teasing tone either and you found it soothing.
"So we're this kid's caburs then, huh?" You hadn't bothered to soften your accent when speaking the Mando'an word, once again being well versed in the culture from the teachings of the cold, midnight haired woman you had formerly known. Din looked at you for a moment, thinking over your words with a new heat in his chest hearing you describe yourselves that way.
"Yes, I suppose we are," He replied shortly, letting that be an end to the conversation as the kid was well into the land of nod by this point. You smiled at the thought softly, thinking how perfect the word rolled around in your mouth. You, by far, weren't ready to label yourself the child's mother, not sure whether Mando would even like you to do so or if you would ever be that, and so the thought of settling for a protector or guardian suited you well.
You went to sleep that night in your little quarters you’d fashioned out of a cupboard near the cockpit, knowing the child was tucked up into his hammock fast asleep, with Mando probably the same knowing how long a day he'd had. You couldn't help but smile to yourself when you realised for the first time in years you weren't alone anymore. You were a protector, a companion. A Cabur.
You had found a purpose with your little tribe of three. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・
I might do a chapter next or in the future as a prequel or chapter about little headcanons/scenes from living with obi wan and then shenzi so you get an idea of what their relationship is like in more detail, how do we feel about that? Would anyone actually be interested in reading that? More will be revealed in the following chapters but I was just thinking in case anyone wanted any gaps filling in?
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thefact0rygirl · a year ago
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Hey bby! Congrats on the milestone!! Your work always makes me 🥺 (btw reading your boba fic is my origin story of how I am now a boba bucket fucker, so yeah thanks for the curse) and you deserve thousands more!
If you are free and inspired, how's NSFW prompt 32 for Din? Where din tells that to the reader heheeee luv ya~
VAL you’re gonna make me cry ily bb 🥺 💕 I’m getting younger Din vibes from this. Think Din before season 1 when he was working with Ran, Xi’an, and Qin. I hope you like it!
Rating: Explicit 18+
NSFW Prompt: “I don’t care if it takes all night, you will submit.”
Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1k
Warnings: cockwarming, public sex, lap-sitting, breeding kink, creampie
The crew doesn’t know what to make of the Mandalorian.
He isn’t as deranged as the twins, which is a bonus; but he’s quiet, withdrawn, and seems to be a constant state of annoyance. For kriff’s sake, no one even knows his name. Everyone just calls him Mando.
While aloof, no one can deny he is a damn good bounty hunter. Ruthless and intentional, he works hard and that’s something that Ran appreciates. Hard work means more jobs, and more jobs means more credits. Mando gets the job done and only causes a fuss if someone else starts it, or if someone goes after you.
So when you sit in his lap after another successful mission, no one thinks much of it.
The cantina is surprisingly packed given the small population of the planet. Xi’an manages to find a naive local for the night, while the rest of you secure the last available booth. Sliding in, your skirts hike up in the Mandalorian’s lap as Ran and Qin start a game of Sabacc.
Mando rests one of his hands on your waist while the other runs along your exposed thigh. He is stoic, and if it weren’t for his wandering hands, you would think he fell asleep. His touch is torture — gloved fingertips dancing in lazy steps against your flesh. Up and down, back and forth, moving everywhere except where you want him.
You dare to grind your hips in a tiny circle against his cock. It’s the barest of movements, as much as you dare with Ran and Qin so close, but enough for Mando to respond by rocking his own against you.
Thankfully, the dim lights conceal your burning face and squirming body from the others. One look in your direction and they would know exactly what you and Mando are up to.
“Cheater!” Qin’s hand slams down on the table, making the sticky table rattle as Ran collects his winnings. Your pussy clenches from the sound, causing Mando to hiss a sharp breath, one that can almost pass as a moan.
If they heard, they did’t acknowledge it. Mando uses their obliviousness to his benefit. He rocks hips once more as Qin shuffles the cards for a rematch. Trying to play off your sigh as a yawn, you turn to bury your head in the cowl around his neck.
“Seven hells, Mando,” You whine, loud enough for only him to hear.
“Quiet.” He pinches your waist as a warning. He knows what he’s doing, keeping you sat on his cock and seeing how long you can last before you’re whining.
The hand on your thigh finally slinks towards your center until his thumb anchors itself to your clit, rubbing circles as you squirm against his thighs. You can feel him throbbing, the blunt head of his cock pushing against your walls. He has to feel your neediness, he has to. The sparking arousal is making your juices leak down and dampen his pants, you can feel the damp material scratching you.
One look from Qin or Ran and it’s all over…
He keeps rutting into you, picking up speed as the local band starts on another ballad. Their instruments drown out the loud chatter, and Mando uses it to his advantage. Dipping his head down, he presses the cold metal of his helmet to your cheek. Nothing odd or suspicious. No one is paying attention and even if they did, it would look like Mando is leaning in close to tell you something.
“The second we land in Alzoc, I’m renting the first room I find…”
His thumb moves faster against your clit as you squeeze him tight in a feeble attempt to stop his words, but he continues on without a break in his voice.
“I don’t care if it takes all night, you will submit.”
He continues on, hips moving against you so you feel every inch and ridge of his stiff cock. Praying the others can’t see the shudder running through you, you bite down on his cowl.
“I’m going to tie you to the bed and make you come over and over. Really make your pussy flutter.”
The growing pleasure makes your back tighten in anticipation. You’re so close, the edges of your mind start to burn as your sensibility turns to ash.
“I’ll fill you up so well you’ll be leaking for days. We’ll need to ask for a change of sheets.”
He makes you hopeless. You can’t keep the moans at bay any longer — they come out, muffled by his cowl and the music, but still strong enough for the skin on his neck to vibrate. You want to on Azloc, Nevarro, his ship, anywhere but here. Just somewhere far away so you can scream.
“You like that? You want me to fill you up? Claim that sweet little pussy as mine?”
Everything under his touch burns from impending bliss. He knows you too well considering how little you know about him. It’s as if he was born with the knowledge of how to make you feel this good.
“We’re not leaving that room until you’re fucking ruined. Cock dumb and full.”
Through the rush of his words and the heavy beats of the band, you start falling into disarray.
“You’re fucking mine, right? All mine. My fucked out beauty.”
You become liquid light.
Your orgasm rushes in tidal waves, setting your nerves off like tiny fireworks, as you tremble in his grip. You milk his cock, squeezing hard until he shudders from his own release.
You give him a final clench before pulling your head from the crook of his shoulder. Your eyes adjust to the bleary sight in front of you. Ran and Qin have their heads buried behind their cards, oblivious as Mando’s cum starts to leak out.
Exhaustion quickly weighs down on your bones, making you slump down against Mando’s large chest. His death grip on your waist loosens, but remains in place as he shuffles underneath your tired body.
Neither of you had really thought of what to do afterwards. He can’t exactly pull out and lift you off his lap without exposing the awful mess you two made, and eventually you’ll need to move.
But with you dozing off against him and Ran and Qin not interested in leaving any time soon, he settles back in his spot, relaxing just enough to enjoy your body pressed against him. He’ll figure it out later. He always does.
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saradika · 11 months ago
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jess!!! ✨ if you’d be so kind - i’d love boba’s point of view when he first spots the reader in ‘the mistress and the master’ 💞💞💞
Hi Dee! 💕 Ahh of course, thank you so much! It was so fun to revisit this fic, it was really interesting to write what Boba was up to!
Boba's POV from the beginning of The Mistress and the Master
Boba Fett x F!Reader
Rated E - 1.2k words
Tags - sexual daydreams (PiV sex), mentions of sex and exhibitionism
(From A Certain Point Of View Ask Game✨)
---
His mind has circled through a million different topics in the past hour. There’s an endless list of things that requires his attention more than this kriffing Sabacc game.
The Slave I, and that indicator light on the dashboard that kept blinking, the bulb on its last legs. The ledgers, the shipment of supplies coming in tomorrow. Fennec’s evening reports. The renovations to the third floor. But like the twin suns on Tatooine, his thoughts kept orbiting around a much more interesting topic. You.
He wondered briefly what you are up to. If you are out, still patrolling the halls, or grabbing a bite to eat. Or… if you were waiting for him, right this second, in his room. That thought made him want to leave mid-game, so he squashes that one down to revisit at a later time.
Boba itches to be anywhere else - this room did nothing for him. It was too loud, too crowded, exactly the sort of place he had learned to avoid. The drinks and the gambling were wasted on him - but he knew Fennec was right, this was a good way to build business relations. He just didn’t have to like it.
He hadn’t thought he’d miss bounty hunting, but he also didn’t anticipate how sedentary ruling would be. Boba’s mind was as sharp as ever, but sitting all day - well, he hadn’t missed the side-eye Fennec had been giving him lately, a look that said he’s been getting soft.
He needed to release some of this pent-up energy.
And like before, his mind orbits back to you.
He really shouldn’t call you- he should just leave you alone, give you the night off. But Boba’s never been all that interested in being good. It only takes a few seconds of debating, before his hand is raising to the button on his helmet, sending you a comm.
As predicted, you pick up before the second ring.
“I’m at the cantina.” He grits out, by way of greeting, “Back table. Will you come?”
You said you will, also just like he predicted. Boba makes a mental note to make it up to you later - it didn’t take much to tell that the Cantina was not your preferred location to spend time, either.
Time seems to crawl even more slowly as he waits, the air perfumed with heavy smoke and the sound of the Bith band only fueling his irritation. His eyes idle over the crowd, throwing down a card on his turn, then telling himself he was just watching, not looking.
He kills the passing minutes by thinking of a few nights ago, the pretty little sounds you made as you rode him. The rough slap of your thighs against his as he lifted you up and down on his cock, spearing him deep into you, again and again.
“That’s it, girl. Use me, take what you need.”
He thought about the way your back bowed at his words, tight cunt clamping around him as your fingers dug into his flesh, as you -
The memory is rudely interrupted as the Weequay across the table gestures towards him, and he focuses long enough to catch the end, “-and we’re so pleased to be working with you.”
Irritation pricks at his skin as Boba acknowledges with a quick tilt of his head, and that’s enough of a response for them. His eyes do another slow sweep.
It feels like you’re taking ages, and he wonders idly if you’re doing it on purpose. If you are, he thinks, then it’s working.
His eyes rest for a moment on a figure that just entered from the side entrance, dressed in shades of red in a dress that would ruin a lesser man. When he registers who it is a moment later, his gut does this uncomfortable flip that he only associates with two things - danger, and... you.
Your eyes dart back and forth quickly as you work your way through the crowd. A mix of habit and unease, he suspects, you always did have a hard time turning off your brain. Always alert, always thinking about what’s next, what that plan is - he knows that feeling well.
He’s noticed you a few moments before you see him, and he takes that time to look at you like a stranger would - appreciating the way you had dressed up for him, wearing a gown that showed off your figure. He wondered if you were aware of the attention you were drawing, but he wasn’t concerned. Let them look.
The skirt looks like it’s made of fire, rippling shades of silky crimsons and burgundy's, hinting at your curves underneath. The fabric looks so delicate, he is sure it would rip under his grip, if he tried. A smile tugs up the corner of his lips as a flash of gold glitters on your thigh, he’s familiar with the blade strapped to it. He was the one who gave it to you, after all.
Your eyes meet his a moment later, and he likes the way your pretty lips curve up, almost automatically. You are like him, when he was younger - so used to the mask that your face is an open book without it. Under his heady gaze you flush easily, a mix of pleasure and self-consciousness at his attention.
His fingers itch, his self-control the only thing keeping him from bending you over the table right there. Because really, who would stop him? This was his Palace, his domain - if he wanted to claim you in front of anyone, make you scream his name as you came around his cock, well, that wasn’t their business, was it? If they didn’t like it, they could leave. Boba’s hand closes into a fist at the thought - he wouldn’t, but Stars, he’s already half-hard just thinking about it.
As you halt by the chair, he watches your hand reach out, as if to touch the curve of his pauldron. He is faster, his hand closing around your bicep and tugging, all but dragging you onto his lap.
The little gasp you let loose is breathy, close enough to a moan that it sends another jolt straight to his cock. He hold himself still as you adjust, balancing yourself on one thick thigh, your hands wrapping around the muscle near his knee as you settle.
He has to admit that your weight is welcome, your hips pressing against his thighs, making him sit up a little straighter, spreading his legs a little wider. There’s easily room for both of you in this chair, and he makes a mental note to thank whoever designed this room.
You’re only seated for a moment before one of his large hands comes to rest on your abdomen, pulling your bare back flush with his chest. The curve of his helmet brushes your shoulder, close enough that only you can hear the sharp rasp of his breath.
“Did you dress up for me, Princess?” Boba asks you, voice low and gravely beneath the helmet. His other hand reaches out, almost unconsciously, to stroke the burgundy fabric bunched high on your thigh. He wants to ruck it up, see just what you’re wearing underneath.
But good things come to those who wait, and now that you’re here, he can be patient. But that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy himself in the meantime.
“I didn’t know you knew how to have fun.”
----
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