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sanarsi · 11 months ago

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Gardens of Eden

Din Djarin x goddess!f!Reader

Summary: Another bounty hunt goes wrong when he comes across a creature whose influence changes his view of everything. Warnings: +18, MDNI, mention of using weapon, goddess!immortal!reader, reader has long hair which can change colour (you will understand), sub!Din (by reader’s power), unprotected PIV, loving sex, soft!dom!Din, creampie Wordcount: 3,4k An: First shot with my fav Pedro boy. For a long time I resisted writing something with him because I thought it had to be perfect. Din is my first love, that's why he and my fav band together create a mind-blowing mix for me. Sooo hold my beer bc I’m just getting started ;) Music I worked with: Take Me Back To Eden - Sleep Token

Masterlist

He had never been in a place like this, a planet full of greenery and colorful flowers like something out of a story about what paradise could look like.

As a bounty hunter, he had been in places that were more look like hell. It was rare for his bounties to be in places like this. The energy that reigned around made it easy to fall into a sense of security, but he knew better than to allow himself to have false feelings.

The transmitter in his hand flashed more frequently, assuring him that he was well on the way to target. His finger rested on the blaster trigger, ready to disarm his opponent if necessary.

His careful steps prevented the slightest sound, giving him the opportunity to create a surprise effect. The quiet chirping of birds echoed in the background, and wild animals fled in panic, sensing danger.

Everything here seemed peaceful, unlike what was happening elsewhere in the galaxy. The dense forest barely let in the rays of the three suns shining high in the sky, yet everything was bright.

The tracker blinked harder, catching his attention, the red light letting him know that his target was within reach.

He looked ahead, putting the device in his pocket and took a few cautious steps before he spotted a clearing ending the forest border.

The birdsong was drowned out by the increasingly distinct sounds of running water. He stopped behind one of the trees and slowly began to look around the exposed area. With the trigger of his blaster, he moved a few leaves blocking his view and then his gaze fell on you.

You were sitting on a large rock by the stream, giggling as you dipped your hand in the water. Your long white hair blindingly reflected the sun's rays and the translucent white material of your dress flowed down your body.

You looked like a living example of innocence.

Din couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way you gracefully moved your fingers across the surface of the water, sitting completely unaware of the threat that he was.

A gentle smile adorned your face, adding to your charm, and he had to admit that he hadn’t seen such a beautiful sight in a long time.

He had seen a lot in his life but he had never experienced such conflicting emotions as you had stirred in him. He knew very well that appearances were deceptive and you could have turned out to be the worst thing he had to fight so far but he simply couldn’t…

He couldn’t shake this strange feeling that he had stumbled upon something beautiful, innocent and flawlessly good. As if some greater power was letting him know that he even shouldn’t have aimed a gun at you.

He stepped forward to get a better view of you, but as it turned out, it was a bad decision.

A dry branch snapped under his weight, piercing the space like a shot. Everything around fell silent as you straightened like a string and looked in his direction. His heart stopped for a moment as he looked into your eyes and saw fear in them.

He cursed himself in mind and slowly walked out from behind the trees, spreading his arms to show that he meant no harm.

Unfortunately, your reaction was the opposite of what he wanted to achieve.

Your hair changed color from shiny white to blacker than the forgotten ends of space in a second. He watched this in shock, slowly approaching you and to his surprise, you didn’t move an inch.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, and to confirm his words, he slowly put the blaster behind his belt. You didnkt even notice, continuing to stare into his black visor, and even though he was wearing a helmet and thick armor, he felt naked under your gaze. “Please,” he added more gently.

His words didn’t work.

The blackness of your hair seemed to only deepen with each step he took. He didn’t know where the feeling of desperation had come from in his body, for you to trust, that he didn’t have bad intentions towards you; or at least not anymore. And it was this desperation that made him fall to his knees a few steps away from you.

Surprisingly, it did just that, your hair lightened a few shades, matching the greynes of his beskar. Your watchful gaze began to examine every inch of his body as if you were assessing the threat he posed to you.

“You’re a bounty hunter,” you noted.

Your voice didn’t match your appearance at all, sharp and commanding, as if you had lived much more than he had. As if you had lived centuries.

“I am,” he confirmed, feeling deep in his bones that trying to deceive you was purposeful. His honesty made your hair lighten a bit and your eyes filled with interest.

“And yet, you don’t want to hurt me.” You raised an eyebrow, wanting to let him know how absurd his words sounded.

“I don’t,” he replied without a moment’s hesitation.

He didnkt know if it surprised you or him more, after all, he had come here for one purpose and he had the impression that you knew it very well.

His answers were short and honest, giving a sense of sincerity but even that didn’t seem to convince you.

“So why are you in full armor and armed?” you asked even though you knew the answer. This wasn’t the first bounty hunter or even Mandalorian with whom you had the pleasure to dealt with.

“It’s part of my culture.”

Yes, you’ve heard that answer before.

“Indeed,” you nodded thoughtfully, your gaze dropping to the shiny beskar again. You had never seen a hunter who looked as majestic as he did, which made you interested in him even more.

Din watched as you finally flinched to look at him from a different perspective, your hair getting closer to its original color with every passing second.

“I can’t trust you.”

Your gaze met his again as if there was no helmet on his head at all.

Your words were completely justified and yet, there was a tightness in his chest that made him realize how much he wanted— no, needed you to change your mind.

Before he could say anything, you stood up from the stone and slowly walked over to him. The sheer material of your dress gave him a perfect view of your entire body, but his gaze was still fixed on your eyes.

“Stand,” you said and there was no room in your tone for his protest.

He obediently rose from his knees, forcing you to look up as he now towered over you.

“I don’t trust you,” you declared, plunging another dagger into his chest. Your sharp gaze made him understand that he was too weak to let you stab again.

“Then make me earn your trust,” he said it confidently and really meant it. He was willing to go as far as he had to.

His words hung between you, finally letting the birdsong and the rush of the stream reach your ears.

The grey slowly began to give way to white with each passing second as you thought about his words and what was behind them.

“I exist beyond any religion.”

These words should have caused a red light to go off in his head, but nothing like that happened. Instead of common sense and the Laws of the Way, a small flame appeared in his body, drawing him towards you. There was nothing in your look that could suggest that you wanted to force him to do something, on the contrary, you were giving him the opportunity to leave.

But the seconds passed and he still stood there, worse, he nodded, giving you a sign that he had made a decision. A decision that start the downfall of his beliefs.

“Your way does not lead here, Mandalorian,” you said as if he didn’t know.

But he did. Better than anyone before him.

But that worry died faster than it appeared the moment your hands found their way to his armor. Despite the beskar separating you, he could have sworn he felt your burning touch.

Your attention focused on the clasps of each protector that you slowly pulled off of him and Din couldn’t do anything but watch your face as if hypnotized.

You carefully placed each piece on the grass, showing his armor the respect he was grateful for.

A sharp intake of breath sounded through his modulator as you knelt before him to remove the protectors from his thighs. The sight was definitely too stimulating for him, and you could see his cock smacking the material of his pants. You didn’t comment on it, but to his surprise, you leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his bulge. A shameful groan escaped his throat as his dick twitched, eager for your closeness.

You straightened up, leaving him in just his clothes and helmet. Your gaze didn’t meet his as you continued to work on each clasp, revealing his arms, chest, stomach, legs, every part of him that was decorated with scars.

“Will you tell me their story?” you asked, running your fingertips over the wound on his right chest.

Shivers ran through his body at your gentle touch.

“Each one of them,” he blurted out on a ragged breath.

His answer brought a gentle smile to your face, and he didn’t miss the way your hair flashed white again. You felt good again. Safe.

He wanted to ask about it, but as the words formed on his tongue, a dozen other questions suddenly appeared so he just kept quiet. He preferred to blame it on his own flood of thoughts rather than the fact that your gaze was rendering him speechless.

The sparkle in your eyes seemed even brighter than your snow-white hair. For a moment he lost his breath and then he twitched anxiously, feeling your hands on the edge of his helmet.

You waited.

One second, two, but there was no sign of resignation from him, so you continued.

The fresh air brushed his cheeks and then his hair, bringing a strange feeling of relief. He didn’t expect this after he willingly let his helmet be taken off. He expected negative emotions, anger at himself and his tormentor. But when he saw you without any barriers, he couldn’t feel anything but desire.

His dark eyes, dressed in small wrinkles, radiated with warmth but also emptiness.

He seemed lost, not in an endless galaxy but in his own mind.

A curved nose that hid a thin lips surrounded by the same dark stubble as his irises. To that, messy hair from constantly hiding his identity from the world.

He was beautiful. Wounded by life but beautiful.

“You look tired,” you said sympathetically, lifting a hand to stroke his stubbled jaw.

He let out a shaky breath as he felt you.

Like— he really felt you.

His eyes closed on their own and his head tilted, clinging to your hand. His mind barely reached the memory of the last time someone had been this close with him. And he had to admit it felt good. The closeness of another person was so rare for him that he forgot how addictive it was.

You allowed him a moment of tenderness that he needed after so many years of loneliness and watched with affection as he snuggled into your touch.

“Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he almost purred with pleasure.

“Will you let me to show you more?” you asked.

His hand covered yours before he began to place soft kisses on the palm of it. He didn’t even know how to describe what he was feeling; desire was too weak a word.

He felt hungry.

And that hunger seemed to keep growing.

The rough stubble irritated your skin and the soft lips brought relief. Every inch of his skin screamed for your attention. You saw how broken he was deep inside, how much he needed what you could give him.

“Please,” he moaned desperately.

“Then kiss me.”

That command made his gaze fall back to your face. He seemed in disbelief, searching for something that doesn’t exist. He found nothing in your eyes that could suggest the opposite of your words.

He didn’t need anything more.

His hands landed on your jaw, holding you hardly as his lips crushed yours even harder. You moaned, not expecting the force he used. He didn’t hold back, couldn’t hold back, allowing himself to drown in the moment as he hungrily began to kiss you. His tongue quickly found yours, forcing you to submit to his guidance. This time, you were the one who began to melt under his touch.

You kissed him back, wanting to give him as much as he needed and even more.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “Lay down,” he said, overcome with the need to claim you.

You shivered, looking at him like a defenseless animal. You backed away from him as much as he would let you, before he followed you like a shadow as you laid down on the grass.

His lips attacked yours again in a thirsty kiss. You tangled your fingers in his hair, trying to catch your breath with every chance he gave you because there weren’t many when his tongue didn’t want to stop caressing yours.

His large, warm hands slowly began to roam your body. Your dress was no barrier to feeling him as should.

He ran his fingertips over your breasts, teasing and bringing your nipples back to life. You moaned, thirsty for his attention in that place which he didn’t give you. Instead, he dug his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips. You wrapped your leg around his, pulling him closer to you.

His hard cock brushed against your core, making him hiss. He couldn’t hold back his instincts any longer, so with slightly too aggressive movements, he began to pull up the material of your dress, and only when it was all wrapped around your waist he was satisfied enough to pull away from you and look down between your bodies.

He was panting heavily from the kisses and allowed himself to stare at your temple for so long that you began to arch with desire. His cock quivered painfully at the thought of being inside you.

“Din,” you begged. His name on your lips sent a wave of shivers down his spine.

He looked at you, wondering how you knew his real name, but when he saw you, he was speechless again.

Your hair was lying around your head, and it wouldn’t have been strange if it wasn’t for the fact that it was now in a shade of light red.

“Please,” you moaned, digging your fingers deeper into his scalp. He couldn’t think straight seeing you like this, lying beneath him and craving his touch.

He wanted to give you what you needed, he wanted it so badly, but he was afraid that after so many years of celibacy he wouldn’t be able to satisfy you, and he really wanted to see you fall to pieces because of him.

“Cyar’ika…” he began hesitantly.

“Stop talking,” you cut him off, sliding your hands down his cheeks. “I want you inside me.” You pressed a kiss to his lips. “Just enter me,” you almost begged, feeling your core throb with desire.

So he did as you asked.

He positioned himself at your entrance and slowly pushed into you. He rested forehead against yours, overwhelmed, reveling in the warmth and wetness you greeted him with.

A feeling of bliss attacked all of his senses at once. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so good, like he was right where he was supposed to be, like he was home.

Your moans mingled as his cock sank fully inside you. He shuddered as you began to clench around him, wanting more.

“It feels so good,” he whispered, and with a groan, he began to gently move his hips. He didn’t want to leave your core for even a second, so he simply ground his hips against yours, constantly filling you all.

You shivered, digging your fingers into his shoulders at the constant feeling of stimulation. Your cunt throbbed around him like she never wanted to let him go.

“Yes, so good,” you moaned, overcome with pleasure that was building inside you. You hugged his arms tightly, surrendering yourself completely to his care.

The gentle movements he fed you with were more than perfect for you to feel what kind of man he really was. He needed someone to show him how to take care of each other and that’s what you wanted to give him today. His heavy breath was lost in your mouth which constantly showed him how good he made you feel; your kisses were everywhere.

He finally forced himself to watch the blissful expression on your face. You looked beautiful, overcome with pleasure, your eyes closed and your lips parted; but what fascinated him more, was the way your hair turned redder with each thrust of his hips. He focused on that and entered you harder noticing the color suddenly darken.

So he thrust again-harder.

You howled as you felt the traces of your orgasm begin to show in your core.

Din began to experiment, he entered you slowly and gently, and after a moment he plunged his cock into you with animal strength. Your hair gave him a show of different shades of red and he quickly understood how that magic had worked.

So he began to do everything to make your hair the reddest it could be, such as a color of blood.

He found the perfect pace and intensity with which he caressed your pussy until you cried out of pleasure under him. He felt as if he had unlocked a forbidden ability that allowed him to know what you felt.

Suddenly everything made sense; black when you were afraid, red when you felt pleasure.

And he had to admit that red suited you the best.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he gasped, clenching his jaw as the pleasure began to build in his core too.

Your hair began to flash like a transmitter that led him to you, letting him know that you were fighting against the last barriers that separated you from fulfillment.

“Come for me. I know you want to,” he whispered against your ear, sending the missing stimulus through your body. The orgasm overshadowed your senses and gave him a unique spectacle as your hair ignited like living fire. Your pussy began to throb on him and he couldn’t fight the pleasure you were pulling him into.

He growled, cumming inside you in several bursts until his balls were empty. The orgasm momentarily blurred his vision and left his body trembling. The experience of such an aegis after so many years was overwhelming for him.

He wasn’t experiencing his peak, almost panicking from the intensity of it but then your fingers had a grounding effect on him. The gentle touch of your hands brought him the desired feeling of stability.

He looked at you with a drunken gaze and the first thing he noticed was your warm smile, only later the delicate pink color of your hair.

Tenderness.

He found himself wanting to learn what each remaining color meant. He wanted to be present for everything so he could learn to read you like an open book.

His breathing slowly calmed down under your touch. You stroked his cheek, watching a million emotions that flew through his eyes. You were silent, allowing him to experience, understand, and accept his own emotions, something he didn’t experience often.

“What are you?” he finally asked the most important question. You smiled tenderly and pulled him into a gentle kiss.

This gesture ignited something inside him, making him realize that he would like to feel this every day when he woke up and fell asleep.

“I am everything.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian smut #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal smut #sanarsi fic

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areyoufuckingcrazy · 3 months ago

Note

Hi! I saw you took requests and I was wondering if you could do a Command Squad x Fem!Reader where she’s a general but not because she’s a Jedi but because she actually served in wars before this and they want her respect and flirt with her. And of course any of your flourishes ;)

You’re the best! Xx

“Steel & Stardust”

Fem!Reader x Command Squad (Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Neyo, Bacara, Gree, Bly, and Ponds)

⸻

You weren’t a Jedi. Never wore the robes, never had the Force. You didn’t need it.

Your command had been earned the hard way—blood, shrapnel, and scars in wars no one even bothered to archive anymore. When the Republic came knocking, you told them you didn’t serve causes—you served soldiers. And somehow, that landed you here.

Not in front of them. With them.

The elite. The best the Republic had to offer.

And from the second you stepped into that war room, every helmet turned your way. And when the helmets came off—yeah, that was a problem. Because they were all infuriatingly hot, and even worse, they knew it.

Cody was the first to speak, his voice calm, neutral, but his eyes sharp. “General. You’ll forgive the question, but… what exactly are your qualifications?”

You just smirked, tossing your old service jacket onto the table with a dull thud. “Two border wars, five urban insurgencies, and a ten-year campaign in the Outer Rim before the Jedi decided the galaxy needed saving. That enough for you, Commander?”

Wolffe snorted, amused. “She’s got more battlefield time than half the Jedi Council.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bacara grunted, arms crossed, voice gravelly. “Seen her file. Most of us got bred for war. She just never left it.”

“I like her,” Bly grinned, leaning on the table with a little too much casual charm. “Can we keep her?”

“Not like that, Bly,” Fox muttered, though he didn’t exactly disagree.

“I didn’t say anything,” Bly said with a wicked grin. “Yet.”

You sighed. “Are you always like this, or is it just when there’s a woman in the room who outranks you?”

Gree chuckled. “You outrank us technically. Not in spirit.”

Neyo hadn’t said a word yet, just stared at you like he was dissecting your tactical potential, or possibly imagining your funeral. Could go either way with Neyo.

Ponds gave you a respectful nod. “We’ve worked under a lot of Jedi. Not all of them know what they’re doing. We’d follow you, General.”

And that—that was what mattered.

⸻

You caught them watching you more often than not. In the field, in the war room, during briefings. It wasn’t just the usual soldier-to-general dynamic. No, it was different. Heat in Cody’s gaze when you gave orders. That glint in Wolffe’s eye when you called him out in front of the others. The way Fox lingered just a bit too long when you handed him back his datapad.

Even Neyo—cold, calculating Neyo—started standing just a little too close.

“You know they’re all trying to impress you, right?” Gree asked one night while you were cleaning your gear, his voice low and amused.

You didn’t even glance up. “Trying and failing.”

Bly leaned against your doorway. “Is that a challenge?”

⸻

After you saved their shebs in a firefight—ripping a blaster from a fallen commando and dropping six droids in twelve seconds flat—you were pretty sure something shifted.

They wanted your respect. You already had theirs.

But they wanted more.

So they fought beside you. Ate with you. Got protective in the field. Made excuses to talk to you after hours. Fought over who got assigned to your team. And every now and then… they flirted like it was a competitive sport.

Cody did subtle praise and brooding glances. Always has your back.

Wolffe. The grumpy softie. Pretends he hates you. Would kill anyone who hurt you.

Fox was stoic, but flirty in a dry, sardonic way. Deep down, he’s soft, but you’d have to earn it.

Neyo protective in a weird way. Doesn’t speak much but always notices when you’re off. Secretly touched you remembered his name.

Bacara extremely blunt, intense. A man of few words—but his loyalty is loud.

Gree slightly flirty and professional. Gives you space but always drops a line like, “You ever need a break, General… I know a place.”

Bly was shameless. Teases you endlessly but respects you deeply. Would absolutely fight anyone who disrespects you.

Ponds was quiet support. Loyal. Observes everything. The first one to ask how you’re doing when no one else notices.

And you?

You don’t fall easily. You’ve seen too much.

But if you were going to fall—

It might just be for one of them.

Or all of them.

⸻

79’s was already loud when you walked in. Music thrumming through your bones, the low hum of clone banter and laughter rising and falling like waves. You hadn’t planned to come here. You’d just wanted one damn drink. One moment not steeped in war, planning, or death.

You ran right into Commander Bly. Well, more like his chest.

“General,” he said, and the smile that bloomed on his face was entirely too pretty. He looked you over, gaze lingering just a little too long. “Didn’t know you came here.”

“I don’t,” you replied, stepping back. “Just needed to breathe.”

“You came to a GAR bar to breathe?” Gree chimed in from behind him, drink in hand and eyebrows raised. “You’re worse at relaxing than Fox.”

Speak of the devil—Fox was at the bar, sharp suit shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up. He lifted his glass in greeting and turned away to order another round. You could feel his eyes on you though, like a sniper sight you couldn’t shake.

“You here alone?” Bly asked, leaning against the wall like he knew what he was doing.

“I was,” you replied flatly.

“Tragic,” Gree said, stepping closer, voice smoother than it had any right to be. “This place is full of trouble tonight.”

“Is that what you are, Gree? Trouble?”

“You’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Cody, Wolffe, Bacara, Ponds, and Neyo filtered in from the second level, coming down the steps like they were part of a slow-motion holodrama.

Cody looked you over once, eyes flickering to the drink in your hand. “Didn’t think we’d see you here.”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t see you here,” you replied, teasing, heat behind the words.

Wolffe smirked. “Too bad.”

Ponds gave a low whistle. “She’s gonna kill one of you tonight.”

“I volunteer,” Bly said without hesitation.

Bacara rolled his eyes and took a slow sip of his drink, staring at you over the rim of the glass like he was thinking something entirely inappropriate—and probably correct.

And Neyo—stone-cold, unreadable—just nodded. “You clean up well, General.”

That made a few of them pause. Compliments from Neyo were about as rare as a Tatooine blizzard.

You were suddenly hyper-aware of how your shirt clung to your skin, how the lights in the bar made everything seem lower, warmer, closer.

Fox appeared beside you without a sound, holding out a drink. “On me.”

You hesitated. “You trying to get me drunk, Commander?”

“If I were, I’d start with something stronger,” he said, voice low, his knuckles brushing yours as you took it.

“Careful,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “You might be starting something you can’t finish.”

“I always finish what I start,” Fox replied smoothly, dead serious.

The tension snapped tight like a tripwire.

Cody moved closer behind you, his breath brushing your neck. “You should be careful with us, General.”

Wolffe stepped in next to him, eyes gleaming. “Or don’t. We like dangerous.”

Gree leaned in from the other side. “And we play well together.”

“You all are shameless,” you muttered, taking a sip just to hide your smirk.

“No,” Ponds said with a shrug. “Just very, very interested.”

You looked around—at eight sets of eyes, different in every way except one thing: they wanted you. Wanted to impress you, challenge you, make you forget—if only for one night—that the galaxy was falling apart outside these walls.

You downed the rest of your drink and smiled, slow and dangerous. “Alright, boys. Try and keep up.”

The night was just beginning.

The music had shifted. Slowed. Lower bass, seductive rhythm. Clone troopers were still everywhere, but the spotlight wasn’t on them anymore.

It was on you.

You hadn’t planned to be the center of the room, but when you started moving through the crowd—hips swaying just enough, eyes catching every glance—you had their undivided attention. Especially when Commander Bly snuck up behind you and took your hand.

“Dance with me,” he said, already guiding you onto the floor like he’d waited years for the excuse.

You let him.

Bly danced like he fought—confident, smooth, close. One hand gripped your hip, the other held yours. His gold armor was traded for casual blacks, but the heat rolling off him was all battle-born adrenaline and want.

“You keep looking at me like that,” you murmured in his ear, “and I’ll start thinking you’re falling for me.”

He faltered—actually faltered. Blinked once, then twice.

You leaned in, lips grazing his jaw. “What’s the matter, Bly? Didn’t think I could flirt back?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

You slipped away with a smirk.

Gree was next—casual, clever, always too smooth for his own good.

“Careful,” you said, nursing a drink beside him at the bar. “You look like you’re planning something.”

“Just wondering how someone like you keeps every commander in the GAR wrapped around your finger.”

You leaned in, gaze dark. “Who says I don’t already have you wrapped around mine?”

He choked on his drink.

You patted his back, sweet as sin. “I’ll be gentle.”

⸻

Fox looked like he was ready for a war crime when you sat beside him.

“I thought you hated attention,” you said, sipping from your glass.

“I do.”

“And yet,” you murmured, brushing your knee against his, “you keep watching me like I’m a damn threat.”

Fox’s eyes flickered. His jaw clenched. “You are.”

You leaned close. “Then do something about it.”

He looked away. Tight. Tense.

Flustered.

⸻

Neyo didn’t flinch when you approached—but his grip on his glass tightened when you laid your hand lightly on his chest.

“You don’t say much,” you whispered, “but I bet you think about me more than you should.”

His eyes were locked on yours. Still silent.

“You going to prove me wrong?”

He looked down, just for a second. Then turned and walked away—only to stop, just out of reach, and glance back like he wanted you to follow.

God, he was dangerous.

Ponds approached and gave you a smile like calm water hiding a riptide.

“Having fun?” he asked.

“I am now.”

You rested a hand on his arm, feeling the strength there. “You ever going to stop being the sweet one?”

His smile dipped just slightly, darker now. “Only if you ask nicely.”

You stepped closer, voice low. “What if I beg?”

He stared at you like you’d kicked him in the chest.

Bacara barely moved when you brushed his hand at the table, except for the twitch in his jaw.

“You don’t talk much either.”

“I talk when there’s something worth saying.”

You tilted your head. “Then say something. Right now.”

Bacara met your gaze for a long, charged moment. Then—

“You’re dangerous.”

You smirked. “Took you that long to figure it out?”

He shifted in his seat, suddenly needing a long drink.

⸻

Wolffe was already grumpy when you got to him, sitting in the corner like he’d rather be anywhere else—but the second you sat on the arm of his chair, his whole body went rigid.

“What?” he grunted.

“Nothing,” you said sweetly, playing with the edge of his collar. “You just always look like you want to throw me against a wall.”

He inhaled sharply. “Don’t test me.”

“Oh, I am.”

And just for fun, you kissed his cheek. Quick. Sharp. Possessive.

Wolffe went absolutely still. “You’re a menace.”

“You like that.”

⸻

Cody found you at the end of the night—when your guard was just a little lowered, your drink half-finished.

“You were playing us all along,” he said, leaning on the bar beside you, eyes burning.

“Not playing,” you replied. “Just reminding you who’s in charge.”

He chuckled, low and slow. “Then dance with me.”

You didn’t resist when he pulled you back onto the floor, slower this time. Closer.

“You like control,” he murmured in your ear.

You turned in his arms, meeting his gaze dead-on. “Only when they’re strong enough to take it from me.”

Cody stared at you like he wanted to drag you out of the bar and ruin you.

And maybe… just maybe… you’d let him.

You hadn’t meant to start a war in 79’s—but then again, you’d never played fair, had you?

The music was sultry, all slow bass and sin. The lights were low. You’d been dancing with Cody for all of three minutes, and you could already feel the eyes on you. His eyes.

Fox had been brooding at the bar, nursing his whiskey, watching you like a hawk all night. You’d shared a moment earlier, sure—a drink, a brush of skin, words that lingered.

But now you were wrapped up in Cody.

Hands at your waist, lips near your ear, warm breath as he murmured, “You’re playing a dangerous game, General.”

You looked up at him, smug. “Only if someone plays back.”

Cody smirked. “Oh, I’m playing.”

He pulled you in tighter, hand trailing down your spine, and that was it—that was the trigger.

You didn’t see Fox at first—you felt him.

Storming across the floor like a man possessed. Controlled, measured fury wrapped in sleek civilian clothes. A few troopers nearby saw him coming and stepped aside like instinct told them don’t be in his way.

You barely had time to blink before—

“Enough.”

His voice cracked like a blaster shot.

Cody’s hand stiffened at your hip. You turned slowly—heart pounding—to find Fox right in front of you.

Eyes dark. Jaw clenched. Dangerous.

“What’s your problem?” Cody asked, tone calm but wary.

Fox didn’t look at him. Not once. His eyes were on you. “This what you came for?” he asked, voice low and bitter. “To play us against each other like it’s all some kind of game?”

You tilted your head, meeting his fury with wicked calm. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Commander.”

His hand shot out—not rough, not cruel—but demanding. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged you a step closer. “I’m not jealous.”

“No?” you asked, breath catching slightly.

“I’m done pretending you’re just another officer.” His voice dipped, raw and sharp. “I see you dancing with him like that and I want to put my fist through the wall.”

A slow hush had fallen across the floor.

You stepped into Fox’s space, bodies nearly touching. “So do something about it.”

For a second, he didn’t breathe.

Then—

His hand slid to your waist. Possessive. Hot. “Dance with me,” he ordered. Not asked. Ordered.

You could have said no.

But you didn’t.

You let him lead you back to the center of the floor, every trooper watching now, every step like a declaration. Fox danced like he wanted to erase Cody’s hands from your skin. He kept you close. Too close. The kind of close that whispered mine without ever saying a word.

“Next time,” he growled in your ear, “I won’t be so polite.”

You smirked against his neck. “That was polite?”

He held you tighter. “You haven’t seen me lose control yet.”

And part of you—twisted, wild, aching—wanted him to.

⸻

A/N

No idea where I was going with this tbh, think I went down my own little route and it ended up liked this 🫤

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glitchgh0sty · 7 months ago

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Don’t mind me,, just writing a thing for the first time in forever [Transformers x dnd mayhem] ⚔️🐉🤖

Transformers Cursed Knights au, chp 1 [under cut <33]

Jazz always loved the night. Under the dim light of a bio lit city. The constant sway of metal, wood and magic pulsing through the air finally ebbing as the bright twisted sun hides its face. Jazz always loved the dark, how its comforting grasp could hide the details of his face. He had just finished the longest shift ever near the tips of the city's necropolis and had positively smiled his own face stiff from under that spotlight’s harsh gaze.

Clenching and unclenching his hands, as they were sore and calloused from countless days of playing the lute, people shouted in his mind and at his face, “Play another Rico! Nono, not that one,, bard play something else. Can you sing any louder? Why must you pick these disgraceful tunes? Play the Primes ballad, play the primes ballad, play the primes ballad!” Request, after request running through his mind on repeat

They always ask for the Ballad of the Primes.

It’s not even a cool story really, Jazz didn’t understand why the court marshals would keep begging him to sing it.

‘Once upon a sunny day, toil in the heat as you may,, under the crown of a filthy king, who controlled the world with an iron fist, near free thought or lovely bliss,, how dare ye Pax, how dare ye still,, loose your monsters on us all, you beg us to plead and fall,, under their talons, breath and teeth,, you and your court of beasts shall fall, make room for the primes, make room for us all,, your heart is made of metal and your mind is made of flame,, so you how dare you betray what you have sewn,, your 13 beasts of burden flatten hills far and wide, all around our country from far side to side, so fall down fall down fall down to the pit from hence you came, we banish you and your unlawful crew to death on this day,,

Doodoodoo yada yada yada,, keep the monsters out, keep us safe and sound oh court of high. Something like that.’

Court. Safe.

Pft- Filthy rich little buggers.

He had been playing for the noblemen that night on the necropolis. People who were in good with the court, so his coin bag agreed to his sacrifice as he swayed down the street. Rico was a name he had supplied to nearly every employer he had as a way to save his face, determined to keep his theatrical and personal life as separate as possible.

Not that it often worked though. As people would call him out down at the market, on strolls across the energon fields, down at the metal smither’s and around every local energy deposit, all swarming and swooning for his voice.

He was borderline sick of it. But hey, that’s just business, his coin bag replied.

He hadn’t had time to change into his commoner clothes before rushing out of the venue so he messed with the cloth of his extravagant collar uncomfortably. It was worth it though, to get out of there so that the light of his spot on the stage might not unmask his disdain for this whole charade.

Whatever

He opened up his side vents a bit to grasp the cool air of the night and ex vented as he entered the field that marked his home. He would have chosen a place a little closer to his buddy Blaster, but the town of Nevercon was only insufferable nowadays. He looked around the comforting dark and decided to scope out a long way home today. I mean what the heck, if he had only the night to breathe, then he might as well wander, without the prying eyes of the town reaching for his voice.

His voice, his voice, his voice..

He was tired of it all, too tired to sing for himself really anymore so he wandered to the border of the woods in silence, letting the noises of the energon stalks swaying in the field and the sound of his own feet on the damp mulch fill the void instead.

He made his way around the woods, enjoying the calm of the night. Passing the trees one by one, over streams and around logs. The berries of the wood and the spirits of the night glowed dimly in the eve so that he knew where to put his feet but not much more.

Thirty minutes, an hour? had passed in the dim of the night before he began to grow weary of his steps. Maybe he should turn around? He had never really come this far before? He dismissed that thought almost as soon as he’d had it. As the further he wandered away from the town, the lighter the weight on his chest had become. He felt like he could finally breathe. But he was growing tired. Maybe he could spend the night out in the woods, like he used to before the court had closed the borders.

He used to wander the world, bringing his tales from land to land, song in his heart, lute in his hand, and not a coin in his bag. But those days were long gone and his expensive regalia itched at his joints uncomfortably as he contemplated sitting down. His outfits were tailored for him by the people who asked for his services, so he would probably never hear the end of it from his employers if they found so much as a speck of dirt on it.

Deciding to quit testing his luck in the dark for the night, Jazz turned to start making his way back to the shabby little house on the hill, but was soon caught dead in his tracks. He listened for the sounds of the world, and his muscles tightened as he could no longer hear anything, any response from said world at all. No whistling wind through the trees, no twinkle of spark lights, no spark lights at all?? It was like the forest was holding it’s breath, lying in wait for something. Or someone.

When did everything get so quiet?

The stories he told came rushing back to his mind suddenly, though he had been singing them all day long. ‘Loose your monsters on us all,’

There’s no way that’s right, his mind whispered with a start as his hands started to sweat. Jazz had been told tales of these woods by worried passerbys, Red Alert for the most part, but nobody had really believed him. Monsters were a thing of legend, and everyone had told Jazz that Red Alert had a screw loose. These were just stories people make up for nothing but entertainment. Jazz would know. But he couldn’t fight the countless memories, quips, tales he had seen countless people whisper about them all the same from tavern to tavern, town to town.

Listening for a moment more, Jazz made up his mind. He was going to run back home like a blitz of thunder and hope to the dead Primus that nothing would catch him. But just before he started off, he heard it. A thump, soft but audible. Or was it more of a bump? No, that would imply that something is here right? But he couldn’t see anything. Ooh he was in it now. Rubbing his sweaty hands on his vest as quietly as he could, Jazz resolved to pick the closest tree he could get his hands on, duck behind it, and prey whatever’s here has absolutely horrible nighttime eyesight. He couldn’t risk trying to run away from a creature of the night, especially in these stiff garments.

Feeling his way around, he cursed as the chains and beads around his sheathed flute let off a light jingle. Stifling that noise with one hand he felt around with the other.

Come on people. Trees?? I’m in the MIDDLE of a FOREST. This shouldn’t be that hard…

Jazz really couldn’t see a thing.

Feeling around and grasping at nothing but air for a while his hand finally slammed into something!

A tree! a smooth. cold tree. Wait. Smooth!?

Jazz gasped in silent disbelief and kept his hand as still as he could muster, though it felt like his spark was trying to claw out of his throat.

Maybe, whatever is here, doesn’t know I am here? I mean who am I kidding, maybe it’s a rock? Yeah, a very cold, smooth, shifting, cool rock. Wait no, that doesn’t work.

Jazz tilted his head up to try to understand the sounds around him, silently hoping the forest would give him a hint as to what his hand might be pressed against.

The ‘rock’ expanded a little, just enough to really test Jazz’s resolve before a low rumble shook the ground beneath his show boots.

Rocks don’t make noise. They shouldn’t make noise? Rocks don’t thump, rocks don’t beat,

Jazz shifted his fingers in desperation, surely hoping he had misread his predicament. As a slow but steady pulse ran up his fingers and down his spine.

Yep no, I read that right the first time, rocks don’t thump, rocks don’t rumble, rocks don’t beat. Holy Primus..

Rocks don’t breathe…

————————————————————————

Thank you @paradoxtheconfused for convincing me to write something after not having picked up the pen for literal years TuT <333

Some context ✨:

#transformers #tf cursed knights au #tf jazz #tf prowl #tf jazz and prowl-ish?#tf blaster #tf red alert #a little nerd trying to figure out how to write things TuŤ #little guys running around with super techy swords au??#✨⚔️ouó

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tideswept · 4 months ago

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you cocked your head to shoot me down → oneshot

canon divergence, light angst, unresolved tension, anakin skywalker isn't a jedi

It’s only due to HoloNet news that Obi-Wan even recognizes Anakin, because this man is nothing like the boy of the past. His shoulders are wide, his jaw firm, his mouth surprisingly soft and sensual. Some enterprising hand has applied a dusting of gold across the high points of his cheeks, contrasting the kohl design around his eyes. Obi-Wan risks a glance that borders into something inappropriate. “You look well.” Anakin looks over him even more boldly. “And you look like someone forced you into that getup at blaster point.”

#berryfic #obikin #OUTFITS

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pipitwrites · 8 days ago

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go see a star war, piarles for @hourcat

“You know the Prince?” There was a shade of skepticism in Yuki’s voice, like he couldn’t believe that Pierre had ever rubbed elbows with royalty, although it was a fairly well-known story amongst the younger recruits how Pierre entered the Academy—and then crashed out on his first major mission.

“I’ve met Prince Leclerc before,” Pierre said, mildly.

Yuki gave an impatient hum, disappointed by the unusual lack of drama in Pierre’s answer. “So what is he like?”

“Beautiful.” The word popped forth, unbidden, before Pierre could stop it. “I mean,” he hastened to correct himself. “He is the prized jewel of Maranello. Their people, the tifosi, they love him.”

🌠

The first time they had met, Charles had been dressed completely in red, a dot of rouge pressed onto each of his cheeks. Pierre had only seen them when Charles had spread open the fan-like headdress shielding the top of his face.

“We cannot accept that,” the prince elect said. It was the first time Pierre had been so close to Maranello’s new prince outside of blurry holo messages and news dispatches, close enough to see the branching veins of gold in his irises. “The trade federation already extends itself too far into our borders, violating our treaties.”

Lewis inclined his head in respect and Pierre belatedly followed his lead. “The council is only thinking of your safety, your highness,” said Lewis, the picture of diplomacy.

“And who is thinking of the safety of our people?” The many long gold tassels hanging from his robes shook violently as he gestured out the window, past the Senate seat to the distant twinkling stars. Pierre wondered if the prince had ever been to the northern farming planets and seen a blood red sun rise over the fields of yellow wheat and green cypress trees. Pierre had grown up on such a planet, had almost resigned himself to waking up to his mother’s chattering chickens to toil in the fields, day after day, for the rest of his life. Then the Academy had discovered him.

Lewis straightened, radiating the full strength of his powers in his calm intent. “I will conduct an investigation myself into the federation’s dealings,” he promised. “But the council needs you safe here in the embassy. You are far from home.”

The prince appeared somewhat mollified by Lewis’s personal reassurances. He was less pleased when Lewis instructed Pierre to stay behind to guard him, casting a long sideways glance at Pierre. Once Lewis left, the prince retreated into his private inner chambers, snapping his ornate headdress closed over his face as he left. Pierre was content to let the prince sulk as it made the task of guarding him easier. It had been a silly thought to consider the prince, in his perfumed veils and golden tassels, close to the dirt of a field or a chicken farm

As it drew closer to evening though and he could no longer distract himself by running through basic combat exercises, he felt a twinge of guilt. It was close to suppertime and even royals had to eat, just like the mere mortals around them.

There was no answer when Pierre knocked on the door to the inner suite.

“Your highness?”

Silence resounded. Pierre swore under his breath, fear creeping up his spine. Bracing his shoulder against the door, he broke through, blaster in hand. There were no immediate signs of struggle but there was also no prince. Swearing again, Pierre edged past the bed, which looked untouched, to one of the side doors.

Inside what appeared to be a large closet, the prince had stripped down to nothing but a sheer white undershirt and tapered trousers. In his hands was a plain tunic in the dark red color that his attendants wore to mark their rank.

“What are you doing?” Pierre raced forward, too alarmed to remember to address the prince properly by his title.

“We cannot sit here idly. While the council argues over petty details in the name of diplomacy, it is our people who will suffer the most.” The prince’s face was bare now, mouth faintly stained pink with the remnants of his rouge. He looked achingly young, a smattering of freckles dotted over his nose. “We came to the senate for justice. Our people have trusted us to protect them.”

“So you’re going to risk your life on a fool’s errand?”

The prince set his mouth stubbornly. “If my people are to die from the Council’s inaction, I will die with them.”

Against his will and all good sense, Pierre lowered his guard. It was the first time the prince had referred to himself in the singular, without the royal formalities. “Your highness is serious?” he asked, although he knew the answer.

“Please, Sir Knight.” The prince’s eyes were wide and pleading, the golden veins at the edges shining brighter than before.

Pierre coughed. “It is just Pierre.”

“Then I am just Charles.” The prince pulled the tunic over his head and secured the matching belt, cinching it tight around his waist. He certainly looked the part of a serving boy now, hair mussed and mouth sullen.

Sighing, Pierre tucked his blaster away in its holster. “I cannot be calling you that if we are to be sneaking about in secret.”

The prince let out a soft noise of surprise. “So you will help me?”

“It is a terrible idea but I see I cannot stop you. Anyway, a name,” Pierre prompted before the prince could start thanking him.

“Oh!” The prince’s brow furrowed as he considered. “Perhaps Arthur?”

Pierre snorted. Even Pierre, as far removed from senatorial politics as he was, knew the name of the prince’s beloved younger brother—the names of all his close family, really. “No. And not Lorenzo either.” He finished checking over his weapons, making sure they were firmly strapped to his person. When he looked up again it was to find the prince staring. “So what is the plan, ma poule?”

#my fic #pg10 #cl16 #pierre/charles #i am trying to jettison some of self-indulgent and incompletely developed ideas asdlkfsjfljg #anyway the idea is pierre and charles go sneaking about the senate to find proof of the trade federation's evil doings #and get into a spot of trouble... that they do emerge from unscathed in the end & with the proof charles needs!#but pierre still gets reprimanded severely for allowing the prince to endanger himself in such a risky scheme.#also OBVIOUSLY there was a secret moment during this escapade where pierre and charles had to hide in a tight space...#mouths so close they could almost kiss...#a secret moment that both of them are going to carry within their hearts... forever...#until they finally meet again <3 #as you can see this is not actually a play by play of george lucas's star wars HOWEVER #please picture charles at some point in padme's artfully ripped white bodysuit from attack of the clones. thank you and your welcome.

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tophat-69 · 3 months ago

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Oooh your info dumps on the labor in zaun and the industrial revolution, and the history that inspired both the steam punk genre ans arcane is so fascinating!!!!!

What can you tell us about silco's job as a blaster? Vander likened it to an experienced bartender mixing a cocktail which I thought was a really cool metaphor. Also, what particularly does silco enjoy about it? Some parts are obvious, but i feel like there's a lot that could be delved into there. Your description of him as a genius, teenaged pyromaniac was awesome and will be in my brain forever. Thank you for sharing all of your cool ideas and research info it's really, really awesome

I'm so glad you think so, because I keep wondering if I'm focusing too much on it! I've been trying to leave a lot to subtext, but this is probably the story I've put the most research into (which is why I feel compelled to complete it tbh).

I think for Silco, a large part of what he enjoys about being a blaster is that for all he's a laborer, he's a skilled one. It requires training, talent, intelligence, and a level of guts that borders quite a bit on recklessness. These are all things that Silco sees himself as, and how he wants to be regarded by others. Silco's story was about trying to display his exceptionalism to people who were outright blind to it.

But for all that Silco acts reckless, he's actually an inherently calculating person. Vander sees that in him as a blaster because he recognizes it as a performance. A good bartender can make counting ounces seem like sheer coincidence with a backhand pour or a bit of bartending flair, but Vander knows that they're running a count. So Silco's pouring black powder like he's doing it in a cavalier way, but Vander's catching the thought behind it.

He saw through the act. He keeps seeing through Silco's acts.

Now, for the blasting itself--black powder blasting in a coal mine was incredibly dangerous. On average, two dozen miners died a year in one state alone from black powder incidents. Six blasters died within one month in the same county.

It is a genuine bragging point to Silco that he hasn't gotten any of his team or himself killed. It's why he's on the front line. The accident that killed Felicia's parents? That wouldn't even necessarily have been out of the ordinary, however traumatic it was for her (and for him, as the young miner sent in to basically watch her mother and others die of crush syndrome, unable to help them).

That was a radicalizing moment for Silco. Piltover owns the mines, and did nothing.

It also probably explains why he is an absolute stickler for mining safety. Not that his words are even making it back up to the mine owners/operators. Silco wants to appear cool and dangerous, but he's doing everything he can to control the outcomes. It's just that in the position they're in, he's genuinely powerless about the decisions of the people above him.

Now, apart from blasting through hard rock, Silco is also shot-firing. That's setting a charge that shatters the face of a coal seam to be dug out and shuttled up. It all works in roughly the same way--drill a hole (Vander's part, because I had to find a way to work those gauntlets into mining, a role that ironically would later be better handled by a HexClaw), and then placing a charge to shatter it (Silco's part, which--again ironically--would be made irrelevant by the Atlas Gauntlets, except for the fact that the technology never made it down to the mines).

You guys know how I love my ironies, and also my parallels between Vanco and Jayvik.

Silco narrates a few ways that black powder shots are blown, when he's explaining to Vander so that Vander doesn't jump the gun and pull him back too soon. If he failed to tamp a charge/pack the hole or he didn't measure the depth right, it would just shatter back at them (a windy shot or a blown-out shot, which would basically perforate them instead of taking out the rock).

Silco's doing the job the way mine operators wanted in the late 1800s/early 1900s, but in the way mining unions opposed--keeping the blasters/shot-firers in as regular crew so that the moment the blast goes off they're bringing up coal, rather than having the blasters keep their own shifts and only firing when no other miners were there to be hurt.

Because in Zaun, it's Piltover's word that goes.

#zaundads #silco x vander #young silco #arcane fanfic #trapped by a singular fate #young vander #answered asks

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alltheirdamn · 2 years ago

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A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!Reader)

CHAPTER 1

Summary: when you discover a bounty has been put on your head, your future and freedom are on the line. Warnings: mentions of death, drugs, weapons, angst, language (future smut, don't worry) Word Count: 6.5k A/N/: this is my first time dropping any sort of writing into the world, so pls be kind & i hope you'll stick around for the rest of the fic <3

Swiping greased hands over your work smock, you looked towards the horizon to see the Twin Suns dipping below the rolling sand dunes. The work day was over, yet you felt you barely made a dent in the new land speeder your parents had bought. You were accustomed to working with older models of land speeders, preferring the engine types over the newer models. The new models were made for looks rather than efficiency, and you didn’t understand how the citizens of Mos Eisley could afford them.

Composed of a ship hangar and various piles of scrap parts, the junkyard overlooked the southern border of the city, your own home barren and abysmal due to years of decline in business. It was rare your parents got business, and if it was… it usually wasn’t the best clientele. You had your run-ins with smugglers, pirates, and crime bosses, and every time, you worried for your family’s safety. It was only you and your parents, after all— you had no one else to call home.

As you tidied your workbench, stowing away the tools, scrap metals, and loose wires, you heard an unfamiliar buzz of speed bikes approaching the junkyard. It was unusual to get clients this late, let alone any visitors. Your family was nearly invisible to the citygoers, barely knowing one or two vendors on the streets that sold food.

In a haze of dust and dirt, the men made laps around the junkyard, their voices loud and violent as they called out for your parents. Heart thudding in your throat, you rushed to the small home tucked in the dunes, frantic to find your parents.

You hadn’t realized your father was already at the front entrance, sniper rifle in his grasp.

“Kono Halcard!” One of the front men yelled, his speeder coming to a halt in front of your father.

You watched from afar as your father stood tall and strong, his suntanned skin glowing in the golden hour of the falling suns. Time had aged his skin whitened his hair, but he was still a force of nature. He had lived in Tatooine his whole life, as had you, and he was no stranger to the scum that roamed the planet. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted your mother, Mana, peering behind the windows of your home. She was not so much the fighter as your father.

But you were your father's daughter.

Grabbing the hidden blade on your work belt, you followed the trail up to the front entrance, watching the wind kick the billows of dust into tornados of sand as the men’s bikes stopped behind their very vocal leader.

“We want nothing to do with you, Jissard,” your father’s voice was stern.

Jissard, which you assumed was his last name, was a hateful-looking man. He was human, at least from what you could discern, as he stood several feet taller than your father, wearing a tattered tunic and worn leather coat. Most of his face was covered by a low-brimmed hat, the same color beige as the sand surrounding you, but you could still glimpse his piercing yellow eyes. The look of them alone forced your spine straight, nerves electrifying within every inch of your body.

The men behind him wore the same type of clothes– all worn, all dirty. It was obvious from the looks of them that they were a band of spice traders, the residual of the drugs lingering on their fingers and skin. They dismounted their speeders, flanking Jissard on either side, their hands resting carefully on their concealed blasters. You shifted your weight, your grip tightening around the handle of your blade.

“Oh, Kono,” Jissard drawled, a thick accent falling off his tongue. “You’re a few payments behind, aren’t you?”

“I owe you nothing. I paid the Pyke’s back in full nearly three months ago.” Your father straightened his spine; the rifle still lifted at eye level towards the traders.

“If you had, I wouldn’t be here, my friend,” Jissard grinned, revealing a row of rotting teeth. It was a menacing grin, one meant to elicit fear.

It didn’t elicit it from your father, but it did from you.

“Ah, and I take it this is your daughter, no?” Jissard continued, glancing in your direction.

The handle of your blade was cutting into your palm now, your pulse thudding in your ears. You stepped forward, aligning yourself with your father, exchanging a weary glance between one another. He wasn’t shocked you were beside him, but you caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes. A fading sentiment of, I’m sorry, as you gathered the unspoken secrets of your family’s business. You had an inkling that crime would one day touch your family, yet you hadn’t expected it to be already seeping into the foundations around you. How long had your father been mixed up with the Pyke’s? Had this been the reason for the junkyard's business to decline? Either way, you were seeing the truth come to light, but you wouldn’t back away from a fight.

Not when it came to family.

“She does not concern you,” he was firm, words gritted through clenched teeth.

Jissard smiled again, dipping his hat towards you as a gesture of hello.

“Kesi Jissard,” he smiled, “ I’m a friend of your father's here.”

“I wouldn’t exactly label us friends,” your father sneered.

He cocked the rifle back, the sound of it echoing around you. He was done playing Kesi’s games, yet Kesi hadn’t had his fill. The men behind him drew their blasters, your father becoming the target for every weapon. You exposed the blade behind your back, a minor threat you knew wouldn’t do much. Kesi noticed the slight reflection of metal in the fading suns, a small smirk pointed in your direction. It made your stomach churn, seeing the way he welcomed the threat. He wasn’t afraid of you, and you had yet to understand why you were so afraid of him.

You just were.

“I’m not here to collect bodies,” Kesi tossed his attention back to your father, “I would like to settle this as civil as possible. Unless you force my hand, Kono.”

“I don’t think you people know what civil means,” your father bit.

Kessi stepped forward, cocking his head to the side to gesture his men forward. The look of ‘civility’ shot past his eyes, replaced by something far more menacing. His hand grazed over his own blaster, eyes flickering between you and your father. In the distance, you could hear a familiar voice shouting, this one of your mother.

“Ah, Mana,” Kesi smiled, rotting teeth exposed across dirtied skin, “So kind of you to join us. We were just discussing some matters of business.”

Your mother joined your father, her hands twisting together in an anxious manner. There was an expression of fear on her face…yet she held her breath as if she anticipated the worst.

“We have no business with you traders,” she spewed.

It was the first time you had ever seen your mother speak in such a violent manner. She was always coolheaded, kind, and extremely closed off to strangers. She made no part of any business deals the junkyard had and kept herself in the shadows where she felt safest. But now, it was your family against him, his men, and ultimately… the Pykes.

Kesi slanted his head to the side, watching your mother and father with silent regard. The men behind him were growing agitated as they swayed from side to side, their weapons still raised towards your parents. The knife you bared down in your grip was feeling all too heavy; the concept of having to defend yourself grew more likely. You silently begged your father just to comply, to give Kesi whatever he wanted, and to move on as usual. If they were to go broke, they would still be alive.

Maybe.

“Listen, Kono,” Kesi sighed heavily, tightening the brim of his hat over his eyes, “I don’t like wasting my time. So, either you pay up, or we can take payment in a different form.”

His gaze shot to you, shadowed eyes tracing the outline of your body until your skin crawled from disgust. Every vile and unnameable thing washed over your mind– the countless things he could do to you. You pleaded internally to your father, hoping he would just give in and do as Kesi asked.

But your father, like you, was stubborn to the end.

“Fuck you,” your father spat.

Without another word, his gun was aimed at Kesi’s head, the rifle shooting forward yet somehow suspending itself in time. The sequence of events grew hazy as you watched from the ground on which you fell. You didn’t register that your father had pushed you back or that Kesi’s men struck down your mom in several shots; her body lay lifeless on the sands of Tatooine. The sound of your father's cries delayed in your mind as you watched him crumple over, a gaping shot tearing apart his chest. They were gone. Both of them. And you had been too dazed to react, the knife having been lost from your hand in the midst of the attack.

All you could see were the remnants of your parents in the wreckage of brutality Kesi had left them in. Broken sobs erupted from your chest, screams that did not make it past your lips, and yet the world continued moving. Kesi’s men grabbed you, yanking you to your feet as you struggled to breathe. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from your parents, their eyes staring absently at the sky as it faded to darkness. Everything in your world had gone dark.

Everything was gone.

“I guess I’ll settle for you as my payment,” Kesi smirked.

___________________________________________________

Eyes slamming open, the nightmare jarred you enough to catapult you upwards from your sleeping position. This had been the third night in a row you had dreamt of that night, the third night you were reminded of all you had lost. Rubbing your eyes aggressively, you felt the start of tears pooling over your knuckles as you dug into the skin of your eyelids. Sounds of airspeeders and taxis whizzed by in hushed vibrations, the windows of your hotel room shaking ever so slightly. It wouldn’t be very noticeable to anyone else, but you were acutely aware of every sound around you. You were always holding your breath as if the past lurked in the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike and kill.

It had been four standard months since you arrived in the lower levels of Coruscant– four months since you had found an escape route from Kesi. It had taken nearly a year to arrange a meticulous plan that stripped you from his grasp, and you had pulled it off. Gathering—stealing—enough credits to buy your way off world, you took refuge in a hidden identity and made a new life in the capital. The hotel room was temporary, at least until you ran out of credits—or luck. But getting credits was easy now that you learned the ways of the underground. Rich men traveled to the lower levels looking for drugs or prostitutes, and you knew the best spots in the city to track them down. Some small talk, maybe a few drinks, and it was easy for you to card your hand into their pockets and stash away credits while they remained distracted.

Eager to leave the darkness— and the past— you gathered yourself and threw on your heavy jacket, tossing the hood over your head. Strapped to your thigh, you kept your vibroblade, the last thing you kept from all the years under Kesi’s hold. It had been your protection against aggressive clients, yet you never had the courage to use it. They were aggressive, but there was never enough strength or freedom to fight back. Freedom was something you never knew.

Finding your way through the streets, you ventured into one of the run-down playrooms in the center of town. Through a cloud of smoke, you found small groups of men hunched over drinks as they played sabacc fervently. Some turned to scrutinize you as you walked in, but you kept your head low, finding your way toward the bar. Nerves didn’t get to you, but a drink could help suffocate the lingering memories. Nursing your drink, you felt the warmth of someone sliding beside you, their hand tracing your arm. It was enough to tense all the muscles in your body, your free hand coasting down to graze the blade on your thigh.

“Are you the entertainment for the night?” The voice asked.

Concealing your amusement, you turned to him, pushing down the hood of your coat. The man had a devilish grin that was both unwelcoming and horrendous. You had no interest in entertaining him. Downing the rest of your drink, you shoved away from the bar, walking towards an open booth to watch the games.

And he followed.

“C’mon princess,” he crooned, sitting across from you, “Don’t gotta be stubborn.”

“I suggest you leave me alone before I slice open your stomach.” You spat.

He leaned back, clearly alarmed, and stood without another word. But it was as he left something else caught your eye.

A shadow, but reflective, tore your focus away from the games. Whatever it was, the shine alone was enough to stall every player, their motions slowing as they observed the stranger. Walking in the entrance was a bounty hunter clad in shiny armor, his helmet trained on you.

Your initial reaction was to run, but as you took in his silhouette, you narrowed your gaze on the blaster at his hip. Returning your gaze back to his helmet, he cocked his head to the side and slid a hand down to rest on the handle of the blaster.

An invitation to run.

A warning if you did.

Neither sounded appealing.

You sunk further into the cushions of the booth, pulling your hood up over your head. It wasn’t lost on you that he had already scoped you out, but to your wishful thinking, you hoped he was in the playroom looking for a bounty. Why would he be looking for you? A better question: who wanted you? A chill ran up your spine as you considered all the possibilities of why he’d be after you: theft, assault, spice smuggling. Worse of them all… Kesi had placed a high price on your head.

But you would never return to him.

You would fight for freedom, even if it cost you everything.

The bounty hunter stalked towards you, his steps calculated and slow as if he expected you to run. Your fingers twitched against the blade on your thigh, assessing your options.

You could run, fight, or die, and none of them sounded appealing as he grew closer, but you had to make a decision.

And option one it was.

You shoved out of the booth, booking past the game tables and towards the back door. The hood on your coat fell down onto your shoulders as you pushed your body into a full sprint, weaving through the smoke and crowds. The back door opened into a hazy alleyway, and you took off to the left. People stared at you strangely as you belined through the throng of citygoers, shoving through the crowds with curses falling off your lips.

“Fucking move!” You huffed, your feet padding against the asphalt.

Distance sounds of running caught your attention, and you made the mistake of looking back to see the hunter closing the gap between crowded bodies. You pushed yourself harder, your body aching but persistent from the adrenaline rush. You’d had your fair share of spice before, but nothing compared to the rush of being hunted down. Never did you think your freedom would come to this.

A wall of bodies formed before you, onlookers enraptured in a daze of street performers. Their blissful unawareness would cost you your life, and you reached for your blade at the same moment a gloved hand wound around your bicep in a vice. You swiveled to meet the hunter face to face—well, face to helmet— and slashed the blade against the armor. It did nothing to the metal, not even a single scrape. The bounty hunter huffed, amused, and caught your wrist with his free hand. Your skin pinched between his leathered fingers, and you winced as his grip tightened.

“Let me fucking go!” You yelled, jostling against his hold.

But he was firm, and the sounds of the crowd began to flood your ears as you attempted to break away.

“…a Mandalorian…”

“Look at the beskar…”

“Have you ever… seen one?”

A Mandalorian?

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

This wasn’t just an average bounty hunter. This was a skilled and deadly one, and you just happened to be in his grasp. You had heard stories of them while under Kesi’s control; some spice traders talked about how ruthless and dangerous they were. They were sworn to Mandalore, and they had no moral duty to anything but.

The Mandalorian drew your body closer, his helmet dipping close to your ear.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.” His voice was warm and smooth and threatened to buckle your legs under you. “Your choice.”

Reeling back, you slammed a foot into the center of his boot, only for him to spin you around and pin you against his body.

“Wrong choice,” he growled.

He twisted your arms back, clasping cold binders around your wrists. Shoving you forward, he guided you through the crowds of bodies, his hand tight around your elbow. You twisted your head to look back, seeing his helmet set in a firm line and his fingers wrapped around the handle of your blade.

Fuck, this wasn’t how you expected your night to go.

The Mandalorian’s gunship sat on the city's outskirts, parked in a docking bay surrounded by other speeders and racers. A few docking employees strolled about the platforms, barely paying attention to your struggle against the beskar-clad body behind you. You had attempted several times to rip yourself from his grasp, only to be met by a hard shove forward and a few sharp words.

(Words that flooded your bloodstream like a liquid drug.)

The ramp lowered with a hiss, and your feet stumbled up the metal flooring as the Mandalorian pushed you into the dark cargo hold of his ship. You barely had time to register your surroundings as he led you toward a carbonite chamber. Your heart sputtered erratically the closer you got, and you fought against him harder.

“Please,” you begged, dragging your feet as far as he’d let you.

“Enough,” he barked.

Pressing you against the wall with one hand, the Mandalorian used the other to punch in a code to the freezing chamber. The metal doors opened with an expulsion of cold gas, the air sending shockwaves over your skin. As he reached for your shirt to drag you towards the chamber, you let out a series of pleas in hopes of stopping him.

“You can’t!” You cried, tears stinging your eyes as you pulled away from his grasp. “Please, I swear I’ll do anything! Just don’t put me in there. Maker, please.”

He hesitated a moment, his helmet assessing you.

“I’ll do anything, okay?” You heaved in a breath. “I don’t know who wants me, but please!”

A beat of silence passed as he considered your confession. Tears flowed freely over your face, the shiny beskar blurring as you tried to blink them away. Everything was becoming too hazy, too much. Maker, how did you end up here?

Your body ached from the chase, your wrists burned under the friction of the binders, and the cold air from the chamber beside you was enough to fog your mind. You were teetering on the edge of passing out or dropping dead. It was becoming all too hard to breathe, and you began to gasp for air, sucking lung-fulls in to help ease the pain vibrating through your nerves.

“Just…” You panted. “…Please.”

Your body slumped against the wall, your head hitting the metal sharply, and the world around you blackened.

Mando had his fair share of interesting bounties, but an unconscious girl on the floor of his ship had never been one of them. Her head lulled to the side; her body crumpled against the metal ground. He had checked for a pulse, thankful there was one, and let her lay comfortably on the ground. He couldn’t just toss her into the carbonite chamber when she was unconscious. The gas would be all too powerful on weak lungs, and she would die instantly once the metal encased her. And it wasn’t a part of the bounty to bring her in dead. Nor did he particularly relish in killing women— beautiful ones at that.

It had struck him curious that someone as beautiful as her would wind up in the hands of a bounty hunter. Her face on the holopuck had initially been a shock, and he wondered if he had received the right bounty to begin with. But Greef Karga had assured him it was correct, and the bounty price on her head was high. Too high not to pass it up.

Mando wasn't ‘soft’ by any means. He was used to the brutality and violence that surrounded his lifestyle. He welcomed the silence after a kill and the isolation of the Razor Crest between hunts. Alone. That’s all he had ever known, and nothing would make him give that up.

But, maker, her soft breathing wasn’t helping his cause.

He forfeited all options and made the decision to leave her sleeping on the floor. He’d set the nav to Tatooine and reassess later. Once in hyperspace, she would have nowhere to go, and when she finally woke up, then he’d put her into the chamber. That was his plan.

At least for now.

Mando sat in the cockpit alone, his hand flipping her blade in fluid motions. She was a fighter, he knew that much, and cunning. Her first instinct was to run, but she put up just as much of a fight. Usually, he’d be annoyed by a bounty that fought, but for her to fight that hard… It gave him a pause. And her pleading for help? Maker, he wondered what made her into a big enough criminal for a bounty puck. But she had to have done something to catch the eye of a hunter, let alone a hunter like him.

He tossed her blade up in the air, catching it and flipping it back up for several minutes. Her face danced around his mind the longer he thought about her, and he gave in to climbing down into the cargo hold to check on her.

As he climbed the ladder, he heard rustling between the cargo crates in the corner. She had tucked herself between them, making her body look smaller and more frail than before. She looked utterly helpless— like a scared child— and something in his chest tightened.

“Are you going to kill me?” She whispered, her eyes barely visible in the dim lighting.

His helmet moved side to side slowly as he approached her. Her arms were still bound behind her back, tightly cuffed in bindings, but her small frame fit snugly into the corner against the metal walls. Crouching down, Mando held out a hand to her.

“I’ll take the restraints off,” he offered. “But only if you promise not to cause a problem. I’m not opposed to putting you in carbonite for the rest of the flight.”

She nodded fiercely, twisting her body so that her hands were toward him. Rough hands clicked the lock open on the bindings, and Mando watched as she rubbed the skin of her wrists fervently. Still, she shrunk away from him, pulling her knees to her chest. Her slender arms wrapped around her legs, tucking them closer to her body as she shivered against the bitter cold from traveling hyperspace.

She stared at him wide-eyed and afraid. Every bounty feared him; his beskar was a telltale sign of danger. But something about her fear didn’t sit quite right with him.

Only a few more hours, he told himself. Then she’d be off his hands, and he’d be a few credits richer.

“Do you know who put the bounty on me?” She asked, her voice small. She had been so fierce and loud earlier, but it was apparent she had accepted defeat.

“No,” he said truthfully. He didn’t offer much, but it was enough.

She exhaled, eyes floating around the cargo hold and avoiding the heavy stare from behind his visor.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Fuck. He didn’t want to hear that.

Mando had nothing to respond with, nothing that could console her. He turned from her crouched body and turned back towards the cockpit. The further a distance he could put between them, the better.

She was dangerous.

“No.”

His statement was final, not allowing you to seek answers that you could cling to. The unknown was worse than knowing because there were endless outcomes you could face. You had wronged so many people, a trace of your selfishness scattered across the galaxy. You allowed yourself to lose control of the greed– finding comfort in taking from those undeserving. Too many people had taken what they wanted from you, leaving an emptiness inside you that was insatiable and never fulfilled; you only wanted to do the same to them in return. You could spend eternity trying to find ways to fill the void within you, but you wondered if it was ever enough.

“I’m afraid,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

The Mandalorian remained motionless and then turned suddenly back towards the cockpit, silence filling the space between you. A sigh left your lips, and you closed your eyes, hoping to slip away from the moments that pulled you closer to an unknown fate.

You awoke to a distant beeping from the cockpit; you were nearing the coordinates the Mandalorian had punched in hours ago. Unsure of your actions, you climbed the ladder up, peeking into the cockpit to see where he was taking you. It wasn’t until your eyes adjusted to the dimness around you that you realized what planet you were flying towards. Tatooine.

The last place you expected to be taken to, and certainly the worst possible outcome of being captured. You knew exactly what– no, who– awaited you on Tatooine. If you had given up on pleading before, you regained the strength now, taking this as your last chance to save yourself.

“I can’t go back to Tatooine,” you blurted out. The Mandalorian whipped his head around, glaring at you through the visor of his helmet.

Without a response, he leaned forward in the chair, guiding the ship into a descent into the atmosphere of the desert planet. The lower it descended, the higher fear crept up inside you until it clouded all senses. He wouldn’t care what became of you; you were a pile of credits waiting to be collected. If he knew your name, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the reward and the allegiance to his creed. You may not know him well, but you knew enough about the Mandalorian creed to know everything now was hopeless.

The endless expanse of beige sand came into view, the winds drawing it into waves amongst the dunes. The ship flew further into the terrain, coming to a halt on the outskirts of Mos Eisley. It had been only a few standard years since you had been taken from your home, vowing never to return. Now you were back, existing among the ghosts and regrets of the past.

The gunship touched down onto the rolling sands of Mos Eisley, the ramp opening slowly, giving way to the heat from outside. It flooded through the ship, a light sweat breaking out on the nape of your neck. The Mandalorian rose to his feet, his armored body turning your way. He reached down, grabbing your wrists, easing your body down the ladder. There was no inclination of emotions from his body, the rise and fall of his breastplate the only evidence that he was indeed a living creature.

Creature he was as he pulled you down the stairs, leading you through the cargo hold that was littered with mindless tokens he had picked up along his trails of bounties. The ramp exposed you to the brightness of the sand, your eyes quickly squinting against the landscape. You drug your feet against the metal, hoping to stall your exile from all human existence. If you were certain of anything, your fate was not too far off.

Below the binary suns stood two dark figures, their faces hidden by brimmed hats. The hats were enough of a giveaway to know who they were… and exactly why you dreaded stepping foot on the planet. Your body halted, feet firmly set against the sand, body paralyzed. The Mandalorian slid his hand under the crook of your elbow, urging you forward in silence. He didn’t flinch when you tried to hit him, wrists falling against hard beskar.

“Please,” you begged, tears brimming your eyes. “You can’t give me to them.”

He remained wordless, only nudging your body forward once more. You mustered up enough energy to fight his hold, spinning to face him fully. His helmet slowly rolled to the side, studying your face as tears fell onto your cheeks. Desperation kicked in, your mind reeling with any offer you could give him.

“Please,” your voice was weak, “Kill me.”

He made no reaction to your words, so you tried again.

“Keep me. I’ll do anything you ask. Just keep me from them. You can have me!”

The Mandalorian hesitated a moment, a beat passing before he reacted. The reaction was the exact opposite of what you had hoped; your body pulled further away from the ship… and closer to the figures standing firm within the sand. Tears dried against your cheeks as the warmth of the air burned your skin, leaving your eyes red and dry. The faces of the men came into view as they lifted their heads and exposed their dirtied faces.

“Mando!” One exclaimed. He was the taller of the two, yellow skin nearly blending into the background behind him, purple eyes piercing you below his hat. You knew him as Jado, an employee of your former employer. “Your efficiency is commendable. She is precious cargo for our boss, and he thanks you for your work.”

The other man, whom you knew as Gaff, tossed a satchel of credits at the Mandalorian’s feet. He didn’t break his gaze from the two men, caring very little of the reward now in his possession.

“Please,” you spoke once more. His helmet turned to you slowly, and you hoped he could see life fading from your irises.

“Alright, come on,” Jado spit out your name, ripping you from the Mandalorian’s hold. The bounty hunter freed your wrists from his grasp, only for them to be tugged forward by Jado’s dirt-covered hands. His hands were caked in dirt, traces of spice crusted under his fingernails. The metal restraints you had worn only a few hours ago were now replaced by their own bindings, ones made from rough rope that scratched your skin enough to bleed.

“Kesi will be very happy to see you,” Jado said sarcastically.

Your head turned back to watch the Mandalorian– now understood as Mando– fade into the distance. The shine of his beskar glinted in the harsh sun, splintering into fractures of metal and weapons. The nerves within your body sparked in anger, anger from knowing he brought you to your ultimate fate. You knew it was his job; you were merely a bounty fit for a large reward, but you wanted to believe he was still a man under the layers of armor. A man who battled empathy far beyond the bounds of his creed.

Jado situated your body on the speeder, hauling his own body behind yours. You were all too aware of his body pressed against your back. The heat radiating from his mouth and onto your neck began to nauseate you. Glancing over, you saw Gaff straddle his own speeder, nodding once at Jado– an urge to begin moving. Gaff followed behind Jado’s speeder, the sound of its engine muffling your ears until they grew deaf. Mos Eisley was exactly as you had left it: crawling with slimy criminals and reeking of sour booze. As your heart pounded heavier against your ribs, you watched as each cantina and spaceport drifted out of view. With each passing moment, you grew dreadfully close to Kesi’s junkyard and closer to your death.

The junkyard was littered with newer ship parts; bolts and metal plates scattered the ground. The familiar workstation that sat vacant in the corner caught your eye. It had been your workstation, at least back when your family owned the yard. Now, it was in the possession of Kesi Jissard, one of the most feared spice traders in the galaxy. The same man that forced you into the trading world, baiting you to sell and trade on the promise of freedom. But freedom never came. Not until you found a way to buy it.

The slow rhythm of hands clapping echoed around the empty ship hanger. Your head was on a swivel, eyes wildly searching for the origin of the sound. Emerging from the shadows, Kesi continued to clap, an evil smirk creasing his yellow-tinted skin.

Kesi spoke your name, his thick accent cutting the silence. “I’ve missed you.”

You bit your tongue, suppressing the urge to talk back, knowing it would only lead to more suffering. Kesi had a short temper, usually satiated by bruising skin and smoking blasters. But when you didn’t respond, he stepped forward, reaching for your jaw. His grip was bruising as he wagged your head back and forth.

“You’ve caused me a lot of damage,” he spoke slowly as if every syllable was a drop of poison on your skin. “I’m in debt for thousands of credits, and because you decided to run, I had to spend even more just to hunt you down.”

“You could have let me keep running,” you said, words muffled from his hold on your chin.

Kesi’s dark eyes widened, glistening with premeditated thoughts of harm. He squeezed your chin and pulled away with such force that it left your head falling backward.

“You’ve missed out on a lot of work,” he mused, pacing between you and the workstation aside from you. “There will be a lot of clients happy to see your return.”

“I’d rather die,” you spat, stepping forward. Where you found the courage, you don’t know.

“Trust me,” Kesi chuckled, “I would love to kill you. But you’re far more valuable alive than dead. You’re of more use to me when you’re breathing and working.”

Kesi turned away from you, searching through the remnants of the workstation. With his large body blocking the view of what he found, your heart lurched with uncertainty. He clicked his tongue in satisfaction, holding a black bag up to the dim light of the station lamp. Your heart plummeted into your stomach, nausea coursing up through your esophagus. Turning to you, Kesi donned a broad grin, evil basking in the stretch of his lips against his cheeks.

“We’ve got a new product on the market now,” he began, walking towards you again.

You stumbled as you took a step back, knowing you wouldn’t be able to go much further without someone snatching you and dragging you right back.

Kesi continued, “Since you’re going to sell it for me, you might as well try it.”

You watched as he unraveled the string of the bag, a smaller wrapped bag falling into his hands. The spice was an unusual color compared to the rest; its pigment was closer to black than the usual beige-brown you had been used to selling. Your pulse was rising alarmingly, and you wondered if Kesi could see the fear seeping from your eyes. The fear fell in waves of quiet tears, your lips wavering but never making a noise.

“Why don’t you sit?” he insisted, yanking you by the elbow to the workman's chair by the desk.

All you could do was comply, regardless of the nagging that pricked your brain in sharp pinpoints. You wished you had the strength to fight him. You wished you had the words to beg for a different outcome.

You wished the Mandalorian had listened to your pleas.

But the Mandalorian was gone and a richer man now, too. And here you were, helpless once more and three steps back from freedom.

The second your ass hit the seat of the chair, Kesi was wrapping a hand around your wrists, pinning you against the wooden material. With the free hand he had, Kesi dipped a finger into the powdered substance, lifting it to your lips.

“C’mon princess,” he hissed, “Open that pretty mouth of yours.”

You made no effort to open your mouth, your jaw locked and refusing to fall slack. Kesi’s mood changed into a slow-burning anger, his fingers bruising your skin. You squirmed against the seat, looking around the workstation for anything capable of substantial harm. The desk was nearly clean, sans a few miscellaneous tokens and scrap spice containers.

“Open. Your. Mouth.”

Kesi’s removed his hand from your wrists, only to deliver the most jarring slap across your cheek. It sent your head reeling, leaving you little time to recover. Your mouth fell open, groaning at the severity of the hit, and the surmounting pain replaced every emotion stirring within you. He took your vulnerability as an opportunity, his spice-covered finger slipping onto your tongue.

You hadn’t tasted spice in years. It was not something you enjoyed recreationally, nor did you enjoy selling. In a professional setting, spice was seen as a delicacy for some of the richer citizens in the lower rim. Spice was well sought out, and if you had access to the right employers, spice production would be endless.

But as the product dissolved on your tongue, it didn’t take long for the effects to begin to form. Words from Kesi’s lips grew into jumbles, falling on deaf ears. Your vision began blurring, too, and soon enough, all of your senses were paralyzed. It was as if you were watching from the furthest part of your brain, floating away from the controls inside your body. Becoming all too aware of the heaviness of your body, you slowly felt your shoulders slump over, your body weight no longer supported in the chair. Eyes fluttering shut, you wondered if another side effect of the spice was hallucinations.

Because you could have sworn you saw a glimpse of shiny metal walking into the junkyard.

#mando #mando x reader #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #din djarin #star wars fanfiction #mando x you

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star-farer · 7 months ago

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retribution

Summary: Ware the consequences of your actions Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @dreamsight73 @groguandthebadbatch @sskim-milkk @leapingbadger

Author's note: The author does not condone revenge for Vengeance belongs to the Lord. Also, this is my New Year's gift!

“Ciddarin Scaleback.”

Her jaw drops open at the sight of a bespectacled clone in her seat. He’s scarred, there’s blood dripping down his temple, a red patch glistening in his hair, and the grin on his face reminds her of a predator baring his teeth. His eyes are dark as shadows behind the yellow-tinted goggles. She breaks out in a cold sweat.

“Goggles?!”

A blaster rises with a characteristic languidness, a cold dispassionate rage in the way his hand keeps it steady, aiming right between her eyes. She counts her days between each beat of her heart. They aren't many, and they aren't long.

“Tech,” says the wounded clone easily, almost flippantly, save for the slight strain in his tone, the slight anger that bleeds into his matter-of-fact voice, “My name is Tech, and it would bode you well to address me as such." He inclines his head thoughtfully. "Unless you wish to die a painful death.”

She swallows thickly, but shifts her hand down to the weapon concealed in her thigh holster and beneath layers of clothing.

One moment, she’s trying to work her way out of this predicament, trying to understand how this clone is alive when she’d seen the others mourn his loss with a ferocity that had rendered her speechless.

The next, she’s collapsing to the floor, her leg giving way to a searing hot pain in her thigh. It tears a scream out of her throat, raw and sharp, and she gives in to her growing anxiety. Her thoughts tangle into an indiscernible mess, and she loses herself to a fear that wraps like a noose around her throat.

He tuts, shaking his head in disappointment as he makes his way around the table, the barrel of his blaster smoking tendrils. Towering over her, he regards her like filth, mouth twisted in a smirk that borders on a hateful sneer, hooded eyes glinting.

“And here I’d made the mistake of believing you cleverer than what you appear to be.” His chuckle sends shivers down her spine, as if trying to counteract the sticky heat from the hole in her thigh. “I ought to have known your capabilities extend only to petty manipulation.”

A short bark of laughter that sounds more derisive than humorous escapes him, so clear and accented, it batters against her eardrums, making them ring like a knell. “Millegi knew,” he hums, even if it’s through gritted teeth and curled lips, “He warned us about you after we had rescued you. A warning I should have given heed to.”

“But,” he dips his chin, “That is in the past. Those are matters I have lost control over. There is nothing I can do to change them.”

Dropping to a crouch a few inches in front of her, he pushes the blaster muzzle up her chin, and her heartbeat screams so loudly she can barely hear his words. She doesn’t want to die. She can’t die, not when she’s just started living a comfortable life. Not when she’s gotten her business finally settled under the Empire.

It is this fear that finally gives voice to the words stuck in her throat. “What do you want? I—I’ll give it, I’ll do it. Whatever you need, I’ll get it done, I swear. Just— just please. Please, let me go. Don’t kill me. Please.”

His grin grows even wider, grows feral; there’s blood staining his gleaming teeth. “I want you dead,” he purrs, and she knows the blaster will leave a mark on her leathery skin where it’s being pressed, “I want you to hurt, to die a slow, torturous death.”

For one terrible, cruel, long moment of silence, she waits for his judgement, equal parts despair and resignation. She watches his jaw clench, hears his gloved grip on the blaster tighten, sees his pupils shrink to pinpricks as a snarl rises in the back of his throat.

But the spell is broken when he sighs softly and stands up, features dull and disinterested once more, frosty in the way his gaze rests on her bleeding form. “Consider yourself fortunate it is only I and not one of my brothers. They would never hesitate as I do.”

He frowns down at the blaster in his hand, a thought glittering in his eyes. She stiffens, trying to drag herself away from the maniac that has replaced the clever clone she knew.

“Then again,” he smiles, “Perhaps your luck has ran out after all.”

It’s the last thing she hears before a bolt of red sears through her uninjured leg. And his face, dark and terrible, a smirk so similar to Omega’s splicing his face in two, is the last thing she sees before a blue ring envelopes her vision to a darkness she will not remember.

#tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tbb fanfiction #tbb tech #tbb cid #canon

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wanderinginksplot-writes · 1 year ago

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One-Shot: Rebels!Rex x Arachnophobic!Reader

Rebels-era Captain Rex x arachnophobic!gn!reader

Word Count: 3,600

Warnings: Arachnophobia, fear, suspicion of treason, blaster threats, spider death

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It was shockingly easy to trade away a patrol shift.

Granted, not everyone loved patrols. Especially when the weather was slated to be poor or if you were assigned an overnight patrol. Fortunately, you were willing to do anything else. Kitchen work, ammunitions inventory, latrine duty… you weren’t picky.

And there was always someone willing to negotiate for a trade.

It probably helped that Chopper Base was so small. For all you knew, it was the only permanent Rebellion base, and you saw the same faces every day. That was bad for a variety of reasons, both personally and for the sake of the Rebellion, but it meant you knew exactly where to go when you wanted to work out a trade.

Which was why you were extra confused when Captain Rex walked up to you in the mess hall, knocked twice on the surface of your table, and jerked his chin toward the door. “C’mon, patrol time.”

You stared at him, aghast. The mess hall was spotless, thanks to your hours of hard work the night before. All of that had been done specifically because you had traded shifts with Pynsu, who was supposed to be on patrol with the captain that night.

“No, I had KP last night,” you countered shakily. “Pynsu is on patrol tonight. We traded.”

Captain Rex gave you the single most unimpressed look you had ever seen a human wear. “I’ve memorized every rule, protocol, and procedure the Rebels have come up with. None of them say anything about trading away a duty you were assigned. Let’s go.”

You would have loved to argue further, but there were two major problems. First, as a captain, Rex outranked you and almost everyone else who consistently worked on Chopper Base. Second, he had already walked away. You had no choice but to dump your tray and awkwardly trot along after him.

The captain didn’t make it easy to catch up and you were breathing heavily by the time you were trailing at his heels. His pace was brisk, and catching your breath took forever. Still, you had the time since you were apparently starting your patrol on the far side of the base that evening.

Despite your burning lungs, you didn’t ask Captain Rex to slow down. How could you? He was the most well-known person on Chopper Base, and easily the most highly respected these days.

His status as a war hero from the days of the Clone Wars was a mark in his favor. He had been a captain then, just as he was now, and he had served alongside some of the most famous Jedi generals. Though the accelerated aging built into clone genes was clearly starting to affect him, Rex was still tough and strong, his tactical skills easily on par with the best Rebel strategists. He was, in short, a living legend.

And, at this particular moment, you were impressed by his cardiovascular health and the fact that he wasn’t even breathing heavy after speed-walking up a hill.

When you reached the makeshift fence of border spikes driven into the ground, you slowed and stopped, trying not to openly clutch at your side. Fortunately, Captain Rex stopped in the same place so you didn’t seem to be giving up entirely.

The moon was bright overhead, giving excellent visibility of the hills and strange rock outcroppings that surrounded Chopper Base. It was close to the perfect spot for a base - on enough of a hill that you could easily see anyone attempting to sneak up from the surrounding area, but nestled deep enough that you weren’t immediately apparent to anyone who may fly overhead. And no one flew overhead.

But you cursed the bright moon and the clear view of the surrounding areas for the same reason you didn’t think Chopper Base was the perfect solution many of the Rebellion had believed it to be: the spiders.

The instant you had gotten close enough to hear the hum of the border spikes, you could see the lurking gray blobs of the spiders and feel the vibrations of their ever-shifting legs hitting the ground. The creatures bobbed back and forth outside of the fence, and you weren’t sure whether they were waiting for an opening or trying to hypnotize you into leaving the safety of the fenced-in base.

Either way, you dropped your gaze and tried not to shudder.

“Nice night.”

The bland, almost laughable comment was the first thing either of you had said since you left the mess hall, and you turned to stare openly at Captain Rex.

You supposed that, if you took the night at face value and ignored the hulking arachnids lurking nearby, it was a nice night. Between the spiders and the bats that occasionally swooped past overhead, the bugs were well under control. The nighttime temperature was almost perfect, and you had already noted the brightness of the moon. If you weren’t terrified, it would have been almost serene.

“Yeah.”

If the captain was bothered by the shortness of your answer, he didn’t say anything about it. You stood in companionable silence, Rex scanning the surrounding perimeter while you kept your eyes fixed on the ground just outside of the border spikes.

“You know something I don’t?”

Rex’s question came as another surprise, largely due to the fact that you had been standing guard in silence for almost ten minutes.

“Sorry?” you asked, trying to focus. By this point, Captain Rex wasn’t going to think you were a true asset to the Rebellion, but you could manage to sound like a halfway intelligent person. Probably.

He nodded at the ground. Specifically, the section you had been watching. “Looks like you’re expecting an attack from underground. Something I should know about?”

You forced a laugh, though it held a hint of a shudder. You could hear one of the spider’s jaws clicking even from where you were standing. But you pushed away the awareness of your crawling skin and pulled your gaze upward. And when making direct eye contact with a spider made you want to gasp, you tipped your head further back until you were staring up at the sky.

“Closer,” Rex commented. “At least you’ll be the first to notice if the Empire launches a ship against us. Want to try one last time?”

In fact, you didn’t want to, but you let your eyes drift down once more. You were focusing intently on the foreground, as if you were trying to count the dust particles in the air. It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped, and your attention was soon captured by one of the spiders.

You shuddered, and it was only luck that the captain had turned to look in the other direction when you did. You weren’t ashamed of your arachnophobia, per se… except when you were being particular arachnophobic in front of a living legend and war hero.

It didn’t help your confidence that Rex was still an extremely handsome man.

“I don’t want to believe you’re a traitor.”

The statement was calm and quiet, enough so that you didn’t immediately react. For a strange moment, you actually thought he had been talking to himself. But there was a new, terrible tension in the air and you could sense how still he was standing behind you.

You glanced back over your shoulder at him. He was standing as casually as he had been when you had first arrived at the location, but you noticed for the first time that he had a set of dual blaster pistols strapped to his hips. Rex’s hands weren’t quite touching the grips of those pistols, but they were within easy grabbing distance of the weapons.

Suddenly, you got the feeling they weren’t just for protection from spiders or Imperial infiltrators.

You turned around slowly to face him, easing your hands upward and out to your sides. Whatever was going on, you didn’t want to do anything that would lead to a blaster wound. Or worse.

“Why do you always trade shifts?” Rex asked. Now that you were looking directly at him, you could see the bleeding sharp focus in his dark eyes.

“I don’t like patrol duty,” you explained.

Rex’s hands dipped lower, drifting close to his blasters. “And it’s just a coincidence that the shifts you trade for end up with you cleaning the comms room alone overnight?”

“Yes?”

As soon as you heard the uncertainty in your own voice, you winced. It wasn’t a lie - it really was a coincidence. You had just… never thought about that before. Yes, you were often alone in the comms room, but that was because you were usually there in the small hours of the morning. Droids were left to observe the comms systems if there wasn’t an active Imperial presence in any nearby system.

“I don’t believe you.” Faster than you would have thought possible, the blasters were in Rex’s hands, both aimed at you.

“Captain… Rex, please,” you started, but were interrupted by a loud chittering sound behind you. Every part of your body was within the perimeter of the base, but your back was toward the spikes of the fence. The reminder of the giant spiders scuttling around, unobserved in the dark, made you shiver and take an instinctive step forward.

One of Rex’s hands lifted and the other lowered a fraction. “Stay still. I don’t want to put a bolt through that pretty head, but I will if you force me to.”

If you weren’t freezing with cold terror, you would have been ridiculously flattered by him saying that you had a pretty head.

“I’m not a traitor,” you repeated, forcing your thoughts away from the inanity of pretty heads and back to reality of making sure yours continued operating without a blaster bolt through it. “There’s an explanation for all of this. I don’t like patrol duty. Usually, the shifts people want to trade are scheduled to last overnight. And it’s easiest to clean the comms room when only droids are inside.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “Because here’s what it looks like from the outside: First, you trade away the only shifts where you have to work with another person. No one to question your motives. Second, you always work at night, and those shifts are all across the base. That gives you time and privacy to gather information. Third, you’re in the comms room at least twice every week. Plenty of chances to make transmissions to the Empire.”

“That’s not- It- I’m not a spy!” you stammered, outraged, but unable to refute any of what Rex had said. Yes, you had the opportunity to spy, but that didn’t mean you had actually done it.

“Then explain it to me,” Rex challenged. “Explain why you’ve only worked one other patrol shift and you spent the entire thing refusing to speak with your partner.”

“I’m arachnophobic!” It burst out of you, but you weren’t upset about that. Obviously, you hadn’t earned the captain’s respect. Far from it, if he was accusing you of being a traitor to the Rebellion. It didn’t actually matter if he knew you were terrified of the spiders outside of the base.

Rex didn’t say anything. More importantly, the blasters didn’t waver from their places aimed at your head and heart. You let more of an explanation pour from you: “I hate spiders. I don’t go on patrol duty because I would be too focused on them to notice if Palpatine himself was standing outside of the fence. It’s best for everyone if I stay inside the base and away from here.”

“Arachnophobic, eh?” Rex mused. He sounded thoughtful, but you were nervous when the blasters didn’t change position at all. “We’ll see about that.”

“Wh-?”

Before you could finish asking the shortest question you had, Rex had holstered one blaster and motioned you closer to the border spikes. You took a single step backward, skin crawling. Rex kept you in his sights as he walked in a wide circle around you. He ended up at the border, then used his free hand to wave between the spikes.

You watched in confusion, then in horror as one of the massive spiders scented prey and started toward you.

Rex pulled his arm back in, seemingly satisfied. He motioned at you with the blaster he was still holding. “Go on.”

This would be a stupid way to die, you thought, verging on desperate tears. “No. If you’re going to kill me, kill me. Don’t feed me to that thing.”

“I’m not going to kill you,” he explained patiently. “I’m going to test whether you’re really that scared of the spiders. If you are, I’ll believe you. If you aren’t… well, we’ll need enough of you to have a trial and figure out what intel you’ve passed along to the Empire.”

With that ominous statement, he waved you forward again. You weren’t sure exactly how you were walking, since everything below your neck was currently numb, but you found yourself at the very edge of the base’s border. The fence spikes hummed to your left and right sides, not nearly as far in front of you as you would prefer.

The spider eyed you sharply. Since Rex was safe again and further away from the wall, it had clearly decided on different prey.

It moved closer in an erratic, skittering sort of movement, clearly intended to be something you couldn’t anticipate. However, you were watching it with an intense focus borne of incredible fear. It had ended up hypnotizing you after all, but not because of any innate ability it had.

You were still inside the border fence - that was what you kept telling yourself. It was fine, the spider couldn’t actually reach you. Never mind that it towered over you as it got closer and closer. Never mind that you could see something dripping from the fangs it was baring at you. Never mind that you were making eye contact with it and found only fascination and a bone-deep hunger staring back at you…

With the fear and adrenaline flooding your system, you were hyper-aware of everything going on around you. There was a whirr and a soft beep from behind you, but it was so much less threatening than the approaching arachnid that you discarded it immediately. The spider’s steps made the ground tremble under your feet, making the weakness in your knees even more pronounced.

You could feel its breath. Surely that was impossible… wasn’t it? It was close, far too close by then. Close enough that you could see the walls of its tall body expanding and contracting at regular intervals. You swore you could feel the air playing across your face…

“Okay, you can step back now.”

The sound of Rex’s voice should have been a relief, but you were far too focused on the massive predator in front of you to worry about minor things like human speech.

“Step back.” Rex’s voice was more urgent then, but it wasn’t enough to force you into motion. “Come on, get away from there.”

The assurance was nice, but it was helpless against the icy fear that had overtaken your entire body. The chill was deep enough that you didn’t flinch in the slightest when a strong arm looped around your stomach and started applying steady pressure.

When you were far enough from the border fence - ‘far enough’ meaning that you and spider wouldn’t touch, even if you both extended a limb - you took such a rasping breath that you realized you hadn’t done so in far too long. The moment you did, it was as if your body shifted from prey mode into a sudden awareness of how afraid you had been.

Your lungs burned as you took in deep, shuddering breaths. Every limb was shaking, and you couldn’t have gripped anything smaller than a canteen at that moment - tested when Rex handed you his canteen. Instead of drinking from it, however, you opted to sink slowly down to the ground. Your knees simply wouldn’t hold you anymore.

“Easy, easy,” Rex soothed, squatting beside you as you braced your elbows against your thighs and tried to collect yourself. His hand rested heavy between your shoulder blades, a warm and soothing weight that reminded you to breathe.

You were shaking, feeling hollow with the slow recede of adrenaline. Still, you managed to pant out the most important question: "Is… it… gone?"

Rex looked up and you followed his gaze. The spider was still just outside the fence and - as if it were infuriated by your attention - reared up and clawed for you, jaws clattering.

You hadn't seen Rex draw his blaster, but two loud reports sounded beside you, matching the almost instant holes bored into the spider. It shrieked once, then collapsed slowly onto its side. You shuddered again as you watched its legs curl beneath it.

"Gone now," Rex told you. "Keep breathing and you'll be just fine in a minute."

If you kept looking at the spider, you would never be able to focus. You turned your back to the dead arachnid, scooting further away from the fence as you did. Rex gave you an inscrutable look as you did, likely because the movement put you closer to him.

But you couldn't see anything with your face buried in your hands. Without the visual reminders of everything that had just happened, you felt yourself calming.

"Did I pass?"

Despite the palms in front of your lips and the way the words had been aimed at your own lap, Rex heard you. When he answered, there was a tightness in his voice that worried you until you realized that it was laughter.

"Yeah, you passed." There was a pause, then he cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to put you through that. We can't take the chance that the Empire knows about this place."

"I understand." It felt ridiculous to say since you were still trembling like a leaf, but you did get why they would think you were suspicious. "I really am scared of spiders."

"No kidding," Rex said, clearly trying not to laugh again. "I've never seen anyone's pulse that high when they were standing still. Between that and the adrenaline spike, I think we should get you back to base."

"We're… on patrol…" you said slowly. You let your hands lower away from your face, carefully not looking at the spider's body. “We can’t just leave.”

“Are you going to be able to focus on anything other than the spiders?”

You grimaced. “They are the most immediate threat.”

Rex stood, reaching an arm down toward you. “Doesn’t matter if we leave. This is an extra guard shift. All the normal guard shifts are filled. I wanted to make sure we didn’t leave a gap in security if you had been a traitor and decided to fight back.”

You stared at his hand, wondering dimly if that scenario had been meant for the possibility of him killing you or you killing him. Knowing Rex and his reputation for preparedness, he had probably been covering his bases for either.

His hand was warm and large, and you had no sooner taken it than he pulled you to your feet. Your knees trembled dangerously, but you managed to keep yourself upright. “I think I want to go back to the base. I- I’m not going to do much good out here.”

“Let’s go back, then,” Rex agreed, turning toward the buildings of the base. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel warmth at the small of your back, as if he were hovering in case you started to stumble.

“I do help the Rebellion,” you told him. It was abrupt after the two of you had been walking in silence for so long, but you felt the need to tell him that. “Maybe I avoid patrols, but I help out in other ways. Cleaning, helping in the kitchen, maintaining the weapons.”

“I know, mesh’la,” he assured you. “You touch every part of this base’s operations other than guard duties. That’s what first drew our attention.”

“Our?” you repeated, stomach sinking again. “Who else thinks I’m a traitor?”

“My brothers and I are responsible for the security of this base,” Rex said steadily, redirecting from outright accusations of treachery. “”We noticed that you were everywhere, but always alone. That’s a warning sign for someone who isn’t who they claim to be. It all makes sense now, but you have to admit that it looked suspicious.”

“I know it did,” you admitted freely. A horrible thought struck you and your voice was tense as you asked, “I don’t have to do this again with Wolffe and Gregor, do I?”

Rex chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “No, you don’t. I’ll tell them what I learned and clear any suspicion from your name. I might accompany you on your next few shifts, but everything else is fine.”

You frowned. “So you still think there’s a possibility that I’m passing information to the Empire?”

“No, I don’t,” Rex denied, eyes kind as he glanced over at you. “But I don’t like the idea of you being alone all the time. That isolation isn’t good for anyone, especially with the stress of fighting the Imps. If I’m around, you’re always welcome to spend time with me. I lived with Wolffe and Gregor for longer than any being should ever have to. I could use some good company for a change.”

With some effort, you kept your expression smooth and your breathing steady. You didn’t want to presume anything, but it seemed like Rex might be… flirting with you.

You smiled at him, heart stuttering when he smiled back. “I’d like that.”

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Author's Note - Welcome to my experience watching those episodes of Rebels as someone with arachnophobia. It was… not a good time. This is my first time writing Rebels-era Rex, so please let me know if you have thoughts or advice for next time!

Thank you for reading!

#star wars #star wars rebels #star wars fanfiction #reader insert #reader insert fic #captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex x you #ink's fics

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