pickledpascal

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter Six: The Planet Made of Glass

Warnings: nothing too bad, fluff and a mixture of angst/whump

Word Count: 3.5k

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On Tatooine, Din made a deal with Peli to find him another ship. But it was in pieces, even if the chassis and outer shell were intact, so it took longer than he wanted. 

Which meant staying on the planet for a while. 

His deal with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand was fulfilled. The Child was safe with him and Milena. No need for them anymore. He wasn’t sure how they would feel about him using them as a taxi anyway.

While Peli was fixing up the ship, a Starfighter of all things, though she promised she’d modify it to have two seats for Milena, Din and Milena had taken a temporary residence in town at the Inn. Their own separate rooms. Grogu stayed with him.

The kid slept through the night as the light of the stars and moons filtered through the curtains. Din let out a breath, removing his helmet to put on the nightstand. It had been so long since he had a proper bed. This was nice. He savored it, knowing soon enough he would be travelling through different sectors again. 

He began to methodically strip off his armor, ignoring the soft whispering in his head. Ever since he touched the Darksaber, he could hear a voice. He didn’t recognize it. They spoke Mando’a in a hushed, almost rushed voice, like they didn’t have much time. Once his armor was off, he took off his flight suit, leaving him in a simple shirt and boxers. 

Din looked at the nightstand where he also left the Darksaber. His hand hovered above it a moment, the voices dampening. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and inspected it. 

Why did he still have it? Why couldn’t Bo-Katan just take it? Why could he hear a voice? Whose voice was it? None of it made sense. 

Ruling Mandalore was not something that appealed to him. The politics, the pageantry that he had seen from other planets’ royalty disgusted him. He could not parade himself around like them. There were far better things to do, like feeding your people, ensuring their comfort instead of your own.

A loud ringing assaulted his ears, causing Din to drop the Darksaber. As soon as it clattered to the floor, the ringing stopped. He glanced at Grogu. Still fast asleep. 

He rubbed a hand over his face. Was he hallucinating? Did the Droid at the cantina accidentally give him too much, potent spotchka? 

The next morning, Din, Milena, and Grogu went to the spaceport Peli worked at. The ship was still in pieces but better than the previous day. Grogu played with the droids, making a few float.

“What are you planning to do?” Milena asked, glancing down to the Darksaber attached to his hip. 

He stared at Grogu, watching him carefully so he didn’t hurt any of Peli’s precious droids while trying to help fix the starfighter. “I don’t know, yet. I can’t rule an entire planet anyway. I just want to get back to my covert.” He turned back to the ship. 

Milena hummed, grabbing a part of the metal frame to attach to the thrusters. He faltered and then welded the piece onto the ship. It was nice and quiet for a while as they worked together. Besides the chatter coming from Peli about the celebrations happening on Tatooine. He wasn’t really paying attention. 

“Din.” Milena whispered softly. He paused and looked at her. “I think you would make a great Manda’lor.”

His breath was stolen from him. He couldn’t say anything. What could he say? He was taken aback by the emotion in her voice, her eyes so sincere that he couldn’t look at her anymore. 

Almost flippantly, she continued, “I believe it is those who do not want to rule who are best suited for it.” 

“Don’t say that.” Din said stiffly, gripping onto the edge of the starship. “I am not fit to rule. And I would not know how to gather our people. Or how to resurrect a cursed planet.”

Milena’s face morphed into something softer, full of an understanding deeper than Din knew himself. “Bo-Katan is the one not fit to rule. Too fueled by pride to see that most Mandalorians do not want an entitled warrior blinded by hubris to lead them.” She stepped closer, placing a hand onto his armored shoulder. “You will have help. It doesn’t hurt that you have a Jedi on your side.” She smiled. 

His expression softened under his helmet, his shoulders released the tension that had built, and the whispering voice in the back of his mind quieted. 

Milena believed in him of all people. He did not want to take that for granted. She would make a better leader. 

But maybe she was right. Perhaps it was the fact that he did not want or care for the throne to Mandlore that made him a better fit. He had struggled, had known what it was like to lose, had known the deepest, darkest recesses of the Galaxy and all its people, and never once felt like he was owed anything. 

He knew what it was like to care for people above himself—the foundlings in his covert, the people in his tribe, the child who had curled inside his chest and stayed there, and the woman next to him. It was second nature after being rescued by the Mandalorians who took him in. 

“Our people would be lucky to have you lead us.” Milena said gently, after the ship was completed and they had gone on a test run. 

Grogu was asleep in Din’s room while they sat on the roof of the Inn, feet dangling off the side as they watched the fireworks. Originally, he was going to leave Tatooine, find his covert, and figure out what else he could do to earn credits, but Milena had slowly changed his mind. To stay a little longer, to see what else he could do aside from providing for a single tribe.

The fireworks, a mix of blues, reds, and purples, sparked across the sky and were reflected on his helmet. 

He gripped the edge of the ledge tightly, not for fear of falling but something else completely. “You really think so?” Din asked in a whisper, he was almost afraid she wouldn't hear him over the loud booms above them.

“Of course.” Milena nodded, nudging her plated shoulder against his. “You have doubts about your own abilities. You are unafraid to ask for help. For the opinions of others. Too many empires fall when their rulers believe their word, alone, is law.” She admired the bursts of color as they danced across his helmet. 

“Most Mandalorians would call that weakness.” His eyes roamed over her features. That glassy look in her eyes was so beautiful. 

Milena sighed and looked away. “Times are changing, Din. And Mandalorians must change with it. Or else we will die.” Her voice, suddenly so cold. He'd upset her. 

He stared down at the sandy streets below, wondering if he should jump for his transgressions. For just a moment. He wouldn't. Unless she told him to. 

Din appreciated how supportive Milena had been ever since the Darksaber was thrust upon him compared to others. Bo-katan had given him a despiteful look and he wasn't quite sure how The Armorer would react. With glee? With disdain? She was like him, not very expressive. 

How could he begin to explain what he was experiencing with this new burden? The voice, the ringing, the tingling sensation in his fingers every time he touched the Darksaber? 

However, Milena was the most understanding person he had ever met. A woman who, too, had gone through so much. Who represented so much.

Jedi were slaughtered. And Mandalorians. And any new Jedi were searched for, taken, and turned into Sith or killed. Yet she was very much alive and well. Proud to be of dueling cultures and to, hopefully, bring together one culture which was scattered across the Galaxy. 

So, he could say exactly what he felt and knew he would not be judged for it. He could say the real doubts plaguing him, the thought that he was undeserving of a position so high, that he only really wished to live quietly without the fanfare of potentially overadoring citizens who thought he could do no wrong.

He never did.

“Then, a trip to Mandalore should be in order.” Din decided. 

If someone like Milena believed in him, then who was he to deny that belief? There must be something she saw in him that he did not see within himself. 

To rule an entire planet was a big responsibility, to be their people’s guiding light, who they had faith in besides the Maker of all things. She already had that faith in him. A single person could make a large difference in another's life and she had already made a big one in his. 

Flying through Hyperspace in the Starfighter was so different from the Crest. For one, the roof was a thick glass wind screen, nothing obstructing the view of the stars as they stretched around them. Grogu had slipped into Din’s lap, staring out at all the stars with a curious tilt of his head. 

When they arrived at Mandalore, Grogu whimpered. The planet was covered in storms likely due to the way the bombs from the purge affected its atmosphere. 

“It looks scary. I know.” Din soothed softly, staring out at the planet as well. “But it was once green and beautiful, back when the songs were written. It’s the homeworld of our people.”

Milena leaned forward, a hand on the back of Din’s seat. “We weren’t born there either, ad’ika. It would be a first for all of us.” She nodded at Grogu.

“I grew up there. On that moon.” Din told the child, pointing towards the smaller colony. “Concordia.”

The ship descended into the atmosphere, roughly because of the storm clouds. Once they got out of the clouds, it revealed a glassy, desolate landscape. Din wasn’t sure what he expected. Worse? Better? It wasn’t this. Some deep green glass spiked from the smoother horizon. 

Then the system went haywire. He tapped at the map. “Looks like the fusion bombs disrupted the magnetic field. From the surface, we won’t be able to communicate with anyone out of the atmosphere, so we have to be careful.” He mainly said this towards Milena. 

When the ship fully descended onto glass ground, Din observed everything around him. There were rumors, that he took as truth, that because of the bombs, that the air was no longer safe to breathe. Cursed. 

“I think it’ll be fine.” Milena hummed, her voice modulated from her helmet. It was as if she could tell what he was thinking. 

Din looked over his shoulder at her, hoping she could feel the quizzical look he was giving her through his visor. “I would rather not take a gamble.” 

“Then pressurize your helmet and seal his pod so I can go out first.” She suggested.

“Milena—”

“Do you trust me?”

He was taken aback by the question. Did he trust her? After all the things they’ve been through? To get Grogu back? To keep him safe?

“With my life.” He couldn’t have spoken more true words. 

Din complied with letting Milena out, opening the wind screen after Grogu was safe in his pod and his helmet was pressurized. She climbed out of the ship and walked around, rubbing her boot against the glass beneath her feet. He watched as she got familiar with her surroundings, visor turning, analyzing the landscape.

She turned back to the ship and waved. “It’s completely breathable, not cursed air!” 

With a soft chuckle, Din nodded and opened the wind screen to let himself and Grogu out. His boots touched the glass as he breathed, for the first time ever, Mandalorian air. 

It was surreal. For so long, he never thought he would ever set foot on the planet his ancestors came from. A place he had only ever heard of. There were no pictures, no paintings, no way to really imagine just how beautiful it must've been before it turned into a legend to scare kids at night. He never dared to imagine the cool air hitting the skin of his jaw, knowing it could never happen. Except it had. It wasn't quite the dirt under his boots, that was likely miles underneath the glass, but he was there. 

Grogu used his pod, hovering near the pair. He whined, looking around worriedly. 

“Don't you worry, ad’ika, we'll keep you safe. Just like we always have.” Milena assured softly, giving him a nod. 

Din’s chest was warm with a now familiar feeling. Though he still couldn't place what it was. It always sparked like a soft ember beneath his ribs whenever she interacted so gently, so carefully with the child. 

“What do we do now?” He wasn't sure he would make it this far, he hadn't thought much past simply getting on the planet. 

Milena stomped her boot on the glass. “We go down. And find the Mines of Mandalore.” 

“The Mines���” He whispered to himself. 

The Mines of Mandalore were where all Beskar came from. Even the tiniest of trinkets, necklaces, or pendants could be traced back to the mines. Since the purge, all Beskar was finite, recycled and reused or found in the hands of others and taken. 

Within those mines were the Living Waters, where Manda'lors were blessed and thousands of people gathered to watch as they recited oaths. And where many believed the evasive Mythosaur lived. Deep within the waters. If they still existed. 

Milena walked over to some thinner glass and stretched her hands towards it. Din stared and wondered what she was doing. 

The glass began to crumble and crack as the ground rumbled beneath their feet. An almost perfect circle was formed. 

He was stunned. He had no idea that the Force could do such things. Not that he had any idea what the Force could do in the first place. At first, he thought it was just levitating things with the mind or hands but he clearly had much more to learn. And that was… exciting. Only if he learned from Milena. 

Din glanced around at their glass surroundings and wondered if she could do something similar to the whole planet, not just a tiny section. 

Milena took a step forward. “Wait—” He stopped her, “Do you know where you're going?” 

“I trust my instincts.” She nodded then did a voice, an impression of someone he was clearly unfamiliar with, “The Force is very strong with me.” 

She dropped down, using her thrust pack to soften her fall. Din did the same. Grogu floated down in his pod. They looked around at the ruins of the city while she guided them. 

Even decrepit and beyond recognition, Din knew they were in Sundari. The capital. Songs were written of its beauty, the way it was a shining beacon for their people. How wonderful those days must've been. Now, it was a husk. Tall buildings falling into one another. Nature couldn't even flourish because of the atmosphere and the lack of light. 

As they got closer to the Mines, he and Milena turned on the lights attached to their helmets. His eyes roamed over the large entrance, grand and regal in its days, he was sure but now it loomed over them hauntingly. 

“It's hard to imagine our people walked these very paths years ago.” Din commented, looking around the caves as they pushed forward. 

Milena hummed, “It wasn't as long ago as you think.” 

“You weren't even born yet. How would you know?” His tone wasn't accusatory or condescending, just clear and soft. 

She was silent for a moment. “My parents were born here.” She admitted. 

He stopped. He felt his throat dry and his lungs suddenly lacking air. 

Milena had direct lineage to Mandalore. He could only imagine the turmoil inside of her. He had conflicting feelings of awe and utter devastation himself and his parents had only ever lived on Concordia. The stories from his covert and his mother, likely passed down from her mother, were the only connection he had to the planet. 

It was strange. To feel at home and yet displaced on the very planet his ancestors were from. 

“Here we are.” Milena announced once they arrived in the clearing to the Living Waters. 

Din looked around curiously, taking in the sights, the high ceiling and the pillars with Mando’a etched into them. This was their culture when not hiding, though still hidden from most of the Galaxy.

He began to strip himself from his heavier armor, removing his thruster pack and the cloak around his neck. 

From what he remembered, it was tradition that the new Manda'lor be blessed in the Living Waters. As a sign of their status as the ruler, they must truly walk the way of the Manda’lor. 

And if Din was going to rule, he would follow tradition. To a point. 

Traditions were made for a reason, to give meaning where there would otherwise be none. Din had always followed them blindly, because his faith was in his elders, in the Armorer, that whatever they said was the best course of action. Was it always? 

Milena was right. Cultures and religions had to change or else they would die. They would become too scared and never take risks, never realize that perhaps the Way they followed was wrong, that there was another path. That they could live, loudly, proudly as Mandalorians without fear on the very planet that was meant for them. They would be free to follow the Way in whatever means that pleased them. 

That was what Din wished for his people. To have Mandalorians of varying beliefs put aside their differences to live together. As one. There was too much judgement between tribes when they were essentially the same, oppressed people because of the Empire. Why fight amongst each other when they had a common enemy? 

Din descended into the waters, taking step after step. The waters were cold and he could feel them seeping into the fabric of his flight suit, touching his skin. It made him shiver. Yet it soothed him all the same. He let out a deep breathing, allowing his shoulders to relax and slump. When was the last time he was truly relaxed? He couldn’t recall. It felt… good. 

Milena watched with horror when Din was yanked down into the depths of the water. Just before she could dive into the waters, spurred on by Grogu’s whining, he was spit back out, body colliding with hers.  

“Din?” She rolled him onto the floor, “Din!” She shook him frantically. He didn’t move. If he was knocked out from the water in his lungs, she’d have to take off his helmet. “Fuck…” Her hand rested on the cheek of his helmet.

As if feeling her thoughts, Din leaned up, coughing up the liquid in his throat. He nearly choked on it again. 

Relieved, Milena laughed and patted the dome of his helmet. “Thought you died.” 

“Maybe I did.” His voice was hoarse as he pointed towards the waters. She followed his finger with her eyes. 

Peeking out from the Living Waters was a creature now thought of as a legend. With large curlings tusks, sharp teeth, and nearly glowing yellow eyes. Grogu made a worried noise.

It was the Mythosaur. 

It huffed loudly, puffs of air disappearing into the dark cave as it stared at the two Mandalorians before it. Clearly angry for disturbing its habitat, but waiting. For what? That was to be determined. Perhaps for the right moment to strike or, simply, to watch and observe what they would do next. 

Milena pulled Din up to stand. He nearly immediately was going to fight it but she stopped him. “Wait! Din.” She said firmly. “It’s not trying to fight.” 

He put his arms down, realizing she was right. He was so used to any and all creatures wanting to kill him that he wasn’t paying as much attention as he probably should have. 

She tore off her helmet and let it clang against the stone floor. “C’mere.” She pulled Din close by his hip, her chest pressed against his back, and forced his arm out. “Open your fingers. Yeah, like that. Good.” 

He could feel the heat of her body, even through his armor. Thank the Maker that he had taken a dip in the waters or else he would be overheating under his helmet. 

The unexpected happened. 

The Mythosaur let out a soft breath and leaned forward, closed its eyes and pressed its head against his hand. 

Din let out a breath of disbelief, a chuckle escaping him as he slowly rubbed his hand against the scaly head of the Mythosaur. He truly was walking the same paths as his ancestors. 

“Congratulations, Din Djarin,” Milena smiled, her eyes bursting with pride. “You truly are the rightful ruler of Mandalore.”

[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos

Chapter Six

Warnings: 18+ themes, smut, oral (milena receiving), whump, is this manipulation idk.

Word Count: 2.3k

Entre Los Lobos Masterlist

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Life as one of the DEA attachés proved to be far more difficult than Javier would have anticipated.

He had to juggle mind-numbing, seemingly looming, yet out of touch, bureaucracy with the very real, physical need to bring down the Cali Cartel. And not because of some deal they were making with Colombia. But to actually dismantle the cartel as it was intended. As Javier and Milena intended. 

Hell, they were even able to get Gilberto Rodríguez in jail. And kept him there. 

But, as always with Americans meddling in other countries' politics, shit went sideways. Cartels retaliated, key witnesses dead, trials completely fucked, and the DEA was left with nothing. Because of a leak. A leak so deep within the Colombian government, there was no way to expose it without putting their own careers on the line. Without cutting a few corners. Making their own rules much to the dismay of Milena. 

They got Miguel. But at what cost? To realize the brothers would just get out of jail anyway? 

Javier was on edge all night with the new information. With a beer in his hand, he rubbed his mustache with the other. “I can't fucking believe the ambassador won't do shit about it.” 

Milena sat next to him, her beer cradled between both hands. “It sucks. To have such a strong sense of justice,” She sighed, nudging her shoulder with his. “But, unfortunately, we are still Americans. Still in a foreign land. It might be different if we were Colombian people, trying to fight for our homeland. Wouldn't be as much red tape.” 

“Maybe.” Javier barely even drank his beer. But the cold bottle grounded him, though not enough to not feel as frustrated. “It's just so fucking unfair.” He brushed a hand through his hair, strands now out of place. 

Milena took a swig of her beer. “You're telling me?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “Look, it's the same way in the States. Corruption, drugs, poverty. They’re just a little better at hiding it. Or, people ignore it because they’re supposed to be better. They aren’t.” Her voice was soft, sweet even, but cut through him like ice.

He leaned back against the couch, sighing. Sometimes he forgot Milena was Native American. He forgot a lot of things about her when they were close, in her apartment, like this. It was just them together. No cartels, no DEA, no nothing. He could focus on the crinkle of her nose when she smiled, on the way she'd kiss him so tenderly and deeply, like she knew he wanted her to give him more, but never did. 

She was just a person in those moments. One he loved. 

But Javier knew he couldn't—shouldn’t—forget those parts of her. The parts of her that have been wronged for years, centuries, by the same exact government they both worked for. The government that promised her ancestors they would leave them alone, promised not to take anymore land, promised they would be free on the land divided amongst them. Those promises were always broken. If the States even planned on following through with them.

“Why take this job then?” He asked, eyes trailing over Milena's face. 

She rubbed her palm against her thigh. “Helping people is something I've always been drawn to. I'm not here to protect American ideals or freedom or whatever shit Reagan and Uncle Sam tried teaching us.” She looked tired, but not because there were bags under her eyes or a sluggishness about her demeanor. It was the sliver of hope in her eyes that was there even through the constant denial of things promised. 

Milena took the bottle from Javier and set both down. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. She knew this discovery drained him, knew he had lost faith in a system he wasn't quite sure he had faith in to begin with. This solidified he did not. 

He melted into her arms, pressing his forehead against her shoulder. “What the fuck are we gonna do?” 

“Our best.” She pressed her cheek against his head. “We have to hope things will turn out alright. If not, we'll lose ourselves. Lose sight of what we're fighting for.” 

“Fuck, Lena, when did you become so wise?” Javier breathed. 

Milena chuckled, cupping the back of his neck. “Always have been. You've just had a thick skull.” 

“Remind me to have a thinner one.” He pressed kisses to her neck. He couldn't help himself.

“Javi.” She breathed, almost warning. He could feel her pulse quickening underneath his lips. 

Javier pulled away, hands sliding up to her waist. “Please, mi amor. I need it. Need—” Something tangible to devote his hopes and prayers and everything to. To be able to hold something that could mean more than any victory the DEA would claim to have made. 

“I know what you need.” Milena tilted her head. Her eyes were glazed with empathy more than ever. 

The surprise must've shown on his face because she smiled and guided his hands to remove the sweater she wore. And, fuck, if she wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life. Miles of almond skin, scars lighter than the rest, and even tattoos he had never seen before. She never wore short sleeves while he's seen her. Barely saw her in skirts either. 

Undressing Milena was like reliving Javier’s sexual awakening all over again. Soft and strong in all the right places, thighs he would love to have wrapped around his head, arms he'd loved to have strangle him. 

His hands skidded against her hips, her waist, her thighs, feeling as much skin as he could. “Shit, you're beautiful.” It almost pained him to say it out loud, pushing the air from his lungs. She had to know. How could she not? 

Time to truly worship. 

He hooked his fingertips underneath her underwear and pulled. “Javi, are you—” She whispered. 

“Sh, I know what I'm doing, cariño. Don't you worry about me.” Javier murmured, “You just lay back and relax, hm?” 

With the piece of fabric gone, he could really look at her. Damn it, it was everything he had dreamed about and more. She was only half hard but the tip still wept and he could work with that. He pushed her legs apart, hiking one up to the back of the couch while the other was pulled onto his shoulder. 

He dipped his head, a hand around the base of her dick as he planted kisses along the shaft to get her fully hard and heavy. Milena breathed softly, running a hand through his hair which only encouraged him. 

Then, and only then, did Javier capture the tip between his lips. He hummed at the taste. He took her deeper and deeper until he couldn’t fit anymore in his mouth. Looking up at her made him want more. 

She stared down at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling gently, with eyes so dark, it made his cock stir. But Javier wasn’t just doing this for his own gratification anymore. No. And Milena was not some whore he would pay and leave. She was much more than that. So much more. 

On the rare occasion Javier would dream about his life after all this, after the DEA, after the fucked up things he had to do, he had Milena by his side. She would help him and his father keep the ranch going. She would make him breakfast early in the morning before he had to go out and get supplies. She would kiss away any nightmares that he had in their bed. She would take his mother’s ring. 

He was going to make this mean something. A promise he would keep forever. 

“Te haré sentir como una diosa, hermosa. Y yo, tu más devota seguidora.” Javier pulled off her, whispering the words hotly against her flesh. 

"I'm going to make you feel like a goddess, beautiful. And I, your most devoted follower."

Milena cupped his face. Her thumb stroked over his cheekbone as he leaned into her touch, eyes slipping closed. “Sabía que lo harías. Qué buen chico. Hermoso chico.” 

"I knew you would. What a good boy. Beautiful boy."

“Sólo para ti.” He turned his head to press a lingering kiss to her palm, holding her hand to his face like it was the last thing tethering him to the planet. 

"Only for you."

“Oh, sé que nunca te comportarías si otra persona diera las órdenes.” She teased. 

"I know you would not behave if someone else gave the orders."

Javier chuckled softly, “Ay, no seas malo.” 

"Don't be mean."

“I’m not—” Milena gasped sharply as she felt two spit-slicked fingers press against her hole. “I’m not being mean. You are.” She whined. Such a sweet sound coming from someone he was used to barking orders, voice hard and as unwavering as steel. Not so much anymore with a finger inside her. 

Javier smirked, slowly thrusting his fingers into her. Those choked whimpers were like music to his ears. “If I was mean, I never would’ve taken your clothes off at all.” He licked a stripe up her cock and suckled on the tip, knowing the double stimulation would drive her crazy. 

Although it would be their first time together, Javier was experienced in bringing all sorts of pleasure to his partners with his mouth, his hands, his dick. Hell, he’d even bottomed a few times with the right partner. He could play her like a fiddle. Leave her satisfied and wanting for more. He wanted to play her like a violin. 

“Fuck me.” Milena hissed, her shoulders slumped against the armrest of the couch.

Javier smiled around her cock, watching as her face contorted into an expression of pure pleasure. It was such a pretty sight, prettier than anything he could’ve ever imagined himself. 

Once he felt she was prepared enough, he pulled his fingers from her and sat back against the couch to undress himself. “Let me.” She whispered, replacing his hands once his shirt was half undone. 

Milena pushed the fabric down from his shoulders. He had so many freckles littered across his skin she was sure he must’ve been loved dearly in a past life. 

“You’re staring.” For once, Javier was not taunting or teasing, but simply stating. A comment made from disbelief and near confusion.

“So are you.” She met his eyes. Her hands dipped to his belt, unbuckling it with ease that it made him breathless. 

After so long, it was finally happening. 

“You’re a work of art.” He argued gently, pushing his slacks off his legs. All that was left were his boxers, tented and slightly stained. He hadn’t even realized he was leaking into the cloth. 

Milena slid a hand up his shoulder, thumb rubbing against a few darker freckles there. “And you’re not?”

“Not like you.” Javier slipped out of his boxers and gently pushed her back down against the couch. He captured her lips, savoring the feel of them against his, the taste of beer felt more intoxicating when it came from her. He wrapped a hand around his dick and pushed it into her. “Fuck.” He pressed his forehead against hers.

She moaned lowly, wrapping her arms around him. A hand on his shoulder, fingertips digging into flesh while the other rested on his lower back. “Move, baby.” She urged. “Please.”

“Lo que quieras, cariño.” Javier began to thrust, deeply and slowly. So unlike what he was used to. Hard, fast, and half-angry or half-drunk. No, he was completely sober, drinking up all the heavenly sights Milena blessed him with. He brushed some hair away from her face, “So fucking beautiful. I bet even more beautiful when you cum.” Their noses bumped against each other’s as they breathed the same air. 

"Anything you want, beautiful."

The smell of her was headier than before. That concoction of grapefruit, pepper, and vanilla was now saltier, causing his mouth to dry and salivate. 

“Javi, fuck, so good.” Milena held onto him tighter, arching into him so their chests were pressed together. Hers more plush than his. 

Javier kissed her face, cradling it carefully with a large hand like she was the most precious ancient pottery. “Yeah, baby? You like it?” 

Maybe he was fishing for compliments. Maybe he was a bit self-conscious for once in his life. Maybe he needed reassurance from the one person who mattered. He felt as though all his armor was stripped away from him when with her. No need to take when he finally wanted to give something of substance. 

“Yes!” Milena cried out. He had hit her prostate. “I love it. I love you.” She pressed her head into his palm.

Those words were almost his undoing. “Don’t say that.” Javier moaned. “Fucking—shit, baby. I love you too. So fucking much.” He sealed his words with a kiss, deep and passionate and way sloppier than any other kiss they've shared. 

They both came as they kissed. He stopped his stuttering hips, keeping her full while she dribbled across both their stomachs. He pulled away from her, mouths glossy and slick with saliva but then went back in to mark her neck. He couldn't give a fuck if anyone saw the bruises he sucked onto her flesh anymore. 

After Cali, he was done. She was done too. So why did it matter if Milena came to work with hickeys very clearly given to her by Javier? They wouldn't fire him. He was too important now. Perhaps they were making a mistake with bringing him back if they truly wanted a smooth transition for Cali to be in jail. 

“Come home with me, Lena.” Javier whispered, lips trailing along her collarbone. 

Milena loosened her grip on him but kept a hand on the back of his head, turning hers to give him more access. “I don't know, Javi.” She sighed. 

He pulled away from her neck to see her face, caressing her forehead with his thumb. “Please, mi amor. Stay with me. I can't… I can't do this without you.” He couldn't fucking live without her. Didn't want to imagine a life where he couldn't grow old without her by his side.

Milena met his eyes and she knew he was telling the truth. “Alright, cariño. I will.” She pressed a kiss to his nose, sealing her pledge. 

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter Five: Episode XVI

Warnings: canon-typical violence, milena got some haters

Word Count: 2.8k

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They thought it would be best Grogu learned from a real Jedi. A Jedi who had more formal training, knew the Force a little better, deeper than Milena because she did not devote her life to it. 

And so they travelled to Tython, a sparsely inhabited planet full of lush green forest yet also filled with sand and stone monuments. And Grogu did manage to make contact with another Jedi, but he was taken, and Milena and Din were unfortunately occupied. The Crest, destroyed along with everything in it, save for the couple of weapons made of Beskar. 

Somewhat regretfully, Milena had forced herself to work with less than savory people. Din knew she didn’t like it, but what other choice did they have? They had to save the kid. 

They were able to get the coordinates to Gideon’s ship with Mayfeld’s help, leaving on the very planet they took them from. He was more sympathetic than Din or Milena assumed he would be. 

It was getting onto the ship that would be difficult. A distraction, a killer, a savior was needed. Seeking out Bo-Katan yet again was the only option. A woman with such hatred for Moff Gideon would not be difficult to convince. 

The cantina was silent on the desolate, industrial planet she was found in. Patrons stared at the Mandalorians at the door. Fett, Din, and Milena were all helmeted. Imposing and menacing to most onlookers. 

Five Mandalorians in one place. Not so discreet. People were bound to stare, bound to wonder, bound to be scared. Din tried not to dwell on it. He was used to it. That’s what made it hurt deeper, the type of pain that curled around his ribs and sat there. 

Bo-Katan and one of her fellow clan members, Koska, sat together in the corner sipping and eating whatever meal the cantina provided that was warm. Their helmets were discarded on the table, facing the rest of the cantina as if they were watching the civilians. 

“I need your help.” Din said, voice clear and concise. He loathed an argument, hoped she would come along without much hassle, yet he knew her pride was what she valued above all else. He had no care for it. 

While Bo-Katan faced Din, Koska studied Fett and Milena. “Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters. Some of us serve a higher purpose.” The red-head spoke.

“They took the child.” He tried not to stress it too much, but how could he not? Grogu was still young, still learning, he could not defend himself properly. 

“Who?” Bo-Katan’s eyes hardened as she turned fully towards Din. 

He responded, “Moff Gideon.”

She took a slow breath and shook her head at the silver Mandalorian. “You’ll never find him.” She turned back to her food.

Fett looked towards Milena and Din. “We don’t need these two. Let’s get outta here.”

The two Kryze members turned towards Fett. Bo-Katan’s eyes were wide, sharp, and full of a wild, barely constrained anger. “You are not a Mandalorian.”

Fett turned his head slowly, likely fixing her with a piercing glare underneath his helmet. “Never said I was.”

“I didn’t know sidekicks were allowed to talk.” Koska commented, tilting her head with a furrow between her eyebrows. 

He chuckled, the modulator crackling and making it darker than it would be otherwise. “Well, if it isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy.”

Beside Din, Milena let out a frustrated sigh. Confrontation of some kind unfortunately seemed inevitable. All because they made friends with a clone.

Koska stood up as Fett got closer. “Easy there, little one.”

“You’ll be talking through the window of a bacta tank.” She hissed, sneering.

Din and Milena shared a look. There was that classic Mandalorian pride and ego on full display. It had been so long since he had been around it. That loud boisterous boasting or the understated, yet somehow still loud, threats from a bruised self-worth. 

“Alright. Easy. Save it for the Imps.” Bo-Katan reigned in her friend as if she yanked the leash of a pet. 

“We have his coordinates.” Din told her. 

Bo-Katan narrowed her eyes, interested. “You can bring me to Moff Gideon?”

“The Moff has a light cruiser.” Milena spoke, arms crossed over her chestplate. “It could be helpful in your effort to regain Mandalore.”

The last time she was around Bo-Katan, it was not the best of circumstances. The rightful heir to the throne of Manda’lor, as she put it, was not appreciative of the fact that Din’s companion, while Mandalorian, was a Jedi. 

Milena didn’t even have to use her lightsaber for Bo-Katan to recognize the weapon attached to her hip. And to make quick judgements. 

“You gotta be kidding me. Mandalore?” Fett asked, disbelieving. 

The planet was destroyed, but not to pieces like Alderaan. Its surface was crystalized, turned to glass, by the Empire to make it as uninhabitable as possible. To take away the place of their heritage, knowing some Mandalorians would have survived the purge. After all, evildoers loved watching those who survived suffer more than anything. 

It was never enough to kill their children, their husbands, their wives, their friends. No. They had to encase their planet in glass. So they may see it. Pass by it on their travels. Know they could never touch it, never feel the ground warm on their boots or the temperate air as it caressed their skin. 

“You are a disgrace to your armor.” Bo-Katan glared at Fett.

“This armor belonged to my father.” He ground out.

“Don’t you mean your donor?”

Fett took a step forward. “Careful, princess.” He warned. 

“I’ve heard your voice thousands of times.” Bo-Katan stood, coaxing Koska to stand as well. 

“Enough! Both of you.” Milena pinned them both with a hard stare they could feel through her visor. “Will you help us or not?”

Din had never heard her voice so full of rage, restrained. She didn’t want to take it out on those who didn’t deserve it but it was getting harder and harder when Fett, Bo-Katan, Koska bickered like children. 

Instead of acknowledging Milena, she spoke to Din. “In exchange, we will keep that ship and retake Mandalore. If you should manage to finish your quest, I would have you reconsider joining our efforts. Mandalorians have been in exile from our homeworld for far too long.”

Din deplored when Bo-Katan would only speak to him, it was petty and stupid. “Fair enough.” Alas, he did not want to get into a fight with an already irritable Mandalorian in the middle of a cantina. 

“One more thing. Gideon has a weapon that once belonged to me.” Bo-Katan turned to him fully. “It is an ancient weapon that can cut through anything.”

“Almost anything.” Koska corrected, nodding at her. 

Bo-Katan added, “It cannot cut through pure Beskar.” Her eyes flicked back to Din. “I will kill the Moff and retake what is rightfully mine. With the Darksaber restored to me, Mandalore will finally be within reach.”

“Help me rescue the child and you can have anything you want. He is my only priority.” Din stated. 

He had no care in the world for Bo-Katan, her wants or desires or whatever she thought she was gaining by acquiring the weapon she seeked. The only thing that mattered was Grogu’s safety. 

That, he and Milena could agree on.

On Fett’s ship, they all came up with a plan. New information revealed. Those Darktroopers were droids. 

Memories of the purge flashed across Din’s eyes, blaster fire whizzing past his ears, explosions out of the corner of his periphery, the sky falling, attack droids that couldn’t have any remorse for the lives they took. 

He would not let the same thing happen to Grogu if he could help it. 

“Hey,” Milena said softly, her helmet off. She perched a hand on the back of his arm. One thing he appreciated was that she never said his name aloud around others. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is great.” Din said tightly. Regret immediately flooded him. 

Milena didn’t falter or look crestfallen, she simply stared at him, eyes narrowed. “Remember who we’re fighting. I’m not the enemy.”

“No.” He nodded. “You’re not.”

She was far from the enemy. She was the prison he never wanted to escape from, the salvation he had always yearned for, the greatest warrior in the Galaxy he had the pleasure of fighting alongside, the finest of art he longed to stare at forever. 

For the longest time, Din believed he would do anything for his tribe if it benefitted those apart of it. He had been so naive. That was nothing compared to the things he would do for Milena. Something he felt for Grogu, too. Similar. Yet, different. 

Helmeted yet again, Milena stood on the Lambda next to Din, preparing for what would be a rough landing given that Fett was “shooting” at them so they could board the cruiser. 

“This is Lambda shuttle two-seven-four-three. Requesting emergency docking.” Bo-Katan said over comms to the cruiser. When they didn’t answer, she tried again. “Repeat, requesting emergency docking. We are under attack.”

“Copy Lambda shuttle. Request received. Stay clear of launch tube. Deploying fighter squadron.” 

Instead of listening, Bo-Katan maneuvered the ship towards the entrance while TIE fighters barreled past them. 

“Request denied! Please clear launch tube until fighters deploy!”

She pursed her lips and put on her best frazzled voice. “Negative! Negative! We are under attack!”

“Clear launch tube immediately!”

Alarms started beeping as the ship closed in on the landing area. Milena grabbed onto a wall as the ship skidded across the ground. Definitely a rough landing. Rougher than she was expecting.

Once the ramp descended, the plan was truly put into action. With Koska, Bo-Katan, and Fennec, they proved to be a fairly good occupying distraction for the troopers in their path to the bridge. 

On the way to the elevator, Milena’s rifle got jammed. Inside, she fiddled with it, taking out parts and putting them back on in the hopes it would power back up. 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Bo-Katan asked, though she could hear that she loathed to actually offer help.

Thankfully, as if on cue, Milena’s gun powered back up. “Excuse me.” She turned towards the door, her large rifle nearly hit Fennec before she ducked out of the way. 

The door slid open and revealed more troopers. Milena used her rifle rather than her small blaster to shoot them all. They trekked further toward the bridge and killed, or knocked out, everyone manning their stations. 

“Weapons system disarmed.” Koska announced. 

Bo-Katan looked around the bridge. “Where’s Gideon?” She hissed. 

Milena gripped her rifle tighter, gloves creaking softly as the tension in her hands grew. It felt a little too easy getting to the bridge, even with the small crew. “He must be with the child.” She said tensely. 

“Haar’chak!” Bo-Katan exclaimed, slamming her hands against one of the consoles. She removed her helmet and let out a huff of air. “The Moff was supposed to be mine.” 

With a sigh, Milena discarded her rifle against a table and removed her helmet too. “He will be. Din will rescue the child and give him to you.” She hoped that he would. He was the only hope she had lately. 

Soon, the door to the bridge opened. Din behind Moff as he pushed the man inside, a gentle grip on Grogu while the weapon Bo-Katan spoke of was in his other hand. The Darksaber. The blade was black yet emitted a white light and tapered off at the end. 

Milena stared passively, though there was interest in her eyes if someone looked close enough. 

Bo-Katan could not restrain her reaction. She turned and then blinked, carefully watching Din and Moff as he was presented to her like a gift given to royalty.

“What happened?” She demanded, her eyes wide and head tilted. She had truly put on the voice of a ruler asking their general why another empire had not fallen for the sake of theirs.

“Why don’t you kill him now and take it?” Gideon smirked, the type that would goad most into doing whatever he wanted. Milena forced him onto the ground at her feet. “It’s yours now.” He nodded to Din. 

Din tilted his head. “What is?”

“The Darksaber. It belongs to you.” Gideon bowed his head. 

Bo-Katan was practically vibrating with irritation, staring down at him as if she could explode his head by willing it with her mind. 

The blade retracted into its hilt and Din offered it to her. “Now… it belongs to her.”

“She can’t take it.” He looked up at her, knowing just how much it pained her to see the Darksaber in someone else’s hands. “It must be won in battle. In order for her to wield the Darksaber again, she would need to defeat you,” He blinked at him, “In combat.”

Din looked up at Bo-Katan. “I yield. It’s yours.” He held the Darksaber towards her again. 

“Oh, no,” Gideon chuckled, “It doesn’t work that way. The Darksaber doesn’t have power. The story does.” She drew in a deep breath, visibly trying to remain level-headed. “Without that blade, she’s a pretender to the throne.”

Her jaw ticked. “He’s right.”

“Come on, just take it.” Din urged, grinding the words out. 

He didn’t want it. He didn’t care about it. And now, against his better wishes, he held the key to Mandalore in the palm of his hand. 

The alarm started blaring. “The ray shields have been breached. We’re being boarded.” Fennec explained.

“How many life forms?” Bo-Katan asked, looking over a console. 

“None.” Fennec turned towards her, a weight heavy on her shoulders. 

Gideon stood, glancing around at the different forms in the room. “You’re about to face off with the Darktroopers.” He smiled sinisterly at Din, “You had your hands full with one. Let’s see how you do against an entire platoon.”

“They’re headed this way.” Bo-Katan commented.

Milena stared at the door, flexing and unflexing her hand. “Open the door.” 

“What?” Koska was disoriented. “So you can die a quick death?”

“Open the door.” Milena repeated, narrowing her eyes at the two in blue armor. Gideon stared at her with interest.

Bo-Katan and Koska shared a look before she pressed the button and the door opened with a hiss. “What are you doing?” Din whispered, almost frantic.

Milena smiled at the child and rubbed her hand against his head, causing him to coo softly. “Don’t worry. If you can help it.” Her eyes flicked up to meet his through his visor. She moved outside the bridge into the hallway, gripping her lightsaber. “Close it.”

“Milena—!” Din yelled. 

Before the door slammed close, her saber erupted from the hilt. Black. With a white glow.

Gideon blinked, his face going blank rather than the smug resting expression he usually held. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The Jedi had a black lightsaber?

“What are you so scared of? These are your troopers.” Din wasn’t going to kill the man, but now he was tempted to. 

“There is another legend,” Gideon admitted, cuffed hands clenched into fists. “That only two black kyber crystals exist. Those who have them are destined to be together for eternity. One that is, quite obviously, in your hand.” He nodded to the Darksaber. “And the other…” 

Din couldn’t hear anymore if he continued to speak. He rushed to the monitor, dropping Grogu onto a seat. His heart beat so hard in his chest it felt like it was pounding against his armor and so loud he couldn’t register any other sound. 

But Milena was alright. He had never seen her actually use the Force. She wielded it expertly alongside her lightsaber, slicing the troopers to pieces with ease, parrying their blaster fire, and crushing them into themselves.

With a breath, Din let out a watery chuckle. She was much better than alright. Grogu stared at the screen, tilting his head as he pressed his tiny hand to the glass. He turned his head towards Din, making a sound.

“Yeah, kiddo, I don’t know why we wanted anyone else to teach you. She’s,” Din swallowed, watching as she dismembered the last trooper piece by piece, “Perfect.”

He had never known Jedi could be so powerful, never knew she could be so powerful. To take down enemies with such ease. It was what Mandalorians dreamt of, what they aspired to although they hated Jedi. Were supposed to. 

But how could he? The Force had chosen her, of all people, to wield its power and he could not hate her, could not deny that part of himself any longer. 

As it was written, and so it shall be, they were destined for each other the moment the stars sparked into existence. She was the soulmate he was searching for, only now he knew instead of hoping, a fickle thing that danced in his brain that a younger version of him would think of as a trap. 

But, as comes with age, there is a deeper understanding, a deeper feeling that love is not an end or a beginning. It is something that stays until the book ends. Even after, until the Galaxy becomes nothing yet again.

-------

mando'a sayings/phrases:

haar'chak - damn it!

[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos

Chapter Five

Warnings: Javier whump, talking about a woman pre-transition, talks of bisexuality, general awkwardness, 18+ themes.

Word Count: 1.7k

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Columbia had become a second home to Javier after everything. Yet another home with complicated feelings attached to it. The amount of people he had killed which could not be undone. 

And now he was a hero. Fucking promoted, even. To capture the next drug Kingpins in line. The Cali cartel members. 

Javier was met outside the Embassy by a young man who introduced him as Stoddard. His new secretary of sorts. He wasn't really listening to anything he said besides the fact that he would be working under him.

Then he was led to the office. Javier felt his shoulders slump while a breath escaped between his lips. 

“Alright, I'll, uh, leave you two alone!” Stoddard said almost too cheerily as he walked off. 

Milena stood there with a smile, her arms crossed as she leaned against the desk. “It's good to see you again, Javier.” 

Damn it, the way she said his name. He wanted to get on his knees and do something. Pray? Offer himself up as a sacrifice to a God he didn't believe in? Find out whatever was underneath her pants so he could suck or eat whatever it was? 

“You too, Lena.” He stepped further into the office and closed the glass door behind him. “Did you know…?”

She shook her head. “I knew once you got back to the States. They had us decide if we wanted you back. I couldn't say no.” 

“As long as I followed the rules this time?” Javier couldn't help the lopsided smile that spread across his face. 

“Not quite.” Milena chuckled, shaking her head. “I just hated working alone with that CIA asshole. Kept trying to get in my pants. And bald men aren't for me.” She looked off to the side, wrinkling her nose. 

A shadow passed over Javier's face. Stechner tried to get with Milena? He wouldn't put it past the asshole that the only reason he tried was to fuck with him. And it was working as much as he hated to admit it. 

Javier stepped closer to her. “Well, now you don't have to be alone anymore.” 

Milena focused on him again. There was something soft in those usually hard hazel eyes. He could lose himself in the forest of her eyes. Then she did something unexpected. 

She hugged him. 

She hugged him tight, an arm wrapped around his waist while the other grazed the bottom of his neck. She hugged him tight enough that he could subtly feel the soft curves and curated muscle underneath the fabric of her clothes. 

He was frozen. But her warmth seeped into him and he melted into her embrace, hesitantly putting his arms around her in return. Javier was so close he could smell her shampoo in her hair. A mix of grapefruit, pepper, and vanilla. A heady mixture that was already getting to his head. He breathed her in like it was the only air he was ever going to get again. 

Her touch was gone all too soon. But her hands lingered on his forearms. “You need a drink?” Milena asked. 

“Hell yeah.” Javier nodded. 

Rather than the bar, Milena invited Javier over to her apartment. It was much better than his, perhaps because she was more important than him? Her building was in the heart of Bogotá, fourteen floors tall, and was built like the finest resort on some beach somewhere. She lived on that fourteenth floor along with some other high ranking officials. 

Javier looked around the expansive apartment, taking in the large windows, colorful art on the walls, any pictures he could find, any small touches or additions that spoke to who Milena was when not handling dumbass DEA agents. 

He saw some unwashed mugs by the sink, various jackets strewn across chairs, blankets with Navajo patterns bundled up on the couch, and black and white pictures though he couldn't discern who was in them. He stepped closer to the shelf, tilting his head slightly. 

It was Milena. But not Milena as he knew her. Milena while she was in the army. 

Her body was a little bulkier, her chest not as pronounced, and her hair was buzzed close to her head. She was in camo pants and a shirt, her dog tags hanging from her neck, surrounded by four men. They all wore bright smiles, arms around each other's shoulders. Her Army friends, he realized. 

The somewhat confusing part was that Javier found her attractive like this too. With the looks of a man who could throw him over his shoulder. Well, Milena probably still could. She was just softer than she was then. 

“Ah, the Army photo.” Milena hummed, handing Javier a glass of whiskey which he took eagerly. She pointed out the different figures. “That's Marco, Max, Jack, and David. They're all pretty much married and have kids now.” Her eyes glazed over with nostalgia. 

Javier turned his head to look at her, his thumb running across the grooves in his glass. Crystal, he noticed. “But not you?” 

Milena sipped from her glass. “Not me.”

“Didn't find a woman you liked well enough?” He tried to joke, taking a gulp from his own glass. He held the liquid in his mouth a moment, let it burn, then swallowed. 

“No. I didn't.” Her tone was more clipped than before. She moved to the couch. 

Javier cursed at himself internally and followed her. “I didn't mean—”

“It's okay.” Milena shook her head, trying to reassure him. “You're not the first person to ask me something like that and you won't be the last.”

“Still.” He pressed. “I should know better, I know people like you.” Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “They're all wonderful, nice people. Beautiful girls. Usually, I'm more… normal about it, I guess.” Did he just admit to being nervous? 

Milena shook her head. “Being normal about transsexuals is trying to kill us or trying to fuck us for some fucked up kink,” His eyes widened, “You're doing better than most already.”

“I promise it's definitely not that.” Javier said, almost too quickly but nevertheless earnest. 

“Calm down, Peña, I know you like me for more than the dick between my legs.” She joked to try and lighten the mood, giving him a shrug. 

Javier swore he could've dropped his glass but was conscious of getting the couch dirty. Milena inadvertently confirmed something that unfortunately had been on his mind multiple times before. Not in a creepy way. Well, kind of? But not in the fetish way. He was simply thinking about it. Dreaming about being with her. And yet he wanted those thoughts, those dreams to be accurate. Did she have the surgery? Did she not? Just a curiosity so his dreams could better represent her. 

“How about you, Peña? Have you been with any women lately?” Her voice cut him out of his reverie. 

Javier grabbed his cigarettes from his jacket and tapped one out in between his lips. He lit it up and shrugged. “Not really. Can't get this one hardass brunette out of my head.” He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and breathed the smoke out through his nostrils. 

Milena tilted her head, a glint of something he couldn't quite place sparkled in her eyes. “Must be awful to be around.” 

“I thought so too. Not so sure anymore.” He lifted the cigarette back to his lips, letting it hang there as he set an arm on the back of the couch. 

“Yeah?” She asked, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. 

He blew smoke out from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah.” 

Taking the cigarette from Javier's lips, Milena put it out on an ashtray. His eyes followed her movements carefully. He felt her fingertips brush against his mouth and it set his whole spine on fire.

She leaned closer to him, knees brushing against one another. She was slow with her movements, giving him any opportunity to pull away. He never did. 

Milena kissed him. Soft and slow and sweet. With a hand on his shoulder and the other cradling his cheek so tenderly he thought he might break. 

When she tried to pull away, Javier pulled her right back in. He cupped the back of her head, pressing his lips to hers more firmly. He was sure he tasted like cigarettes and alcohol and maybe even a little like the chorizo he had for breakfast as prepared by Chucho but she didn't seem to care. She maybe even enjoyed it with the way she relaxed in his arms. He didn't either. Her lips were soft and tasted like the whiskey they shared, but there was something else. Grapefruit. Sweet and sour. And delicious.

Once satisfied, he pulled away. Both panting, though Javier recovered first and began to pepper Milena's face and neck with kisses. “Do you know how long I've been wanting to do that?” He said between pecks. 

She drew in a sharp breath, a small laugh escaping her. “No. How long?”

“Too damn long.” He planted a final kiss on her nose. He brushed some hairs that fell on her face away, finally letting himself touch her the way he wanted. 

Sometimes that touch was sexual, but mostly Javier just wanted to hold her hand or play with her hair when she talked during a meeting. Hell, he'd distracted himself enough times with daydreaming about braiding her hair just to feel it during meetings that he had to ask Steve for a quick rundown after the fact. 

Well, now he knew for certain Milena's hair was as soft as it looked. 

“Yeah?” She teased gently, her eyes roaming across his face. 

He felt his face heat at the attention as if he wasn't used to it. As if he didn't already know he was handsome. As if every single person he had ever been with didn't mention it before. It was different with Milena. It felt deeper. This wasn't going to lead to sex. Not tonight. However, it would lead to something else. Something more profound that scared him. 

“Yeah.” Javier murmured, pulling her close into an embrace to press a kiss to her temple. She went willingly. “I missed you.” He whispered into her hair. 

Milena closed her eyes, nuzzling her nose against his neck. “I missed you too.”

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter Four: The Child of Death

Warnings: din whump, probably some inaccuracies, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.9k

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For once, they were on a planet. Back on Nevarro. A familiar place for Din but not Milena. The main city was strangely thriving after Moff’s attack and Karga’s takeover as magistrate. It was a nice place to be rather than the bounty hunter, pirate infested planet it used to be. 

They decided on taking a stop to a planet in order to grab supplies and let Grogu stretch his feet somewhere that didn’t have recycled air like the Crest did.

Din walked with Milena, Grogu in the bag slung across his shoulder, subtly admiring her rather than the city which was now decorated with lush shrubs and delicate trees. The only time he could remember seeing sunlight dance across her face or ripple in her hair was on Sorgan. The natural, warm light looked far better on her than any artificial light from his ship or others. 

They went to a few different market stalls to grab food, mainly for Grogu since he was like a baby black hole, wanting to inhale nearly everything in sight. Din let Milena speak to the stall owners, simply standing behind her and occasionally talking to the little one. 

One person working the stall commented, “I never knew Mando had such a beautiful wife.” It was an older lady. She gave Milena some wrapped baked goods, a string tied around it. 

Din straightened. He had no care for rumors, people could whisper whatever they wanted, only he knew the truth, but this? Assuming that he must be wed to Milena was surprising. Shocking. It had to be because they were both Mandalorians. No other reason. 

“You should see what he looks like under there. He’s quite pretty, too.” Milena teased softly, making the older woman laugh in delight while she slid the credits over to her. 

He felt himself flush underneath his helmet. He knew it was a joke. Knew for certain Milena had never seen his face, never attempted to, she would never break his trust. It was the way she said the words so passively. Like she had. Like she had a million times and she was simply telling the truth. 

It was stange. The things she made him feel when she did something so simple. So mundane. He wasn’t used to normal. He felt more comfortable taking on entire leagues of troopers than he did attempting to have a conversation filled with small talk and sickly pleasantries. 

As they walked away from the market stalls, Din grabbed Milena’s arm and hissed softly, “Why did you say that to her?” Grogu looked curiously up at them. 

“Why’s it matter? Would you rather her think you are a Gungan like Mayfeld?” She argued softly, her voice flat and to the point with an eyebrow raised. 

Although Mandalorians could be from anywhere in the Galaxy, any race or species, most were human—or human-like—with their origins being traced back to Mandalore. Like Din. Like Milena. 

Din was struck with her thoughtfulness but shook his head. “I don’t care what they think.”

“Then why bring it up?” Milena tilted her head. There was something in her eyes. A challenge? Mixed with sincerity? He couldn’t quite tell, maybe the visor was messing with his eyes. 

He didn’t have an answer. How could he explain that he did care? He cared so deeply that it hurt. And he knew that his tribe warned him against it. To wrap his heart in Beskar the same way the rest of his body was. However, that care wasn’t for the townspeople on some random planet and how they viewed him as someone dangerous, someone to protect their children from. 

It was for her. 

He had never felt so deeply for anyone in his life. He could count on one hand how many people he thought of as truly gorgeous. Sure, he has been surrounded by attractive individuals before, Xi’an was one of them, but he had not a care in the universe for them. No one tempted him. Not one person except for the Mandalorian currently at his side. 

They settled just outside the city on a bench. Milena has Grogu in her lap, offering some cake to him. He eagerly ate it, occasionally nuzzling into the palm of her gloved hand. 

A subtle sort of warmth settled over Din, head tilted as he watched her with the kid. So gentle and kind. A deep-rooted understanding in her sharp eyes. All the time. Like she could read anyone with a simple look. Maybe she could, Din wasn’t sure what the Force was capable of. 

“What was Mandalore like?” She asked, staring out at the charcoal horizon of Nevarro. 

Din followed her line of sight and looked ahead of him. “I wouldn’t know.” He whispered. “I wasn’t born there either.” He drew in a breath.

He trusted Milena with his life. She had saved Grogu on more than one occasion, even told him the kid’s name. How much did he want to reveal about himself? She had already revealed so much about her life. Returning the favor would make them have a better understanding of each other rather than his past being completely cloaked in mystery.

“I grew up on one of Mandalore’s moons. Concordia.” He confessed, his voice more soft and gentle than Milena had ever heard it. “I lived in a small village. It was peaceful. Quiet. My mother made the best Uj’alayi cake.” 

Din mentioned the siege of Mandalore. The Imperial Droids who came to any nearby moon in the system to further torch any remaining children of Mandalore, how his covert took him in as a foundling. Though, he never said too much. He never told her how he remembered the blazing fires, the screams, the ghosts which haunted his dreams. And, yet, she understood. 

“After that day, I never showed my face again.” He said, shoulders relaxing. He had never told another living soul so much about his life. It was nice. A strange weight off his chest. 

Milena hummed softly, breaking off a piece of the sweet bread for herself. Grogu grabbed for it but was unable to take it from her. 

It was silent. A nice sort of silence that wrapped around him like his cloak. Although Milena was somewhat of a talker, and he enjoyed listening to the sound of her voice, Din appreciated the silence, too. Moments where they would just sit and he’d drink her in like she was the last liquid he could ever have.

“What about lovers? Ever take your helmet off for them?” She asked, fixing her gaze on him.

He felt nervous, a bead of sweat dripped down his neck underneath his helmet and cloak and flight suit. “No.” The fact that his voice came out even surprised him. “I have never been in love. If I was, I would take it off after marriage. As tradition dictates.” 

It was hard to explain that somehow Din was relieved that tradition was in place. It was easier to deflect flirtation. It wouldn’t be because he had an aversion to sexual appetites then, it would be because of his religion instead. A fairer option to most. 

Attraction was not something he felt ever, if at all. 

For a while, he wondered if he must be broken. Plenty of women threw themselves at him. Something about his armor strangely attracted them. Perhaps it was the mystery of him, of what he looked like underneath it all, that made people interested. Not him. Not his character. And he felt nothing for them. Most men would be flattered, wouldn’t they?

Most men would take those women to bed as soon as they could, undress them, do something. Things Din despised thinking about, had never wanted to think about. 

He never even touched himself. There was no need. Nothing ever raised arousal low in his spine, building until it snapped like a beam under too much pressure. He held no sexual desire. Not even the want for it.

It was a complicated thing. These feelings that swirled inside him. Because although he didn’t have that kind of desire, he wanted someone. A sense of camaraderie between persons. That special kind of person who would understand him deeper than anyone else had, who would love him, and wouldn’t mind his aversion to too much physical touch. He wanted a love that lasted forever. And forever never ends.

It was silly to hope for a soulmate. He should know better. He was taught to know better. 

Milena pursed her lips. “Are you not lonely?” She asked.

There was a softness about her but also a deep seeded strength. Like a sun, who’s light could be diffused by glass or a bundle of trees but was still capable of blinding those who weren’t careful. 

“Not anymore.” Din’s eyes roamed over her face. 

He wanted to memorize it for the moments she had her helmet, to remember the details of her face when she talked certain ways. The furrow of her brow, the tremble of her lips, the smile lines on her cheeks, the twitch of her nose, which would all be covered during battle.

Din might have well been dar’manda with the way he was thinking. He should not wish another Mandalorian to keep their helmet off. He should not even be looking at her. He should not have asked her to come with him.

But doubts were eating at him. He questioned his faith. Why was his tribe so different from hers? Why did he have to keep his helmet on when she did not? Was she truly not Mandalorian anymore lest she kept it on? Milena was most certainly still Mandalorian, in heritage, and in heart. 

“Because of this little guy, huh?” Milena smiled down at Grogu, who cooed back at her. She swiped a bent finger across his chin, clearing away any crumbs that may have dropped. 

“Yes.” Din answered, wanting to say more but decided against it. 

His lonely heart was not cured only because the child had entered his life. Yes, he helped. But the companionship he felt with Milena was unlike anything he had ever felt. It touched his guarded heart far more acutely as if she were a well-trained thief stealing from a trap-ridden ancient temple. 

“Y’know, I think I could make some Uj’alayi cake,” Milena absentmindedly rubbed a thumb across Grogu’s chest. He wrapped his hand around a few of her fingers. “Not sure it would be good enough to rival your mother’s.” 

Din’s chest lurched. “I haven’t had it in so long. I think it would be nice to have either way.” He said sincerely, voice significantly more quiet than before. 

Perhaps it was the Nevarro sun beating down on him, the planet’s air, the black sands, that seemed to have changed something fundamental inside him, yet he had no idea what it was. 

Usually, he wanted to shut down whenever anyone else, if ever, mentioned his parents. That familiar emptiness in his chest would rear its head, would spread across the rest of his body, but then the anger would roll over him like a riptide. 

What was it this time? A dead animal reaching towards his mother’s corpse to feel a sliver of the warmth she once held after being gunned down for sport? Only now is he struck by the lightning of her presence now that she’s gone. And he allows himself to be when surrounded by the secure blanket that is Milena’s care for him. 

No, Din should not believe in soulmates but he hoped that he just found his by chance. 

------

mando'a sayings/phrases:

dar'manda - a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditionally-minded mandalorians

uj'alayi - a sticky-sweet brown cake, filled with a variety of cream-colored nuts and dried fruit, infused with a sweet spiced syrup that keeps the dense cake moist. a traditional mandalorian sweet.

[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos

Chapter Four

Warnings: whump as hell, possibly out of character javi, 18+ themes, mentions of death.

Word Count: 1.7k

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Home was complicated.

Yet simple. 

Most everyone in Laredo didn’t really have “careers.” They were shopkeepers, bakers, and rancher’s like Javier’s father. Nothing considered too serious or too important by Northerners. 

Everyone knew everyone and a large number of citizens were Mexican seeing as they were right on the border. That’s part of why life there was so complicated. The issue was always the fact that there were refugees coming en masse, but never did people bother to investigate why? Never did people advocate for changing the migrant systeem. 

Then there was the more personal reason; Lorraine. 

He had left her at the altar and fled to Colombia immediately after. He hasn't heard from her since. Never put forth effort to talk to her. But Javier still heard things from his father. She was married with two kids. A boy and a girl—the girl being the younger of the two. 

He was happy for her. He was. He should be. Shouldn't he? He wasn't jealous, wasn't really mourning a life he could have had. It didn't feel that way. It was something else. Something deeper. 

“Could you imagine if we were married?” She had said at the reception of one of their mutual friends. 

And Javier didn't have an answer. Not because he couldn't imagine it, but because of her tone of voice. Insinuating he wasn't built for marriage. Couldn't be loyal. Couldn't be locked down in one place for too long. Too flakey. Too much of a whore. Too… broken down. 

He could say it started when his mother died. It didn't. He wasn't sure when it started but this empty, melancholy feeling just appeared in his chest one day and it never went away. 

Javier sat in his childhood room, complete with trophies of when he used to play soccer and the old bed frame and mattress Chucho never bothered to replace. He ran his hands up and down his face. 

Instead of firing him, the DEA offered him a promotion. DEA attaché in Colombia. To be Milena's equal. This time they'd go after the Cali Cartel. He'd accepted. 

Would it be different? It had to be. Surely. No negotiating with Narco-terrorists or fucking random women in bars. Milena would keep a tight leash on him. Maybe that's what he needed. A firm hand. Or a good shove every now and then. She was good at that. 

Javier downed the whiskey in his glass and set it on an old, worn desk. It had grooves he cut into it with scissors, occasionally a knife, when he got bored as a kid. He ran his fingertips across the indents. 

He wondered how Milena felt. How she was doing. What she was doing. If she talked to her Army friends recently. 

Selfishly, he wanted to know the last time she was with someone. Weeks? Months? Years? He wouldn't be surprised if it was years. He'd known transsexuals who didn't want to risk potential death by being in a relationship or with sex. 

Javier could just call her. He considered it. Decided against it. He'd be there soon anyway. To see her beautiful face. He had no pictures. He could only remember what she looked like. Like the goddesses of Mayan religion. A beauty that transcended colonialism is the only way he could describe it. The antithesis of European standards. 

He loved it. He could suddenly understand why people made art. Because of women like her. 

God, and he hadn't even kissed her yet. Steve was right, he had it bad. 

Chucho could see it too. 

“Mijo, you look more depressed than usual at a wedding.” It had been said jokingly, but Javier knew the concern underlying his tone. 

“No es nada. Es una locura pensar en cuánto ha cambiado.” An excuse. Yet, the thought crossed his mind. 

"It's nothing. Just thinking about how much has changed."

The wedding was for someone he hadn't seen since they were just learning to ride a bike. Twenty years changed a lot. People grew up. People died. People could get in and out of addiction. So why did Javier feel like the same person? 

The fame made him feel it all the more. He didn't deserve all the praise he got for catching Escobar. He wasn't even there. He was already in a random bar in Washington when the news broke. It was embarrassing, really. 

“I appreciate what you've done.”

“Thanks for your service, man.”

“I'm proud of you.”

It was a dizzying mixture of gratitude and pleasantries he couldn't take. They didn't know what happened down there. They didn't know the shit he had to do. They didn't know what he wanted to do. If they did, they wouldn't say anything. But he never mentioned it. Never attempted to. Just kept quiet and felt the dagger in his heart twist with each thanks. 

Headlights swiped outside Javier's windows, illuminating the space for a few seconds before it went dark again. He stood from the desk and took his glass to the kitchen to wash. 

Then he looked in the closet in his room where a small safe sat on the floor. He unlocked it and pulled it open. 

There wasn't much inside. A few prized possessions like a first edition comic book sealed in plastic and some souvenirs from Mexico he had begged his father to get him as a child. A velvet box sat alone on a shelf. 

Javier grabbed it and opened it. Inside sat a 1950s style wedding band. White gold with small diamonds decorating the sides of the center stone. He ran his thumb over the impeccably cut deep red sapphire in the center. 

His eyes slipped shut and he held the box tight. As if willing his mother to come back and give him advice. She was always good at that, even if he never really listened to it. 

His father, on the other hand, had given him something that closely resembled advice earlier that night. “When you were a kid, all you wanted to do is get out of here. Get out into the world. Well, you didn't like what you found. But don't try to change it. More likely, it'll change you.”

Don't go back. Don't go back. Don't go back. 

It didn't need to be said out loud but Javier knew what his father meant. 

Tears slipped down his face. He wasn't a crier. Not even when he was alone. But he broke then. Javier sobbed softly, shoulders shaking as he pressed his forehead against the safe. The metal was cool even though his room was warm. 

Emotions built up over time were finally bubbling over and exploding after years. Finally finding release. Tears dripped onto the satin fabric inside the box and seeped further, becoming one with it. 

A forty-something year old was crumpled in his childhood room holding onto his mothers wedding ring as if he was still a child and she died yesterday. 

His tears calmed after a while. Taking a few shaky breaths, he closed the velvet box and set it back in its place. He closed the safe door and sat back on his heels. He felt strangely lighter. Shoulders lax. 

However the exhaustion started to weigh in. Eyes heavy. 

Chucho found him like that. Javier was on his side, lying on the hardwood floors in nothing but a T-shirt and his boxers. At first he thought his son had drunken himself into a stupor and passed out like that. But apart from the single cup in the kitchen, there was no sign of that. No stains on his shirt or spills on the floor beside him. The room still smelled of the cedarwood candle he lit periodically. 

He moved the comforter from the bed to drape over his son's body. He wanted to reach out, brush away the hairs falling against his forehead. But Javier wasn't a child anymore. And Chucho was never that kind of father. 

In the kitchen, Chucho made breakfast. A simple medley of eggs, potatoes, and chorizo he got from a farmers market nearby. Pans sizzled and coffee dripped into a pot. Most of his days started like this. 

Though he never expected his son to leave. Again. And again. 

“Hey, Pop.” Javier said as he appeared in the kitchen, hair disheveled as he rubbed his eyes. 

Chucho would mistake him for a child if not for his mustache and the faint wrinkles in his skin. 

Javier moved to grab a mug and poured coffee into it. “Smells good in here.” He commented passively, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Thought you should eat before your flight.” Chucho responded, sliding sunny side up eggs onto a plate. A healthy portion of potatoes and chorizo was already on it. He handed it to Javier, almost forcing it upon him.

Yet another person was trying to get him to eat. 

Javier sighed and sat at the table. His chair creaked slightly. And he ate. Ate as much as he could though he wanted to leave and land in Colombia as soon as possible. Get away from here for a while. Do the job he thought he was made for. Get back to Milena. 

“This about a girl?” Chucho asked, breaking the silence apart from the sounds of clinking silverware and ceramic mugs. 

He knew his son was much more emotional than he let on. Didn't let anyone in. Didn't let anyone see what was beneath the surface. And maybe that was his fault. Inés was always better at that stuff than him. Even in Laredo, Javier felt like he was miles away. Somewhere else. Somewhere dangerous. 

Javier stopped chewing, jaw clenching. Then it relaxed. “Maybe. Why's it matter?” 

“I want to be sure you're going back there for the right reasons.” Chucho sighed, fiddling with the stem of his fork. “What's she like?” 

Then, like a switch, he could see something akin to love in his son's eyes. “Too beautiful for me.” Javier murmured, shifting his gaze downward. “As hard as stone, and yet, as soft as a feather.” 

“The good ones are like that.” A gentle smile appeared on Chucho's face, showing off the single dimple he shared with his son. “Your mother was.”

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter Three: The Nocturne Interlude

Warnings: yearning, fluff, din not realizing he's in star wars :(

Word Count: 1.4k

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While in hyperspace, with the stars stretched across the empty black, appearing much like a current under the sea, Milena and Din would talk. Rather, Din would ask a question every so often to show he was paying attention to whatever Milena said. 

She ate some rations, back facing Din so he could eat too. As a sign of respect for his differing morals, she didn't even attempt to look at his face or catch a glimpse of it. 

“What was that weapon you used to destroy the droid? I have never seen anything like it.” Din’s voice, unmodulated, was still deep but smoother than Milena anticipated. Maybe it was the helmet that made it appear raspier than it was. 

She wiped her hand against her face, sighing softly. “It's a lightsaber. The weapon of the Jedi.” 

“Jedi?” He questioned. 

He must've been very sheltered. Most people in the Galaxy knew what a Jedi was, knew what the Force was, but, much like the Mandalorian religion, did not believe in it or thought it was stupid. It was not that long ago when Jedi would travel the Galaxy to fight evil, bring balance, and steal children away from their families if they were force-sensitive. 

Now, how to describe this to Din? “They're a… Sorcerers, I suppose. They wield the Force, a sort of energy field that exists within and around us.” She picked a little at her food before taking another bite.

“Are they enemies to us?” He picked up his helmet and secured it over his head with a soft sigh. 

“At one point. Yes.” Milena admitted, her eyes fixated on the metal floor of the hull. “And to many Mandalorians, they still are. But not in my tribe.”

Din let out a breath, crackling through his helmet. “Why is your tribe so different from mine?” He leaned his back against Milena’s.

“I can’t say.” She admitted. “All I know is my tribe is pretty trusting for Mandalorians. Of course, they taught me to be careful, but also not to judge too quickly.” She finished up her meal and simply let him press his weight into her. 

“Is that why they let you be a Jedi?” He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder.

Milena chuckled. “It’s not that they let me. The Force does not discriminate against who it lets wield it. Long ago, one of our Manda’lors, Tarre Viszla, was a Jedi and a Mandalorian. But then war broke out between the Jedi and Mandalorians, casting them as enemies.” She ran her thumb over her right thigh plate. Where an Avril was imprinted. “They thought it was better if they helped me hone my abilities rather than cast me out.”

“Are there other Jedi in your tribe?” Din sounded confused, but interested. 

“No. It can be hereditary but sometimes it just appears randomly.” She shrugged but looked up when she heard him stand. 

He walked around to face her, head tilted curiously as he stared down at her. She stared back. It was silent for a while, the only sounds were of the Crest rumbling through space, metal creaked every so often. 

Seemingly out of nowhere, Din knelt before Milena. “What's it like? Your tribe?” His voice was soft, hesitant in the same way he took her hands and squeezed them. 

He genuinely wanted to know what it was like to grow up in a Mandalorian covert that seemed so different from his. Hiding in the shadows still, but full of joy and trust? Din couldn't remember the last time he ever truly trusted someone. Besides the Child. Maybe Milena…

Weaving stories of her time on Hoth, she told him what he desperately needed to hear. A tribe of Mandalorians who cared deeply for anonymity, the reason they chose Hoth for their covert, but not amongst each other. They would celebrate after a successful hunt, helmets forgone as they drank and were merry on gal. 

Din was even blessed with stories of Milena's family. Jáan and Aiyana Vanda who loved their child despite the preconceived notion that they should hate her for being a Jedi. Both fierce warriors. But fierce lovers. Milena recounted how they fought off a Wampa together while traveling to gather materials for their covert. In the end, Jáan and Aiyana slayed the beast and took it home to break it down for fur and even meat. 

Stories of her friends Kyona and Esha playing in the snow when they were young, throwing large projectiles of the powdery snow at each other. She mentioned a particular moment where she threw a ball so hard at Esha’s head, that it knocked her out. Din couldn’t help but laugh. 

Then, of course, tales of being trained as a Jedi. Her uncle, Khele, was the one who trained her mostly. Wrapped in extra layers of fabric as cushion, he'd tell her to push him with the Force. Simple things. Until it graduated to bigger things. 

Milena slipped her gloved hands away from his and grabbed the hilt of her lightsaber. It was fairly simple in design but had a sharp pommel, perfect for stabbing at close range if she would rather an enemy bleed out. “When I got older, my uncle gifted me a crystal. The kind of crystal that powers a lightsaber and then tasked me with making my own.” She offered it to Din. 

He had to do a double take, lifting and lowering his head, visor trained on Milena then back to the lightsaber a few times. “Are you sure?” He breathed. 

Something as simple as letting someone else hold their weapon, meant so much in Mandalorian culture. And Din was being offered one of Milena's most sacred ones. 

“I'm sure. Though I advise you to be careful.” She teased. 

Din let out a soft huff of a laugh. “I'll keep that in mind.” He took the hilt from her, admiring the craftsmanship up close. 

The tight, yet delicate leather wrapped around the grip, the engravings on the emitter, the fact that it was made of Beskar. He didn't need to ask, he could tell by the weight of it. After wearing the metal for years, he knew what it felt like, what it looked like, what it tasted like. 

“It’s very well made.” Din inspected it further, finding dark spots on the leather grip. Where Milena held it most imprinted upon it. 

“Thank you. I designed it, but I had some help.” She admitted. 

Surprising, considering most of the other Mandalorians his age in his covert were anything but humble. They bragged about kills or catching bounties. They never admitted to needing help or that they had any. 

Din returned the lightsaber to Milena. “It’s quite beautiful, too.” He stared up at her. He had never been so glad that his helmet shielded his face in his life. 

He was free to stare at her beauty all he wanted and she was none the wiser. Not really. How could he explain that he thought her beauty was far greater than the intricate paintings their ancestors poured their souls into for Mandalore the Great? Paintings he had never even seen but knew they must be beautiful the way the elders in his tribe talked of them with a sense of awe and longing, knowing they must be destroyed with Mandalore. 

With a small shrill, the sleeping compartment opened to reveal a just awakened Child. Milena looked at him, a smile appearing on her face. She stood, fastened her lightsaber to her belt, and picked him up. “Hey, sleepyhead. You get a good nap in?” She rubbed her finger against his cheek, causing him to make a soft noise.

Din tilted his head, standing fully as well, while he observed them. There appeared to be some sort of communication going on between them. He’d seen it before. When they first met on Sorgan, she appeared to have full conversations with the Child though he could only hear her speaking. She looked crazy sometimes but he knew better. 

“Is he Jedi?” He asked suddenly.

Milena’s eyebrows furrowed, glancing at the Child as if to ask him if Din was kidding. “Yes. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.” He confirmed, taking a breath. That would explain why the Imperials wanted him so bad. A Child with nearly unexplainable powers would be a great asset, dead or alive. 

“And his name is Grogu.” She added.

Din faltered. “What? Grogu?”

The Child turned his head towards Din, tilting it. “Patu?” 

------

mando'a sayings/phrases:

gal - a type of black ale which is sticky and sweet

[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos

Chapter Three

Warnings: period-typical transphobia, misogyny, 18+ themes, alcohol, yearning.

Word Count: 1.9k

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“You are being kindly relocated back to the States.” Milena stared at Javier, eyebrows furrowed as she watched him for any reaction.

Life was hard in Colombia for a DEA agent. Or anyone in Colombia at the time, really. But, if still alive, the chase for Pablo Escobar took its toll on someone sooner or later. Milena thought Javier crossed every line he could as that exhaustion hit him. It was no secret that Javier did some not so savory things to gather intel or to take the edge off. He was the subject of plenty of gossip himself. 

But there was a line she didn’t expect him to cross. 

Sure, their main focus was on Pablo, but to work with other cartel members to try and bring him down was another level of stupid. A brand Milena had become accustomed to against her will. 

“Okay.” Javier said, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“Okay?” Milena was expecting some sort of push back. An argument. Call her a bitch, maybe? While that was out of character, being silent was even further out of character. 

Javier stared at the wall behind her then shifted his gaze to meet hers. “I get it. I fucked up.” There was a hint of resignation in his voice. No regret. 

Milena ran her hands up and down her face as her elbows were planted on the desk in front of her. Taking things with grace wasn’t usually Peña’s style. She'd gotten pretty good at reading him in the months since she'd been in Colombia. 

“Well…” She straightened and grabbed an envelope from her desk. She slid it over to him. “You're expected to be out of here by tomorrow night. Plane ticket is in here.”

Javier took the envelope and stuffed it into his blazer. “Thanks, Sánchez.” He got up and turned to leave. 

“Wait, just a second—”

Working with Javier Peña was as infuriating as it was ultimately rewarding. Milena thought she had gained his trust and so she gave hers in return. Perhaps that trust was unfounded. 

He had broken it. Over and over again. 

And weirdly, that hurt. It hurt more than she expected it to. 

Milena expected people to go behind her back, to go against her orders, she wasn’t stupid. It came with being the new guy in town. There would be push back. She thought she had gotten over that with Javier. 

She was just starting to like him too.

It was hard to know when it happened. Somewhere between the late nights at the Embassy and police station or shared cigarettes pouring over maps and other miscellaneous documents. There were mornings when Milena had Javier’s coffee waiting for him at his desk, sometimes accompanied by a muffin or another random breakfast item. 

“You can call me Milena.” She breathed. A weird feeling bubbled in her chest. “You no longer work for me. So, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.” 

Javier turned back to look at her. “It doesn’t.” 

His deep eyes finally held a hint of emotion that she could understand. Confliction. Juggling between what he wanted but knowing he couldn’t have it. Or, assuming that he couldn’t so he didn’t even try to take it. 

“It’s been nice working with you… Milena.” Javier nodded at her, a subtle crease between his eyebrows. It softened and deepened every so often but it never really went away. 

She stared at him for a few moments. A clock behind her ticked softly and filled the silence. He shifted on his feet and stared back at her then glanced around the room, obviously looking to leave. 

“Do you wanna go out for a drink?” Milena might’ve been using her ‘work’ tone but she didn’t mean to. It wasn’t supposed to be an order but it came out like one. 

Javier faltered, eyes narrowing as if to make sure she was being serious. “Only if you’re the one paying.” He offered in return. 

“I’m the one who invited you.” Her eyebrow raised. 

While she wouldn’t call it a date, it was her personal belief that whoever's idea it was to make plans should be the one to pay for them. Part of that came from the way she was raised. Her parents were true equals in every sense. 

—

Javier had never been so nervous. A drink. That’s all this was, right? Just a drink. She wasn’t going to yell at him about how stupid he was or, hell, make out with him? It’s been how long since he went out just to go out? Forever, it felt like. Definitely before he got involved with Los Pepes. 

But he wanted this. He wanted to spend his last night with the woman who frustrated him, who called him an idiot in three different languages—two he could understand—who he shared cigarettes with after a long day, who left him breakfast on his desk knowing he could forget to eat more often than he wanted to admit. 

Javier checked himself in the mirror underneath the overhead fluorescent light. He rubbed his hands over his face. He felt tired. He looked tired. 

This is what Pablo Escobar takes, isn’t it? Life. Whether it be from the cocaine, from commanding someone’s death, or from the miles it would take to catch him that slowly killed a person. 

Javier let out a breath then turned on the sink to wash his face. The cold water helped him wake up. He turned the tap off and switched off the light as he left the bathroom, searching for his leather jacket. 

When he got to the bar, Milena was already there, sitting by the bar. He should have expected as such. She was always punctual at work.

He slid next to her and signaled for the bartender. “Sólo una cerveza para mí, por favor.” Then he took in Milena’s appearance. 

"Just one beer for me, please."

Her wavy hair was pulled into a ponytail but short strands framed her face and her work clothes were completely foregone. A large cable-knit sweater was draped over her torso with the sleeves rolled up and some baggy pants that strangely stretched a little too taut over her thighs. A highball glass half-filled with some clear cocktail was in front of her. 

“Aren’t you a little late?” Milena raised an eyebrow and leaned against the bartop.

Javier took his beer from the bartender and took a quick sip. “Maybe you’re a little early.” 

“Can't help it. Creature of habit.” She took a sip from her glass, eyes roaming over Javier's form appreciatively. 

He had never felt so accomplished in his life. Milena had looked at him with interest. Outwardly. No longer trying to hide it. He should've broken codes a while ago. But, then again, they wouldn't have been able to spend as much time together. 

They got talking and eventually moved to a table. 

“Were you actually in the Army?” Javier asked between sips of beer. 

Milena nodded, scratching at the side of her head a moment. “Yeah. What're the rumors people around the office told?” She asked, serious but there was a hint of a smile at the edges of her lips. 

Of course she was aware of those. Milena was the type to hear everything everyone said about her without hearing it directly. Strings of people talked and, eventually, she would catch wind of it. 

It was part of the reason she caught Javier with Los Pepes. It started off as a rumor. Then snowballed into her investigating. She didn't take rumors like that lightly. Javier had come to begrudgingly respect it. Respect her. She was clearly good at her job or else they wouldn't have made her their boss. 

“They say you worked your way up to Sargent.” He offered a softball first. 

“Was pretty easy when everyone still saw me as a guy.” Milena shrugged. 

Javier sputtered, almost choking on his drink.

“Didn't expect me to bring it up myself, huh?” She rubbed her thumb across some condensation on her glass. 

Fuck no he didn't. 

Milena shrugged. “I don't mind talking about it. People are gonna say shit either way, I was kinda doomed with the Native American features to begin with.” She chuckled. 

Right. The sharp jaw, the strong nose, and the high cheekbones. Any woman like that would have transgender allegations. 

“Did you look at her? She looks like a man?” 

“That or she's gotten surgery done for sure.”

“No woman wants to look like that.” 

“No sane woman.” 

He heard things like that from the fair skinned, soft women with perfectly manicured nails and a full face of makeup who worked mostly as secretaries or in the photocopy room. 

Milena didn't need that. He didn't think he'd ever seen her with makeup on and didn't need to. She was plenty beautiful without it. Sharp features made her all the more interesting to look at. She took pride in her appearance. In small ways. How she dressed, how she'd style her hair, or painting her nails a deep color every so often, though they always ended up chipped by the end of the day. 

“How was that?” Javier asked, unsure how else to word it. 

Milena pursed her lips. “My Army friends had to get used to it, but they’re fine now. I'm from LA and they are too. Kinda have to be progressive in a city like that.” 

“LA, huh?” Javier was surprised. She didn't have that LA accent. The kind that was obnoxious. 

“Yeah. I saw that you were from Texas. Right on the border.” She hummed softly. “Always wanted to go down there, maybe even Mexico.” 

Javier breathed and grabbed his cigarettes from his jacket, lighting it up and quickly took a drag. “Yeah, my Dad—He would take me over the border every other summer. Said something about not forgetting my roots.” He blew the smoke away from her. 

Then the conversation steered towards his past. His crazy college years in the 70s, the switch to military school—he wanted to be a pilot once—and his mother. He rarely talked about his mother. Even to his own father. 

Milena was a good conversationalist. Better than she appeared, at first. She got Javier talking about his mother's tamales, how kind and understanding she always was, how she left him her ring when she passed so he could give it to his spouse. Although Javier was always a ladies man—or anyone's man—going from bed to bed, Inés always held out hope he would find someone. 

When Javier left Milena after walking her home and came back to his apartment, he felt empty. Emptier than usual. 

Empty in the same way when he came home from his mother's funeral. 

It would be the last time he saw her. Even if Milena came back to the States, she would live miles away from Laredo. 

He flopped down onto his bed, jacket, jeans, and boots still on. Yet another woman he loved would be lost. His mother to the throes of time, Lorraine to his own stupid mind, and Milena to the decisions he made but did not regret.  

He couldn’t help but compare them all. His mother went to another plane of existence that he didn’t quite believe in, but Lorraine and Milena? He exiled himself from Lorraine. Felt as though he didn’t deserve her, maybe. 

Now, he was being forcibly exiled from Milena. Milena who seemed to understand him more than anyone else. More than Steve. More than Chucho. Certainly more than Lorraine. 

Maybe being back in Laredo, where there wasn’t the constant threat of violence, would be good for him. He could relax. Clear his head for a little while. Or try to, anyway. 

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter Two: Episode VI

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Word Count: 1.6k

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Living amongst the stars with Din and the Child wasn't as turbulent as Milena thought it would be. They'd run into trouble, of course, seeing as the Child was a bounty Din was supposed to have turned in but didn't have the heart to. But they survived. Fought like hell. 

Unfortunately they needed credits to go just about anywhere. So, Din took a job. But not a bounty. More of a black-market kind of job though he wasn't sure what it entailed. 

“You two need to stay inside.” He instructed as they landed. “They are only expecting one Mandalorian, not two. And the Child must stay safe.”

Milena held the Child on her hip and sighed. “Whatever you say.” 

In the hull, she climbed into the sleeping compartment with Grogu. The door slid shut. She sat with her legs crossed, the Child in the circle between them. 

Milena had never been in this compartment before. She usually slept on the top level and didn't complain. The thin mattress and blankets smelled like Din. Warm. Deep. And covered in Beskar. She looked around, curious to see if there was anything else that could tell her about Din. 

As all Mandalorians were raised to be, he was clean when he could be, took care of his weapons meticulously, and didn't say much with words. But there had to be more beneath that, there was always more beneath that. 

She pressed a few shelves open and blinked a little when she found a razor. So Din had facial hair? Certainly grew enough to warrant a razor. She slipped the shelf closed. 

Milena heard voices as the ship’s engines started again. More than one came onto the Crest. She shoved the Child behind her. “Stay. Don't move.” She told him quietly, “You're too soft to be caught in the crossfire.” She grabbed her blaster and held it in front of her.

She heard some banging in the hull, voices clearer. They must’ve gotten closer. 

“Let’s just do this job. We get in, we get out, and you don’t have to see our faces anymore.” 

Then a deeper voice, “Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian.”

“Well, apparently, they’re the greatest warriors in the Galaxy. So they say.” That voice was sarcastic. 

Milena’s jaw flexed under her helmet. These idiots clearly did not know what they were getting into with a Mandalorian like Din. Or like her. 

“Then why are they all dead?”

Then there was laughter. 

Little did they know. And she was sure they knew very little. 

“Well, you flew with him, Xi’an. Is he as good as they say?”

Din knew one of these bandits? Milena gripped her blaster a little tighter. 

“Ask him about the job on Alzoc III.” She could only assume that was Xi’an. She had a raspy, sultry voice. It made Milena’s skin crawl in an unpleasant way. 

Milena could hear Din’s voice the clearest. He was close, then. “I did what I had to.” 

She despised eavesdropping, even unintentionally, it always felt like a betrayal of trust. As a Mandalorian, she valued trust above all other things. 

“Oh, but you liked it.” Xi’an teased, drawing out the last word. “See, I know who you really are.”

Milena took a slow breath, adjusting the grip on her blaster while her other hand snaked behind her to keep the Child calm. She felt his hand grip one of her fingers. “Anaymayen ori'jate, ad’ika.” She whispered to try and reassure him. Or maybe herself. 

“He never takes off the helmet?”

Subtle, soft laughter came from Xi’an. “This is the Way.” She said mockingly.

“Huh. I wonder what you look like under there. Maybe he’s a Gungan. Is that why yousa don’t want to show your face?” 

The blatant disrespect coming from these di’kuts was grating her gears. She knew people acted like this all over the Galaxy, thought the Mandalorian religion as a whole was stupid and could never understand it with their pea sized brains, but to say it right to one’s face? That was an entirely different level of idiotic. 

“You ever seen his face?”

Xi’an gasped. “A lady never tells.”

Given the fact that Din was hesitant on telling Milena his name, she was sure Xi’an was bullshitting. An attempt to make it seem as though she knew more than she actually did. 

“Aw. Come on, Mando. We all gotta trust each other here. You gotta show us somethin’. Come on. Just lift the helmet up. Come on. Let’s all see your eyes.”

“I’ll do it.” The deeper voice said.

Milena narrowed her eyes as she heard a commotion outside the compartment. She tilted her head and smirked. Mess with a Mandalorian, you get what you deserve. 

The compartment door slid open suddenly, causing Milena to be on high alert. She was finally able to see the crew Din was being forced to work with. A purple Twi’lek she could only assume was Xi’an, a bald human with a red beard, and a Devaronian. 

“Whoa.” Mayfeld, the redhead, blinked. He put his hands up as Milena stepped out of the compartment and shut the door before any of them saw the Child. “You get lonely up here, man?” He said to Din, a very obviously insinuating tone in his voice. 

“I didn’t know Mandalorians came in tall and female.” Burg smirked.

Milena tilted her head menacingly, “You say one more word, I will shear off your horns and turn them into decoration.” 

Burg growled and stepped closer to Milena. She growled in return, surprising the other crew members. Even Din was surprised she was capable of making such noises. She squared her shoulders, stood a little taller, to appear bigger. 

“Ah, I get your type, Mando.” Mayfeld teased, looking Milena up and down. “Dangerous, huh?” He glanced back at Xi’an who stared at the other Mandalorian with a sneer. 

Din stiffened but didn’t say anything, looking over Milena to make sure she was alright. Emotionally, at least. She simply nodded towards him. 

“Dropping out of hyperspace now.” Said a droid over the comms in the hull. The Crest lurched and suddenly slowed, causing the crew to lose their balance. “Commencing final approach, now. Cloaking signal, now.” The Crest turned upside down. Milena held onto something, hoping the Child was alright and not hurtling through the air. “Engaging coupling, now.” When the ship stopped, Zero said, “Coupling confirmed. We are down.”

Milena stepped onto finally stable ground and helped Din up from where he fell. “That droid needs to learn manners.” She hissed. 

“I agree.” Din’s voice was tight, more guarded than usual.

She could only assume it was because there was a droid on board to begin with. Though she’d been around Din a short time, his distaste for the machines was clear. 

“Z, you sure they can’t see us?” Mayfeld asked through the comms.

Zero responded, “The Razor Crest is scrambling our signature and I am inside the prison system. It’s impressive that this gunship has survived the Empire without being impounded.”

“Alright, we got a job to do.” Mayfeld’s eyes flickered from Din to Milena. “Why don’t you both come with, huh? Two Mandos are better than one.”

“No.” Din said. “She stays.” 

Milena wasn’t offended. She knew Din would rather her be on the ship to watch the Child with a droid on board than leave the little guy alone. 

“Fine, then,” Mayfeld motioned to Din, “You’re up.”

The Mandalorian opened the hatch to the prison ship with a scrambler, unsealing it with a soft hiss. One by one, the crew dropped down into the other ship. 

“Be careful.” Din whispered to Milena.

She nodded, “Jate'kara.”

Din froze but nodded back. He stepped down and dropped into the other ship. 

Did he speak in Mando’a often? She hadn’t heard him speak it. It was commonplace to learn it and speak it amongst family in her tribe. Or did he still not expect her to speak it? 

She sighed and sat down in the hull, removing her helmet with a soft hiss. She glanced at the compartment door. “Everything okay in there?” The Child cooed, although muffled, and she could tell he was alright. Maybe a little shaken, but still alright. 

Milena slipped her helmet back on, waiting for Din to come back with a hand hovering over her blaster. Mandalorians were grouped with questionable people all the time when it came to acquiring more Beskar or credits to help their tribe, but these people seemed seedier than others. Unafraid to betray if it benefited them. 

She sensed something was wrong. Very wrong.

She patted the compartment door and whispered to the Child, “K'oyacyi.” 

Milena hid underneath the ship's floors, sensing the droid upstairs had become restless. She breathed evenly, calmly. The only pang of anxiety in her heart was for the Child. 

Footsteps went right over her. She changed the sights in her visor to X-Ray and, sure enough, Zero was standing right above her. Her hand clenched at her side, wrapping around the hilt of a weapon. But he turned back towards the sleeping compartment and stepped closer. 

She narrowed her eyes, taking a soft breath. 

As quietly as possible, Milena slipped out of the floor and snuck up behind the droid just in time for him to open the door. Zero aimed at the Child but he was cut in two before he could ever fire a shot. 

Milena’s lightsaber glowed brightly. The Child was almost mesmerized, cooing softly as he gazed into the blazing color, while the droid’s circuitry sparked.

“What happened here?” Din asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. 

Milena turned, her lightsaber retreated back into the hilt. “Was just making sure the kid is alright.” He hummed, visor trained on the weapon in her hand but he didn’t press. “You get the job done?” She attached it back to her belt.

“Yes. I did.” 

“Good. Those mir’shebs annoyed me.” 

-----

mando'a words/sayings:

Anaymayen ori'jate, ad’ika - everything is okay, little one; more literally, everything is excellent, little one.

di'kuts - idiots

jate'kara - good luck

k'oyacyi - hang in there

mir'shebs - smartasses

[pickledpascal]

We all considered Khaled to be like an older brother to Ahmad. He was close to all of us, but he held a special place in Maryam’s heart she loved him dearly, and he loved her just as much.

Exactly one month ago and on the morning of April 3rd, Maryam asked my father if she could go visit Khaled. She missed him and wanted to play with the children her age in his neighborhood.He agreed. She went on her way, and not even a few minutes had passed before a missile struck the area she had just headed to.

In that moment, nothing else mattered to us but one question screaming in our mind : “Where’s Maryam? Is she okay?”

My father says..

I ran as fast as I could toward the site of the strike, my heart pounding in fear and panic.

When I arrived, I was shocked by the scene. Dozens of men were rushing around, carrying injured children. All of them every single one had blood covering their faces and severe injuries. I began shouting at the top of my lungs, “Maryam! Maryam! MARYAM!” until I saw her...

But my heart still wasn’t at peace. I couldn’t leave. I ran again this time toward the place I feared Khaled might have been.

With every step closer, my dread grew. “No... it can’t be him...” But when I arrived, I found Khaled’s house two stories high destroyed.

Khaled was there. After a long struggle, we managed to pull him from the rubble... but it was too late. Khaled had passed away.

Khaled is gone... and the world no longer feels the same. The earth is emptier now without Khaled.

======================

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[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos

Chapter Two

Warnings: non-graphic smut, sex work, emotional cheating if you squint, period-typical transphobia, spanish dirty talk, swearing, vulgar language.

Word Count: 1.8k

Entre Los Lobos Masterlist

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It was one of those days. 

One of the days that frustrated the ever-living fuck out of Javier. To be fair, everyone else was in the same boat. A single step taken to capture Escobar resulted in five steps back. He was exhausted and angry and needed to take it out on something. 

That something happened to always be a girl from one of the brothels he frequented. They liked him. Though he was rough, it didn't end with purple and yellow bruises around their neck or on their face. He paid them nicely, too. They could thank that good ole American guilt.

The current girl he was with—Sonya—was enthusiastic. A moaning and whimpering and whining mess. There was no need to fake noises with Javier. He'd make anyone feel on top of the world fairly easily. He was good at it. Had a lot of practice at it. Any person was lucky to experience Javier Peña at least once in their life. Even luckier if twice. 

“Vamos, nena, vamos. Te sientes tan bien. Tan bueno.” He was rutting into her. Hard and fast. Leaning down, draped across her back as his hips slapped against her ass. 

"You feel so good. So good."

Sex was his favorite vice. Next to cigarettes and alcohol. 

It was the most harmless way to take out his anger and frustrations on someone else without genuinely hurting them. He forgets about life for a little while and makes someone else feel good. A win-win. 

But then there was the post-orgasmic clarity that happened after the haze. A feeling of emptiness. A feeling of longing. For something more than what he had. For more than an hour of blowing off steam, alcohol, and smoke. 

For a real connection. 

But he couldn't have it. Not while Escobar was still on the run and any partner he could have could get hurt. 

Sometimes, Javier envied Steve and Connie's relationship. It wasn't the most perfect relationship in the world but they loved each other, trusted, and respected each other. And he craved that kind of intimacy. 

Just as he was about to finish, Javier groaned a low, “Fuck, Sánchez—!” That was enough for him to get off. 

He hadn't realized he said that for a few seconds. But then the shame kicked in. He was fantasizing about his boss. The same one he despised. Or, he thought he did. 

Sonya kind of looked like her. Like Milena. Dark, wavy hair, warm ivory skin, and deep hazel eyes. He was fucked. Majorly. 

On top of all the shit he was already feeling, that was the cherry on top. 

Unfortunately, the more Javier learned about Milena, through gossip around the office, the more he became intrigued by her. 

He learned a lot. Apparently she was a sergeant in the army. He could see her being in the army. She knew her way around a gun. But a somewhat high ranking officer? Damn. No wonder she was a hard-ass. 

He didn't believe every rumor, though. There was the question of her birth. 

Milena was a taller woman. He'd guess five-nine or five-ten. With the combined factor of her deeper voice and broad shoulders, there was no question that there would be transsexual allegations thrown around by people.

“I heard they cut her dick off in the army and that's why she became a girl.”

“I heard she got her face reconstructed to look more feminine.” 

“I heard she got her dick inverted into a pussy. I can't believe that kind of surgery even exists.” 

Javier didn't really care for rumors like that. He wouldn't care if they were true. But they were insistently annoying. Permeating from the Embassy to the police headquarters. Who gave a fuck what was underneath her clothes? As long as she helped them catch Escobar. 

Clearly, he did too. Hypocrite. 

He began thinking about her more and more. Would she be more muscular than Sonya? Softer? Harder? How vocal could she be? Low? Loud? Did she whine? Pant? Or did she scream like in those obviously fake porno tapes? Did she have a dick or a pussy? Did it matter? Not really. 

“¿Estas tratando de olvidar a alguien?” Sonya asked, taking Javier’s cigarette from him to take a drag. “Eras diferente.”

"Were you trying to forget someone? You were different."

Javier stiffened, letting out smoke from his nostrils as he leaned against the headboard. The brass dug into his skin but he ignored it. He had been with Sonya before. Multiple times. But this was the first time since Milena… 

He used his thumb to scratch at his eyebrow. “¿Es ese tu negocio?”

"Is that your business?"

“Me gustas tú, Javi. Estás más inquietante de lo habitual.” She put the cigarette to her lips, eyebrows furrowed slightly as she looked at Javier. 

"I like you, Javi. You were more haunted than usual."

He stared at the wall. “No te preocupes por eso.” 

"Don't worry about that."

They're both silent for a while. Cars go by outside, headlights sweeping past the windows as the overhead fan whirs but does nothing to cool the heat of Javier's skin. 

“Javi…” Sonya's voice was uneven. And it's not because she was winded from being with him. “Necesito decirte algo.”

"I need to tell you something."

Javier pushed through doors at the Embassy, finding Milena's office. He was breathing hard and was flushed underneath his suit. 

“Agent Peña.” She looked up from some documents she was reading, an eyebrow cocked. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her tone was far from pleased. 

“I have some information about the brothel shot up on 23rd.” He panted, moving to sit across from her. 

Milena leaned back in her seat, clasping her hands together but listening. “Why, exactly, do I care about something like that?” 

“Because it's a brothel La Quica frequented. They were looking for a girl because they thought she leaked his location. A Maritza Rincón.” Javier twiddled his thumbs in his lap as he stared at Milena. 

He wondered if she could sense his nerves. Or the images he was conjuring from last night. The idea of her skin—

“Have you got a location on her yet?” Milena's eyes narrowed.

“Not yet. Wanted to bring it up to you first. As you asked.” He met her eyes. Gaze unwavering. But trusting. 

Though they weren't that much closer to catching Escobar, Milena was a good boss. Much better than Javier assumed she'd be. She worked well with the other guys even if they didn't like her. She helped with a system of the tip line. She even suggested four tips might be better instead of three.

A hands-on woman who would occasionally oversee off-site missions. Javier couldn't imagine catching anyone without running it by her anymore. 

“Who's the informant?” She asked. Skeptical. 

Like everyone else in the office, she knew his reputation. The kind that, if he were a woman, would make him a whore. But, no, he was just a playboy. 

“Sonya Acosta.” Javier’s eyebrow twitched. 

The only real downfall of Milena being his boss was that she rejected any reimbursement when it came to giving away government money to sex workers. Her thought process was that it should be coming from his own pockets. Like how someone else might buy alcohol and not expect their job to give them the money they spent on that bottle. 

Milena pursed her lips. “Alright, Peña. This is the one and only time I'll give you reimbursement because this girl possibly just gave us La Quica.” 

Javier visibly brightened. 

“Don't expect it to happen again.” Her eyes hardened momentarily. 

“Of course, Sánchez. Wouldn't dream of it.” He smiled tightly. It wasn't like he planned on going back to any one of those girls anytime soon. 

Milena leaned forward and stared at him. “Get out of my office and go find Martiza before any of Escobar’s goons do. And knock before you fucking enter my office.” She huffed.

“Anything you say, Sánchez.” Javier stood, an amused look in his eyes as he turned to leave. 

He left a prepared receipt on the secretary's desk and complimented her nails. He met up with Steve in the hallway. 

“So what'd she say?”

Javier hummed. “That we gotta find Maritza.” 

“Shit, yeah, we do.” Steve and Javier began walking through the maze of hallways together. “Then what? Interrogate her? Do we really think this girl knows where Escobar is?” 

“She has to know something if his sicarios want to kill her.” Javier crossed his arms. “It's not about if she knows where Escobar is. It's about if she knows someone else who knows where he is. Or did you forget that's how investigating works?” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Chúpame la verga.” He huffed. 

"Suck my dick."

“Accent still needs some work.” Javier smirked, nudging him with his elbow. “You've lived here for how many years now?” 

Sure, Steve didn't really talk to anyone outside the Embassy or the CNP where nearly everyone spoke English, or enough to get by, but the man had been living in Colombia for a while. And he could barely hold a conversation. 

“I do have something else I want to talk about.” Javier led Steve to a more secluded area. He was silent for a second. “I said Milena's name during sex last night.”

Steve blinked. His shoulders sagged. “Damn. I owe Connie so much fuckin’ money.” 

“What?” Javier’s eyebrows furrowed. His head tilted. Steve was about to speak but Javier shook his head. “Nevermind, I don't want to know. I just need some advice.”

“On?”

“On how to ignore the way she makes me feel.”

Steve's lips parted, his expression ripe with disbelief. “And what feeling is that?”

“Fuckin’ frustrated to hell.” Javier’s Texas accent slipped out.

As it always did when he was especially angry. Hell, he even accidentally slipped into it a few times while speaking Spanish. 

“You are so goddamn stupid.” Steve rubbed his hand against his forehead. “When you hit your head, does it sound hollow?” 

Anyone with eyes could see Javier was pining. Even Connie, who didn't work at the Embassy and barely saw Javier, could tell the man was crushing on Milena through what Steve described. 

She was more hopeful that Javier would pull his head out of his ass and admit he liked Milena. Steve was more cynical. 

But Connie was onto something. Javier was just stupid. Or emotionally constipated. Or both. 

How could he enter a relationship right now? With all the shit going on around them? He was so goddamn tired by the end of the day that the fabricated intimacy of sex was all he could take. All he had the energy for. He was used to it. 

Javier Peña didn’t do relationships. Not in Colombia. And not back in Laredo either. He thought he could with Lorraine but he couldn’t go through with it. Why would he subject someone else to a forever he knew would be painful? He would have ruined her. Would take, take, take until she had no more. 

So, yes, he’d relegate himself into ignoring his feelings and find other ways to cope. Stay away from sex lest he have another fantasy. He knew better. He should know better. 

But life wasn’t just black and white. It was shades of gray. Just as a bad man could do good things, a good man can do bad things. Horrible things. 

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Chapter One: Episode IV

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: meet-hate low-key, reminder this is a slow burn!, canon-typical violence, pretty much follows the story of s1ep4

Not A King Masterlist

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Sorgan was one of those quiet planets not many people talked about, if at all. A green farmer planet nestled in the Outer Rim. No large trading posts. Not a huge population unlike Coruscant or Naboo. 

The perfect place to settle down after being on the run for so long. Or to simply get away from the rest of the Galaxy’s problems. 

Milena was doing a mix of both. As a Mandalorian, her people were sought after. Rare. With their numbers getting smaller each passing day. Hunted for sport and wanted for their shiny exoskeleton. She left her covert long ago, knowing she was far more valuable than any other Mandalorian and she did not want to put her family in danger. 

So she had Sorgan. Most people did not fight, did not attempt to, and were likely a little scared. She had been there a few weeks and not one person attempted to strike up conversation besides to ask if she needed anything else at the cantina. 

Her painted helmet sat on her table as she ate some blue krill soup. It was surprisingly very good. Or maybe she had just grown accustomed to it that it didn’t put her off anymore. It didn’t matter. It was edible. It was fresh. And it wasn’t complete garbage. 

A hush came across the cantina. Milena didn’t look up but she heard heavy boots against the wooden floors. The person was clearly heavily armed with the way they walked and the fact that metal dinged softly anywhere they went. Curiosity got the better of her. She lifted her head. 

It was another Mandalorian. A Mandalorian in pure Beskar armor. Shiny and metallic, light dancing across his helmet. 

His helmet with the visor trained on her. 

She didn’t recognize him. Certainly not a part of her clan or her covert. That unpainted armor wasn’t common amongst her tribe. She could see why the cantina got quiet. Two Mandalorians on the same planet? It was rare to see one, but two? Oh, the world must be ending, mustn't it?

When he turned his head, Milena finally noticed the small green creature next to him. She tilted her head, curious as to why he would be traveling with such a young child. 

She tried to leave discreetly, helmet on, but nearly as soon as she left the cantina she was tackled to the ground. She struggled against their hold, wriggling out, kicking them back. Landing on her thruster pack always hurt. She turned to see her attacker. It was the other Mandalorian. 

“Take that armor off,” Came his modulated voice, deep and unrelenting. He had a blaster trained on her. “You show your face, you are not Mandalorian.” 

Milena put her hands up, not reaching for any weapons and not intending to. “I swear on my name and the names of the ancestors that I shall walk the Way of the Mand’alor and the words of the Creed shall be forever forged in my heart.” She said it hastily, hoping he would believe her though she could likely best him in combat if need be. 

He faltered, his plated shoulders slumping as he stared at her. Since the siege of Mandalore and its moons, the culture had gone underground. It was not taught in schools on other planets, it was not talked about at all besides the occasional Mandalorian who would drift through other planets. Their language, their creed, was only known by them. He had to believe Milena was a Mandalorian or an incredibly intelligent and researched poser. 

“What are you doing here?” His voice was still hard, but softer than before. He put his blaster in his holster and helped her up.

Milena let out a breath. “Same as you, I presume. Laying low.” Her arm slipped from his grip as she turned away from him.

“Hey,” He grabbed her arm again, “You take your helmet off, you are no longer Mandalorian.” 

Milena looked at him like he had grown two heads, though he could not see her face. She yanked her arm away from him. “Your tribe must be very different from mine.” She stalked off, her stance confident as if she knew every corner of the planet. 

Din stared after her. Her armor was painted red, orange, and turquoise in stripes, letting the Beskar shine for the most part. Beautiful. No, she was Mandalorian. With the pride she clearly had for her armor, with the way it was clean, not even a smudge. She even had a jetpack painted in similar stripes. 

He went back to the Child in the cantina. “Looks like we have to leave. This planet’s taken.” The Child cooed softly, tilting his head. His large green ears twitched. 

When they went back to the Crest and he tried working on it, he couldn’t help but think of the Mandalorian. Perhaps it was a shame the Creed would make her hide behind a helmet. Her almond skin marked by lines across her face he could assume were makeup and the long, warm, dark hair which was pulled away from her face so it could fit into her helmet but her bangs still fell across her forehead in soft waves. 

Those markings. The one on her forehead looked like a star glinting in a far away solar system, edges connected to her brows. Then two others ran down her head to her brow bone, disconnected underneath then reappeared underneath her eye, connecting to the lines on her cheek which ran over her nose. 

She looked so unlike anyone he had ever seen before. 

He shouldn’t be thinking like that. He should erase it from his mind that he ever saw her face. It was what any other Mandalorian would do. But was it?

Your tribe must be very different from mine.

Din had assumed there were other tribes, other groups of Mandalorians on other planets, but he did not think they functioned any differently than his. 

“Excuse me.” 

Din kept attempting to fix something in the landing gear of the Crest. She needed much more than a tune up but it was all he was equipped for in the moment. 

“Excuse me, sir?” 

He inwardly sighed. “There something I can help you with?” Two farmers nearly flinched when he responded. He was used to that from regular townspeople in any parsec. 

“Uh, yeah. Raiders.” One said.

The other added, “We have money.”

“So, you think I’m some sort of mercenary?” Din was unimpressed by whatever they were offering.

“You are a Mandalorian, right?” The one with the longer hair, Stoke, questioned. 

Caben looked over Din’s armor-clad body. “Or, at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?”

Perhaps they were meaning to speak with Milena, the other one, not him. Din moved away from the ship’s landing gear, taking his tools with him. “It is.”

“See?” Caben looked at Stoke. “I told you.” He followed the Mandalorian. “Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people. Your… your tribe.”

And yet he was still an idiot and could likely not recite any Mandalorian saying in the common language or in the language of the Mandalorians. But Milena could. 

“If half of what I read is true—” Stoke interrupted. 

“We have money.”

“How much?” Din turned to them, watching carefully. 

Caben answered, “Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill. We’re krill farmers.” Stoke said as an explanation. As if that would help. 

“We brew spotchka! Our whole village pitched in.” Caben added as Stoke brought out the pouch of money and offered it to Din. 

The Mandalorian looked down for a moment. The pouch was small. “It’s not enough.” He began to walk around to the side of the Crest. If he was nicer, more empathetic, perhaps he would have said yes immediately. 

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is.” Caben and Stoke followed him. 

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.” Din insisted, hoping these two farmers would leave him alone. 

Stoke couldn’t leave it. “This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest.” He promised, hoping to entice the bounty hunter.

Din did not respond and opened the ramp to the Crest. Fog erupted from the door, causing the farmers to stumble back while the ramp descended.

Dejected, Caben sighed. “C’mon,” He said to his companion, “Let’s head back.”

They began to walk to their floating raft. “Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere.” Stoke complained. 

That made Din pause. The middle of nowhere was exactly what he needed. 

Milena was camping out in the forest, attempting to get some sleep. She put out her fire a while ago, not wanting to draw any attention. She heard a twig snap and nearly reached for the weapon attached to her side before she realized it was the Mandalorian. His armor glinted in the moonlight. 

“If not for the Creed, you should wear your helmet for protection.” He commented, almost sounding amused. 

That is how she found herself on the raft with him, two farmers, and that green creature. They were going to the krill farm as muscle but also to be isolated from the rest of the planet. She couldn’t say no to that. Two Mandalorians would hopefully scare away any enemies. 

The Child stared at her with his big, round black eyes. She stared back. 

She had never seen such a creature in her life before. He was adorable, wrapped in a beige robe, small like a baby, yet apparently sentient enough to know when someone was talking and to walk or waddle around. 

Almost hesitantly, Milena brushed her gloved palm across his head. He made a noise and closed his eyes, nuzzling his fuzzy head against her hand. She smiled. 

Milena looked at Din. He was silent and appeared to be asleep, though she couldn’t tell with his helmet on. She wondered why he didn’t take it off, why he was so adamant on the Ancient Way of the Mand’alor, however, she would not push. 

“Are you his ad’ika?” She asked the Child lowly, as to not wake the Mandalorian up. The little one made another noise, as if trying to respond. “Yeah, I thought so. You’re a cute foundling.”

“Do you… understand him?” So the man wasn’t asleep. 

Milena pulled her hands away from the Child against his better wishes. “In a way. You can’t?”

“No.” His voice was still even, still deep, but Milena could hear the hint of pain underneath that. 

In the morning, they arrived on the farm. The raft stopped abruptly, waking Milean and Din with a start. She was blown away by the sights. She had never ventured too far away from the main city, but the bright blue sky, the surrounding trees, the wooden houses surrounded by small harvesting pools, were truly beautiful. And the children. Who ran around without a care. It made her smile. 

“Well, it looks like they’re happy to see us.” Din commented. 

It was interesting how the children didn’t seem to be scared. But then again, most children were open minded when raised correctly. 

Milena helped the Mandalorian with his things, moving them into one of the small huts. They only had one free one so they had to stay together. It was cozy with a large window overlooking the fields. 

When she put down a large crate, she sat on top of it while he looked around. “It’s better than nothing.” Milena shrugged, setting her helmet beside her. 

“Better than sleeping on dirt and branches, you mean?” He set a smaller crate down as the Child waddled in.

Milena wondered if everything looked big to him. If there was something profound to be known about how he viewed the world and everything in it. 

The only problem with the hut was there was only one bed. “I can sleep on the floor. Give you some privacy.” She offered to the Mandalorian. The bed was separated from the rest of the hut by a small but still there divider. 

“No. You take the bed.” His voice held no room for argument. Not that she was going to argue anyway. 

One of the children, Winta, came by to play with the Child. The Mandalorian was hesitant to let him out of his sight.

“I don’t think—” 

Milena stopped him. “They’ll be fine.”

“I don’t—”

“He’ll be fine.” She set a hand on his chestplate. 

The Mandalorian watched the Child follow Winta to play with the rest of the children in the village. Then his helmet turned to Milena. “Do you trust them?”

“They are children. I don’t think they would harm another intentionally.” Milena’s hand slipped from his armor but she did not budge. 

“You are very trusting to be a Mandalorian.” He turned to put a weapon part away.

“Perhaps you are not trusting enough.” She argued, tilting her head. 

He paused, his shoulders slumping a moment. He then looked outside the open window, watching the Child play. He seemed happy. He was enjoying himself. That's all anyone could ask for a child. 

The Mandalorian turned back to his weapon and began polishing the end of a rifle. “Din. My name is Din.”

Willingly giving this information out was something he did not do. People wondered, even asked him out loud, but he was content to be simply called ‘Mando’ or ‘The Mandalorian’ rather than by his name from people who were not a part of his tribe.

But Milena was Mandalorian. Milena could be trusted. She could understand his hesitancy and still push him anyway. 

“Din.” She tried the name on her tongue. It was simple and strong. Like the owner. “I’m Milena.”

He turned towards her and nodded. “It’s nice to meet a Mandalorian… from another tribe.” 

“I agree.” Milena’s eyes roamed over Din’s helmet before they landed on his visor where she knew his eyes lay just beneath. She had stared at many similar to his but they usually took them off when not fighting. “I see you value the Old Ways a lot.”

Din’s head moves slightly. “The Old Ways? This is the Way.”

Should she have not said that? “Right.” She sat on a bench and watched the Child be fawned over by the other children.

Later, with their helmets on and tracking heat signatures with their visors, they walked through the surrounding forest of the village. There were a lot of different footprints but not too many they couldn't handle. 

“Something large is shearing those branches off.” Din commented, looking up at the trees.

Milena nodded, a hum came out modulated as she walked further. She saw larger tracks. A large square print. “Imperial Walker. An AT-ST?” She looked back at Din who peered at the print. 

“Damn it.” He cursed under his breath. He was planning on laying low. An Imperial Walker was anything but laying low. 

“Bad news,” Din told the town later, “You can't live here anymore.”

Milena watched him attempt to tell the village that they had to move, amused. She leaned against the wall of a hut and tilted her helmeted head. She wondered if these things were said to him, to their people, if he would not stay and fight as well. 

It was what the villagers wanted. To be trained to defend themselves, and they had two of the Galaxy's best warriors to do it. 

At night, Milena lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. She could see stars twinkling in the cracks of the straw roof. Din was on the other side of the divider and she could hear his soft breaths, unmodulated. She was half-tempted to turn, maybe peek past the divider and see even the silhouette of his face. 

She didn’t. 

Her tribe taught her to respect others lest they did something to warrant disrespect. Although they did not meet on the best of terms, Din had been nothing but kind to her. Perhaps begrudgingly so because of Creed, but still.

Maybe it was because she hadn’t seen another Mandalorian outside the ones in her tribe but she was sure other ones were not like Din. So dedicated to the Creed that existed before the Jedi Order became a house of cards and fell, before the Empire rose to power.

Milena was not born on Mandalore or anywhere close. It was after the siege when she was born on Hoth. It was cold, obviously, but felt warm when surrounded by family. And the harsh conditions helped mold her into something more than just any Mandalorian. 

She turned on her side, back facing Din, and wondered if her tribe had to move to a different planet. She hoped not. It was hard to find anyone on Hoth amongst all the snow and desolate landscape. 

The next days were spent teaching the villagers how to fight, how to hold a blaster, aim, and shoot, how to use a spear, block, and attack. They were determined and, not for the first time, Milena wondered if that was how the Mandalorians defending their planet felt. A determination to defend their planet and attempt to keep it from the Empire, ultimately failing to do so, but happier they died a warrior than from time. 

In the evening, before she and Din had to leave to execute their plan, she fed the Child some bread the village offered them. His eyes were wide as he grabbed the pieces with his three-fingered hands and stuffed them into his mouth. 

“Kaysh mirsh solus, huh?” Milena teased, scratching gently at the Child’s head. 

Din huffed softly from beside her, checking over his armor to make sure he had everything he needed for the plan. “We need to leave.” 

Milena stood up, the Child in her arms. She gave Din a nod and put the Child where the other children were being gathered to keep them safe.

They ran together through the forest as night fell. Milena was careful of where she stepped, trying to be light even in her heavy armor. They stopped just before the encampment, watching two Klatooinians as they got drunk on a glowing liquid around a fire.

“This might be easier than we thought.” Milena whispered, glancing at Din who still stared ahead. If there was anything she knew for certain, a drunk enemy was almost always a dead one. 

Without words, they each took one and choked them. Not quite killing them but making sure they would not be conscious. 

Then they inched closer to the main tent, careful of the others drinking and talking around other fires. But they did not see Din or Milena. Before going into the main tent, they took their blasters out. Just in case. 

But it was empty. Well, other than the large tanks of the glowing alcohol the Klatooinians were drinking. It bubbled like it belonged in a science lab rather than a camp in the middle of the forest on a small planet in the Outer Rim.

Milena wondered if this is what the krill was for. It would make sense but she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out what a krill flavored drink tasted like. 

She helped set up some explosives like Din had been but noticed voices getting louder, coming closer. She whistled softly and nodded towards the curtain. Din nodded back, preparing for a fight.

And it was a fight. 

Din and Milena knocked out the first two but then they just kept coming. He decided to hide behind one of the tanks while she did hand-to-hand. She dodged blaster fire with her gauntlets and punched her way through them efficiently, though some had thicker skulls than others so she needed to punch harder. 

But more come and she’s acutely aware of the beeping of the explosives they’ve planted.

“C’mon!” Din yelled over the blasters, urging Milena to fall back. She did.

She also threw herself through the thin wall of the tent and began running hard and fast, Din behind her. The tent exploded just after they got out of there.

More blaster fire just barely grazed past them. The AT-ST was alive. 

They whipped past trees and jumped over fallen trunks to lead it to the village. Milena’s blood pulsed fast but she had a good feeling she wouldn’t die that day. And the village would survive. 

When they arrived back in the village, they slid into a small trench with the others who had guns. Thankfully, the AT-ST was slow so they could hear and see where it was coming from before it got too close. Milena watched, her eyes sharp like a knife as she itched for the weapon attached to her belt but decided on her blaster instead. 

Just as the Walker was about to step into the pond, into the trap specifically curated for it, it stopped. Din and Milena shared a look. Then a light shined from it.

“Get down! Down!” Milena hissed as loudly as she could without outright yelling. She ducked behind the barricade, gripping the holster of her blaster tighter.

The light scanned over the village and then fired a shot at a hut, blasting it to pieces. There’s a hush for a moment. But it’s broken by Klatooinians coming out of the forest.

“Open fire!” She ordered.

It became an all out battle. Milena was able to get a few headshots, but clearly not enough to stop an entire group of Klatooinians unfortunately. 

“We need to get that thing in water.” Din hissed to Milena.

She stared at the Walker, eyes trailing down at the pond. The gears in her head started turning. She ran from the barricade, towards the war machine and shot at it. The light shined on her solely. 

Din watched, entranced, before he used his pulse rifle to kill any enemies who dared get close to her. 

Milena slid into one of the ponds, water dampening the suit underneath her armor, seeping onto her skin. She glanced over the grass and shot at the Walker again. It stepped forward, only slightly. On the edge of the outer pond. 

She grumbled under her breath, “C’mon, you piece of scrap metal.” She shot at one of the openings in the front, causing the right side to catch fire. 

The Walker stepped forward and crumbled into the pond. Din ran over quickly, setting an explosive on one of the legs and jumped into the other pond with Milena to take cover when it exploded. She nearly covered him with her body as metal parts shot everywhere. 

Once the Walker was destroyed completely and wholly, the Klatooinians fell back. The villagers cheered.

Milena leaned back against the wall of the pond and let out a sigh. Her adrenaline wore down.

“Was that the plan?” Din asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

She chuckled, “Something like that.”

It was hard to deny the fact that Milena was a good warrior. Smart and strong as all Mandalorians should be. Maybe Din wanted to deny she was one at first, even after she recited a Mandalorian saying, or said things in their language, but watching her fight solidified it. She used her armor as if she was born with it, unlike people who tried to copy. 

She even had scars to prove it. 

Din hadn’t meant to spy. Not really. But it was night and they were all supposed to be asleep, but she had snuck out of their shared living quarters completely stripped of her armor. Only in her pants, boots, and shirt with no sleeves that hugged her figure. 

He watched as she stepped carefully on the wooden floors and out of the cabin. He was compelled to follow.

Milena was found sitting on a bench, her hair down. It was as long as he suspected, flowing down to the edge of her waist. She looked up at the stars.

“Your tribe ever tell you it’s not polite to sneak up on an ally?” Her voice cut through the sounds of bugs in the night air. 

Din faltered then decided to sit next to Milena. He sat rigidly. “I guess not.” He didn’t tell her that he hadn’t had many allies outside his own tribe before. The Child was not an ally, he was something he had to protect. 

Milena hummed softly in lieu of a response, still admiring the stars. 

He watched her, gaze drifting over her newly exposed skin. Battle scars littered her arms and hands. There were long, jagged ones likely from blades but there were also burn scars. Blaster hits. All good fighters had scars. And she had proven herself to be a great one. 

“You know, we raised some hell a few weeks back. It’s too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on.” Din said, following Milena’s gaze towards the stars and other planets in the night sky. 

“We?” Milena questioned, turning her head towards him. She admired how the light of the moons danced across his helmet.

Din’s helmet dipped, visor pointed at the forest instead. “The kid likes you.”

“Yeah?” She was silent for a moment. “I like him too.”

-----

mando'a words/sayings used:

ad’ika = child/little one

kaysh mirsh solus = he's an idiot; or more literally, his brain cell is lonely

[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos

Chapter One

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: unfortunately i do use google translate for the spanish translations so if anything is wrong i am deeply sorry

Entre Los Lobos Masterlist

Next Chapter |

Stepping off the plane and onto Colombian soil was strange. Yet somehow felt like coming home at the same time. 

Milena looked out the passenger seat window as she was driven to the US Embassy in Bogotá. There was a mixture of nice high-rise buildings and colorful small ones she could safely assume were still there from colonial times. From this perspective, it was hard to think the streets were infected with crime. But Milena was good at peering beneath the pretty curtains. 

As part of the transition of power in the US since President Bush took over, many government officials were changing. Milena happened to be one of the casualties. 

She was to be the new “boss” of the DEA in Colombia. 

Before her arrival, the only thing the agents had to worry about was the Ambassador’s approval. They'd gather information however they wanted and would present it, nearly no questions asked. That wasn't going to happen under her watch. She was to be in the know at all times. 

Milena thanked the driver once they arrived at the Embassy and made her way inside, up the steps, and into the maze-like hallways. She didn't need directions though this was the first time she'd been there, most government buildings had the same layout and she had been in plenty of them. 

The new Ambassador, Arthur Crosby, was waiting for her. “There you are Sánchez. Was wondering when you'd be in.” They shook hands. 

“My flight ran a bit late.” She offered a half-smile. 

“No trouble with customs, I hope.” He raised an eyebrow and pushed through a few doors to an office bullpen. 

Milena shook her head. “No, none at all. Got through quite easily, actually.” Crosby hummed in response. 

He was just trying to make conversation. Milena had been through something similar too many times to count. Something about politics and diplomacy, even for someone like Crosby who was more brash than someone at his position should be defaulted to the mind-numbing pleasantries at times. 

As they got deeper into the office, Crosby opened a conference room. Most seats were already filled with men. Milena was somewhat surprised to see a blond. Out of all the different people she saw on her way in, he was the one who screamed American the most. 

“So,” Crosby began, “These are your men in the DEA. I trust you'll do your job and get Escobar as quickly as possible.” He stared at her pointedly.

Just like that, he was gone. 

Leaving Milena standing in a room full of men she didn't know. Except for the fact that they were all DEA. And she was in charge of them. More or less. 

She moved to sit at the head of the table. Her bag sat on the side of her chair. Forearms rested on the table. She looked at all them, narrowing her eyes at the man sitting across the blond who stared a hole into her head. He was obviously unhappy with the arrangement. 

“My name is Milena Sánchez,” She said, tone firm yet not as quite defensive as Crosby. “I'm not going to bother introducing myself with all my accomplishments, et cetera, I have a feeling you wouldn't care about that anyway,” That earned her a few smiles and chuckles from the group. The brunet with the mustache didn't budge. “All you need to know is that I'm in charge. All the shit you do or want to do or even think of doing goes through me. You will be under more rules than you're used to but they're there for a reason. I wouldn't mind breaking a few if you do your job well.” 

She dismissed them but the brunet stayed behind. Milena could tell the man was going to be a pain in the ass already.

“Is there something you need, Agent…?”

“Peña. Javier Peña.” He said. He stood up the same time she did. “With all due respect, ma’am—”

“Call me Sánchez, Peña. And, please, never call me Milena unless you'd like your balls cut off.” She sealed her words with a smile. 

Javier’s jaw ticked. “Right, Sánchez.” He exhaled through his nose and his hand suddenly ached to hold a cigarette. “With all due respect, you have been in Colombia for all of two seconds and are treating us like fucking students fresh out of the academy. We don't need hand holding.” 

Milena expected this. She was younger than everyone who was in that room. Maybe ten years. Javier seemed to be on the older side. She would assume he was in his forties. And she'd be almost right. Later thirties. She was just entering hers. So of course they'd underestimate her. Think she was inexperienced. 

“Peña, this isn't the first war I've been a part of.” She said calmly. That seemed to irritate him more. “Obviously I can't begin to imagine what you've seen. But you don't know what I’ve seen either. Assumptions aren't good in this line of work so I hope you'll break that habit.” 

Ever since that day, Javier has been a nuisance. But Milena could not deny his results. Paired with Colonel Carrillo and Murphy, they were pretty good at getting information even if the methods were less than favorable. She wasn't in charge of the Colombian Police, though, so she didn't have a say in what Carrillo did. Nor did she want to know what they did lest she would have to answer to her own government. 

But, she did say she was going to watch over her people. When most of the Embassy’s resources were pulled to the Colombian Police HQ, Milena thought it warranted a visit of her own. 

She stepped out of her Bronco, boots digging into the grass. The sun was high in the sky and beating down on any exposed skin. She rolled up the sleeves to her button-up shirt and hummed as she was greeted by a policeman. Trujillo was the name on his uniform.

“Good morning, Ms. Sánchez.” He nodded at her. 

Milena nodded back. “No es necesario que hables inglés. A menos que estés intentando practicar conmigo.” She teased slightly. Then she adjusted the dark sunglasses on her nose. 

"You don't need to speak English. Unless you're trying to practice with me."

Trujillo blinked. The first crack of his stoic exterior. 

Most Americans that came down to Colombia, especially those who worked for the DEA, did not bother to learn Spanish. If they did, it was shaky at best. Only enough to know a few basic conversational sentences. 

Milena had known Spanish for most of her life. Her father didn't speak much English so she had to communicate with him somehow. So she learned. 

“Por supuesto.” Trujillo motioned for Milena to follow him. 

"Of course."

There's trainees all over the grounds, scaling different obstacles, shooting targets. She watched with interest, arms folded against her chest. Even shielded by her sunglasses, Trujillo can tell her eyes are sharp and possibly reminiscing. Watching the recruits with admiration and a hint of something else he can't quite place. 

“Holy shit, Sánchez is here.” Steve groaned under his breath as he looked out the window. 

“Fuck, really?” Javier stood next to him, staring at the woman. 

Ever since she took over operations, life had been infinitely harder for him. Couldn't make a move without her huffing down his neck. Couldn't even pay informats without getting her express approval. He had to pay prostitutes more and more of his own hard earned money rather than getting reimbursed at the end. Never mind the fact that he was going to brothels more and more. 

He didn't want to think about how pent up he was because of how frustrating Milena had been. Constantly. Or the fact that she was one of the only women who did not give into his charms. Even Noonan, as no-nonsense as she was, could be swayed with a perfectly placed compliment or a nicely timed smile. 

Milena was a hard-ass. Javier knew there was something underneath her cold exterior but she was adamant on not letting it show to the point he doubted it. 

It had him simultaneously wondering how she got that way and praying that she'd leave him alone and let him do his job. Definitely not because he liked staring at her. And definitely not because he knew he shouldn't be doing certain things and didn't want her to find out. 

Two gunshots rang out. Louder than he was expecting. When did the trainees stop? 

“Damn, she's a good shot.” Steve whistled.

Sure enough, Milena was holding a gun. Aimed directly at one of the targets. She handed the pistol back to Trujillo who stared at her. 

Javier looked from her to the target. It was a fresh one. Besides the new two holes on the chest and the head. Fuck, she was a good shot. Unlike some of the other diplomats he'd had the displeasure of knowing, Milena did seem experienced. 

Military maybe? But, then again, not many women wanted to sign up for something like that. Javier wasn't stupid. He knew what happened on certain bases where men had all the power and none of the consequences. It was similar to the cartels. They'd fuck other women, take advantage of them, all the while, they would go home to a loving wife who was either blissfully unaware or too painfully aware but unable to leave. 

Steve leaned against the wall. “You think Connie would let me have that?” 

It was an obvious joke. Steve was loyal to Connie and only Connie. But it has Javier’s jaw clenching. 

“As if you could handle her.” He tried to not sound jealous or too combative. He failed. 

“Well, obviously, she doesn't want you.” Steve chuckled. 

“Do you think she'd want a gringo? ‘Specially one as pale as you?” Javier raised an eyebrow. A challenge in his eyes. 

Steve shook his head. “We're all gringos down here.”

“Says the man who knows no Spanish.” 

“I'm getting better!” 

“Sí, y seré elegido presidente.” 

"Yes, and I'll be elected president."

“You said something about the president.”

“Mhm, something.” 

“Peña, Murphy!” There came the voice of the devil. Or maybe she was more like Persephone. “Don't you have something else to do?” 

Javier sauntered over to Milena. “Sorry, Ms. Sánchez, I couldn't imagine doing anything better with my life than listening to Escobar's men fuck with us over the tip line.” 

She simply stared at him, arms crossed over her chest. Nicely endowed chest if Javier had any say. She then looked at Steve, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna reign in your partner, Murphy? Or should I?” 

The threat was there. She could send Javier back to the states with a single call. Sure, he'd been ‘disciplined’ before but she didn't take any shit, even from good agents. But the threat was doing something else for him. 

Something that had him adjusting his weight on his feet. And ignoring the sudden heat he felt on his spine. 

“I got it, Sánchez.” Steve nodded, looking from Milena to Javier and back again. “Don't worry.” He smiled. A fake one that didn't reach his eyes. 

Milena hummed and then turned to leave. She had a meeting with Carrillo. 

Steve laughed once she was out of earshot. “Damn, you have got it bad.” He wrapped an arm around Javier's shoulder.

“Ay, vete a la mierda.” Javier brushed his arm off and went to their desks. “We do have shit to do.” 

"Oh, fuck off."

[pickledpascal]

Hold Me Like Water

Chapter Eighteen: Coincidences and Cosmic Signs

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: none! pretty much pure fluff

Hold Me Like Water Masterlist

Previous Chapter |

August 2025, 

Maya was in bed with Hugh, half listening to the sound of his voice while he read and she scrolled on her phone through various apps. Mainly her email and her burner account on Twitter. 

It's been more than a year since she and Hugh started to date. It felt like a lifetime ago. They didn't have a limbo phase of them needing to get to know each other or adjust to living with one another, it just clicked. Their friendship definitely helped in that area. 

Fans online have been deeming it “Hollywood’s longest slow burn.” Maya found that funny. Then there was a thread she saw of various pictures of them together throughout their friendship and eventual partnership. They aged together. It was sweet and made her heart swell. 

She then lowered her phone and looked at Hugh, a contented smile on her lips as he read. “‘And by the time midnight sounded, everyone was dancing. Except Lillian, who was lying in Clara's garden. Ding dong, thought Clara. The witch is dead.’”

His hair was greying now, in little streaks across his head that started at his hairline which made him look more handsome than ever. Maya had convinced him to stop dying it. And she thanked the creator each day that he relented. The silvery strands of hair caught the light just right and gave him an air of sophistication. Even if he was anything but in reality. 

“You're not paying attention, are you?” Hugh teased, his thumb pressed between the pages of the book. His glasses were perched on his nose.

Maya shook her head, waving it off. “It's fine, I've already read this one.”

He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and marked his page before he set it to the side. “It's late anyway.” He took his glasses off. 

“Oh, you need to cuddle?” Maya teased softly. She scooted closer to Hugh, wrapping her arms around his waist. She nuzzled into the back of his shoulder. 

“I'm old, love, I need the comfort.” He argued playfully, setting his hands on top of hers. 

Maya lifted her head to kiss his cheek and then his temple and then his neck. She slid a hand up to his chest. His heart beat steady underneath her palm. 

“You really like the hair, huh?” Hugh's voice was tentative, soft and low. Like he may break if she said the wrong thing. 

She pressed her cheek against his. “Yes. I do. If the world was perfect, I think everyone would rock their greys without a care in the world.” She closed her eyes. His hair tickled her head a little but she didn't mind. “It's a memento of all the years you've lived. You earned it. Shying away from that is… stupid.”

“Well then I've been stupid for ten years.” Hugh joked. 

“Not stupid,” Maya clarified, “Just confused and self-conscious.” She opened her eyes, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Do you like it?”

Hugh pursed his lips in thought, subtly leaning into her kisses. Before this, the last time he truly saw himself with a full head of grey hair was in Logan. But that was a mix of different hair dyes that he could wash off at the end of the day. He was conscious of his age, but it wasn't necessarily something he constantly thought about. It was in the back of his mind. 

Maya helped him feel better about it. His therapist did, too. Expressing and feeling one's older age was a beautiful thing. A map of one's life that was etched into their skin. He didn't cover up the lines by his eyes so why should he cover up his hair with color.

“I like it.” Hugh said honestly. “I look my age.” And it wasn't a bad thing for once. 

Maya pulled him closer, sliding a knee between his legs as she nuzzled into his neck and inhaled the lingering scent of his cologne. “Mmm, and it's a beautiful age.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah. I think so too.” He turned his head to press a kiss to her temple. 

Sleeping with Maya was the best thing in the world. She enveloped him like a blanket, warm with her strong hands and arms. Hugh had never felt more comfortable in his life being the little spoon. She was his own weighted blanket, she weighed about the same as him, perhaps a little less. 

Being away from her, sleeping without her while he traveled really cemented the fact that she was the most comfortable thing he'd ever encountered. He couldn't sleep without tossing and turning constantly before he slipped into a light slumber. 

Once awake the next morning, Hugh did as he always did. He relished the feeling of Maya's arms around him, sliding a hand over hers. When she went to sleep, she took off any jewelry she wore during the day, as most people did. He swiped his thumb across her ring finger and wondered what it would take for her to never take a certain ring off lest she showered or shot a scene. 

He let himself imagine in the early morning light as rays of sun diffused in the curtains blocking the windows. Maya loved silver jewelry, particularly thicker rings rather than dainty, thin ones so he'd likely get something along those lines. Gems, though, he had no idea. She loved the color blue but that seemed too obvious. As much as he'd love to surprise Maya, he knew she'd rather have some say in a proposal than none at all. 

Hugh slipped from her grasp, standing over her to press a kiss to her forehead. Short wisps of white grew at her temples that she would make no move to cover up. She always said fifty-six looked good on him and he had to admit that thirty-five looked divine on her. 

Coffee brewed while Hugh hummed a song, “I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint. I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave.” It was one of Maya’s favorites. 

She might've not been friends with Hozier years ago but, recently, they've become close. To the elation of Sakari.

Hugh poured the coffee into two mugs. Maya's was a handmade mug that had markings engraved into the side while his was a simple “#1 Dad” he got as a joke gift from his children one year. He stirred her preferred sugar and cream ratio into her mug. A silent show of care. That he paid attention. 

They had been friends for over a decade. He knew her as well as he knew himself. If not more. The way she took her coffee was just one of many things he knew. 

Maya padded into the kitchen, scratching at the back of her head. The sight of her hair messy with strands of it sticking out always made Hugh smile. A domestic scene that he was slowly getting used to. 

He gave her the mug and earned a kiss. His heart felt as if it was floating on air. “Thank you.” She hummed softly and drank a mouthful of the perfectly bitter liquid. 

“No need to thank me. It comes for free with having a partner like myself.” Hugh teased, poking at her side while he sipped from his own mug. 

“And I'm grateful.” There was a smile on her face but it wasn't teasing, much like her tone, it was genuine.

His heart broke a little in his chest. A piece lost before it found its way back again. That's what it felt to love Maya Imik. And she didn't even try. Perhaps she didn't know. It was as easy as a child slipping into the clutches of an industrial machine.

They had breakfast together, a simple plate of eggs mixed with cheese and toast and sausage. “I think we should go on a trip soon. We're both gonna be off for a few months,” Maya rambled, “We went to the beach already so I've been thinking about going to the mountains. Maybe get a cabin and hike around. There's some nice places in Appalachia.” 

Hugh was listening. He was. He tried. There was something about the way the light hit her eyes that he paid more attention to. He couldn't hear her words anymore but he knew what she meant. She wanted to spend time with him. Alone. Away from the rest of the world. In a place no one would think to look. 

“I want to marry you.” He blurted out. 

Maya paused, her eyebrows twitching as she stared. Maybe Hugh said the wrong thing. Maybe it was the wrong moment.

“Is that a proposal?” She asked.

He let out a breath. “No. But, I just—I wanted to tell you. I was thinking about a ring in bed and… well, I love you so much. I wanted to know if–if you would want that?” He inwardly cringed at how nervous he sounded. Like a teenager asking his crush to the school dance. 

“I'd love to marry you.” Maya's eyes softened. “As far as my parents are concerned, you're already family.” 

That information wasn't new but it still made his heart warm. Nick and Bea loved him and treated him like a son. They even had his number and texted him every so often to check in on how he took care of their daughter or to ask about his day. He'd probably have to ask permission to marry Maya once he settled on doing a proposal and ask for some advice once he decided when and where he would do it. 

Hugh coughed slightly, trying not to tear up in the moment. “I noticed you don't really wear jewelry with stones in it, what kind of gem would you want for your ring?” 

Maya laughed at his attempt to cover up his watery eyes. She cupped his face and pressed a kiss to the wrinkles by his eyes. “I like garnet. And don't get me anything too fancy. It's more than enough that you even want to marry me.” She ran a hand through his hair and curled her fingers behind his ear before her palm settled on his cheek. 

Hugh leaned into her touch and let out a huff of air from his lungs. “Oh? I was gonna get you a twenty million dollar ring with a dainty band and a huge diamond…” He smirked. 

“And it'd break in a week, knowing me.” Maya shook her head and let out a soft laugh. 

He lifted a hand to cover hers and interlaced their fingers. “You do have strong hands.”

They were slightly scarred from splinters caused by her woodworking and other carvings. There were a few of her wooden sculptures put up on shelves or set on top of the mantle as decor—small idols or carvings of bears, wolves, and he thought he spotted a wolverine on the coffee table. They were always intricate with detail one couldn't catch unless they looked closely. 

“A thick band it is then.” Maya traced one of the lines under his eyes with her thumb. 

“A thick band.” He nodded. “When would you want me to propose?” 

She drew in a steady breath. It was hard to think that this was real life. Hugh Jackman was genuinely considering marrying her. Hugh, her closest friend, wanted to marry her. 

Her lips parted to say something before she closed them again and thought a little harder. “Maybe once we hit year three.”

Hugh nodded as he took in the information. There was that insecurity nagging at the back of his head. “Are you still gonna want to marry me in a few years?” 

Maya cupped both of Hugh's cheeks, leaning close to press kisses to his lips. “Of course I will. I just don't want to rush into anything. Our love will only grow deeper with time.” She then kissed the tip of his nose. 

The smile that spread across his lips was soft and sweet. As it always had been when he looked at her. “I really hope so.”

“I know so.” She nudged her nose against his. 

“Who am I to deny your intuition? It's much better than mine.” Hugh chuckled, sliding a hand up to her shoulder. He squeezed it lightly. 

Perhaps he wasn't always meant to be with Maya but he was so glad they were together now. To know someone so intimately, as he did with her, was a gift. A gift that he planned on cherishing for every single day of the rest of his life. 

To see her all dressed up for an event or dress down at home—she’d call it “dressing like a twelve year old boy”—was something he couldn't, didn't take for granted. He loved her both ways. Every way. Bones, guts, and all. 

She had saved him at his lowest in return for his constant support and, suddenly, marriage seemed like the smallest vow he could ever offer her. Fuck, what were his vows going to be anyway? Perhaps he should start thinking about that even if it was early. 

Actually, no. It wasn't early. It was a long time coming, wasn't it?

[pickledpascal]

Not A King

Din Djarin x Milena Vanda

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Fic available on AO3

Summary: During his travels to protect the Child, Din Djarin runs into a rogue Mandalorian who may teach him more about being a Mandalorian than his covert ever could. Even, perhaps, inform him of the Child's origins.

General Warnings: my oc may be a little op but who cares? canon-typical violence, probably inaccurate lore/use of the force, flawed jedi order, canon-compliant until s3, bisexual din djarin, asexual din djarin, he's a virgin also, intersex din djarin, transgender ofc, mando'a (with translations!).

A/N: i've had this sort of fic in my head for a while, especially after the direction s3 went in. so much potential lost for what...

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. FIVE. SIX. SEVEN. EIGHT. NINE. TEN. ELEVEN. TWELVE.

[pickledpascal]

Entre Los Lobos Masterlist

Javier Peña x Milena Sánchez

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Fic available on AO3

Summary: As the power transitions from one US president to another, many changes are made. Including the transfer of Milena Sánchez to Bogotá to oversee DEA operations which causes tension to rise in an already stressed Javier Peña.

General Warnings: talks about sex, smut, alcohol, swearing, use of spanish (with translations!), mentions of blood and death, maybe out of character javi (?), mainly javi pov, once again reminding the class milena is a trans woman, period-typical sexism, homophobia, and transphobia, making javi bi for the fun of it.

A/N: my first venture into the pedroverse so ofc it had to be a javi fanfic. my first love. this fic spans from the beginning of s2 to after s3.

ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR. FIVE. SIX. SEVEN. EIGHT.

[pickledpascal]

revamped my masterlists a little ehehe

Andrea’s Masterlist

Bryan Dechart Masterlist

Daniel Brühl Masterlist

Daniel Craig Masterlist

Hugh Dancy Masterlist

Hugh Jackman Masterlist

Jensen Ackles Masterlist

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

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