sevryx

[sevryx]

Buzz Words

Fandom: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Rating: T

Summary:

Language is a powerful thing to which no one, not even a bounty hunter nor a Mandalorian, is immune.

READ IT ON AO3

The Mandalorian was a man of few words.

More often than not, your journeys with the fellow bounty hunter were supplied by the constant soundtrack of silence, minimal conversation and even careful footsteps and movements through the Razor Crest cushioning every sound. You weren’t sure if it was because the man himself simply didn’t like noise, but you weren’t going to be the one to found out.

You yourself, however, despised the lack of sound.

It wasn’t that you wanted it noisy and rowdy and boisterous at all times, no. It wasn’t even that you were particularly talkative.

It was that the silence was absolutely suffocating.

And on top of that, you were dying to get to know the Mandalorian you had been traveling with for months now.

So this was where you currently were, attempting to engage in conversation with a man who it seemed didn’t wish to show you his voice almost as much as he didn't wish to show you his face. He was sitting in the pilot’s seat despite the ship being on autopilot, and you were sitting in the co-pilot’s chair behind him. The Child was asleep and in the lower cabin of the ship below the cockpit. You were no more than half an hour away from your next destination, and again, you found the silence not only deafening, but irritating.

But you were bad at starting a conversation, and you knew it.

“Do you ever wish people could actually touch you?”

Like, really bad at starting a conversation.

His helmet turned towards you, and you pursed your lips in regret, looking to the side as if you were never looking at him at all.

“That would be very detrimental in combat.”

You scoffed, but he didn’t turn away. Sparing a glance towards him, you rested your chin in your hand, arm propped up on the armrest of your seat.

“That’s not what I meant, Mando,” you explained, “I meant in general. Outside of battle.” Your voice was even, nearly uninterested despite your inquiries. “You know? Like... intimacy? Human contact. Touching.” The syllables were separated with emphasis, but your words weren’t taunting in the least.

There was a loaded moment of silence. This time, the Mandalorian did turn away, facing the ship controls as if it would erase the question.

“…No.” He said, weakly. It was a lie, and he spoke the word like he wanted you to understand that.

You hummed in consideration, standing and stretching your legs and arms. His helmet turned ever so slightly, and you knew he was watching you from the corner of his gaze.

Turning on your heel, you made your way towards the ladder. It would only be moments before you landed in Naboo, and you were certain the Child would wake any minute now.

His stare never left you until you disappeared down the cockpit’s hatch.

Do you ever wish people could actually touch you?

The Mandalorian sighed.

*          *          *          *          *

You fought to catch your breath, wiping away a small stream of blood from your lips as you surveyed the scene before you. Seven assailants, all down, and if they weren’t dead, they were going to be very soon. The cantina was a wreck, and no one was to blame but you and the Mandalorian, and the attackers who dared to keep you from your asset. Not that the two of you would be charged, of course. No barkeep in the galaxy that you’d met would do that to bounty hunters such as yourselves, especially when one was clad in beskar.

With your client being located on Naboo, it didn’t take long for you and Mando to retrieve your bounty, heading back to the Razor Crest with fresh bruises and scrapes, but with much more credits in your pocket than you landed with.

Night was falling quickly, and the Mandalorian was packing his guns away in the small locked cabinet by the baby’s sleeping nook.

“You fight well.” He said, all of a sudden. Your head snapped towards him quicker than you intended. You set your own gun down on the rack.

“Th-Thank you.” You replied, after an awkward silence. “You as well.”

He was quiet, and his hands ceased their calculated movements as if he was lost in thought.

“Where were you trained?” He asked, setting his weapon down on its hooks and closing the cabinet with a soft hiss of metal doors.

A personal question. That was out of character, you noted.

“I, um.” You rubbed at the back of your neck. “I wasn’t formally trained, I suppose. I was never a soldier.” You explained, removing the remainder of your gear and setting it down on a crate. “But I was raised by mercenaries and former Rebel soldiers who put me into my trade. I was trained to be a bounty hunter, and fighting was included in that package, I suppose.”

He made a small grunt, his nod barely detectable. His feet did not move.

“They taught you well.” He stated, firmly. “I am sure that you bring them honor.”

“As much honor as you can bring to mercenaries and bounty hunters, I suppose.”

He chuckled, and you weren’t sure you’ve ever heard him do that before. You selfishly wanted to hear it again, but remained silent. The smallest smile graced your lips, and he stared at you.

“I enjoy watching you fight, as well.” You said suddenly, and you felt you face burn. “I-I mean, it is… ah…” You struggled to find your words, eyes wandering like a gunship unable to lock onto its target. “I am glad you are fighting alongside me. As I am also… fighting… at the same time. And not just, um. Watching you.” You felt like an X-wing with a shot engine, tumbling out of the sky and into the dunes of Tatooine with no power source and no one to rescue you.

It was quiet, and for a moment he said nothing. You smiled weakly.

“Likewise.”

You nodded and turned away from the Mandalorian, heading towards the refresher with a humiliated sense of urgency in your step. You scolded yourself silently for butchering such an innocent and positive conversation.

You fight well.

The door slammed shut a little bit too loud behind you. You sighed.

*          *          *          *          *    

Only a day passed before your next job came in. The location was easily accessible – just another dingy bar in another dingy city on another dingy planet. The asset was just another dingy man.

He backed into the table of the cantina, face bloody from the previous fight. The tankards fell behind him, spilling alcohol onto the seats and he scrambled for an escape that didn’t exist.

The Mandalorian was standing behind you, blaster in hand as you approached the asset.

A small hologram shone from the bounty puck you held in your hands, and the man in front of you swallowed hard, visibly shaking.

“P-Please! I can give you wh-whatever they promised and more!”

“No bargains.” You said, voice low and clipped. “We can bring you in warm,” you cocked your blaster in your other hand, the sound sharp and threatening, “Or we can bring you in cold."

The next moment went by in a flash, the asset’s futile attempt at escape ending when you swung the hilt of the pistol at his head, knocking him out cold. You cuffed him, and propped him up on your shoulder, the Mandalorian behind you shrugging him onto his own arm as the two of left the bar, the remaining patrons looking on in shock.

You were approaching the Razor Crest when the Mandalorian finally spoke.

“That’s my line.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it.”

The asset was frozen in carbonite, and the two of you made your way to the cockpit to set a course for the next asset on the client’s list. The child was cooing in his nook, and so you grabbed him gently and ascended the adjacent ladder.

The ship was soon in the air, and a comfortable quiet fell over the room. The baby’s gentle babbling was slowing as his big eyes surveyed the blackness of space and the shining of the surrounding stars, and you felt him drift off in your arms.

After a while, Mando spoke.

“I can’t believe you pistol-whipped our asset.”

“He went down awfully quick, too.” You laughed. The Mandalorian let out a bout of breathy amusement in response.

The sound of your two voices dissipated, leaving the Razor Crest in his usual silence, void of tension. The Child’s snores filled the silence and you smiled.

We can bring you in warm, or we can bring you in cold.

You folded your arms over the baby gently, and he turned towards you, a look of content resting on his features behind the beskar of his helmet.

The both of you sighed.

*          *          *          *          *

The next few assets came quietly, not much for fighting or running, it appeared. The last on the list was a former Imperial, one with a bad reputation and a worse disposition.

You and the Mandalorian found yourselves struggling to catch your breath, the few guards he had on him lying cold on the ground of the warehouse and your target mirroring your guns with his own as you aimed them at him.

The man smiled, and you felt sick. A loud explosion rung suddenly in your ears, causing you to stumble and twist your head quickly towards your partner, who was thrown to the ground. You fought the urge to immediately assist him, instead shooting the wicked man in the leg and coughing as the debris and dust enveloped the room. You quickly approached the target, satisfied with his writhing on the ground, and kicked his weapons out of reach. The sound of blaster fire shook you, but you cuffed him regardless, sparing a glance towards the Mandalorian, who was propped up on his knee and shooting the remaining guards with his pulse rifle.

Then it was quiet. The muted sounds of the crumbling building faded, and you dragged the Imp behind you as you approached your Mandalorian.

My Mandalorian? You thought, absently. That was a thought for another day.

“You okay, Mando?” You asked, concerned. He nodded before collapsing to the ground.

A rush of panic went through your body, and you quickly grabbed him under the arm. He was barely conscious, and that much was obvious. You were grateful that the ship wasn’t far, and you were glad that the adrenaline coursing through your body was enough to let you drag the two men to the Razor Crest doors without collapsing.

It went by quickly in your hazy state, but the asset was then frozen and the ship was in the air. You set a course back to the location of the client and allowed the autopilot function to relieve some of your stress.

Hopping down from the ladder, you quickly collected the baby into your arms, who was crying and grabbing at the bleeding and injured Mandalorian resting against the cargo crates. You shushed the Child and set him into his nook.

“Come on, Mando,” you said, kneeling, “Stay with me here.”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He coughed out, and you smiled in relief at the bite in his tone.

“I know, but we’re gonna patch you up before you give baby a heart attack at the young, young age of, ah. Um. Fifty.” You laughed, and again, you heard him chuckle. The sweet sound was quickly interrupted by his grimace of pain, and the gravity of the situation fell back upon you like a meteor.

“Okay, um,” your hands flitted about, and you pulled his cape aside to find a long gash on his torso that curved along his side and dug underneath his chest plate. “I’m going to need to see underneath your armor. Just here – not your helmet. Is that okay? Can you let me see you?” Your voice was strung with urgency and painful concern, and he nodded after a moment. He could handle whatever head injuries he may have gotten. Thankfully, he was not in such a critical condition that unmasking himself was necessary. He trusted you to handle the rest.

“Okay, okay…” Your voice drawled off as you removed the beskar from his chest and arms. Tearing away the remainder of his shirt, you almost couldn’t stop yourself from skating your eyes over the taut, bronzed skin underneath. Reaching into the med-kit beside you, you fumbled for gauze and bacta-spray. You’d patched each other up a thousand times before, and this was no different. He hissed through his helmet when you touched the cut with a wet rag, and you apologized under your breath.

“Almost there.” You said after a while of cleaning and spraying. A painting of purples and reds and blues covered his side, and you feared injuries deeper than what you could treat. There was no need for a cauterizer, fortunately. You hated using that thing.

Only a few more minutes passed before you finished, and you carefully wrapped gauze and bandage over the wound. The bleeding had slowed to a stop, but the flesh was still red and angry and torn, despite it being clean. You halted your ministrations, the two of you simply stopping to breathe for a moment. He sat up slowly, chest rising and falling. If his breathing was okay, perhaps his ribs were not broken. You heaved a sigh of relief.                              

“Thank you.” The Mandalorian said. You nodded, tired.

You stood, helping him to his feet.

“You should, um. You should go ahead and check yourself for any head injuries, since I can’t… you know.”

“I know.” He nodded, turning on his heel towards the refresher and shutting the door behind him carefully, leaving you and the Child in the hall of the Razor Crest alone.

In the confines of the small chamber, the Mandalorian removed his helmet, setting it aside and examining himself with a weary eye. Handsome features and carefully groomed facial hair were matted with a few patches of blood on his forehead and cheek, but nothing that he hadn’t dealt with before.

He was grateful for your company. Grateful for you concern. He was even a little bit grateful for the helmet that covered his face when he watched you, a smile only familiar to himself gracing his lips as he thought about you.

Can you let me see you?

Maker, how he wishes the answer could have been a complete and total yes. Not just his hands, or his body. His face. All of him. The same way he wanted to see all of you.

The unfamiliar urge to be seen coursed through his injured body as he turned the faucet on, lukewarm water rushing over the dirty skin of his face. True, it had occurred more and more often as you continued to travel alongside him. But never this often. Never this powerful.

He thought about the way your hands drifted along his body.

Din Djarin sighed.

*          *          *          *          *  

A month had gone by since the incident, and you had been relaxing on a small, unpopulated planet for the past week. The client was good to his word, and provided the two of you with enough credits to fix the ship, stock up on supplies and food, and relax for a while. You breathed a sigh of relief, stoking the dying fire and feeling content. The Child was asleep in your lap, snoring softly, and the Mandalorian was sitting next to you on the ground. Your knees touched once in a while in the close proximity before you settled to rest yours against his, testing the waters. He didn’t pull away. You smiled.

His helmet turned towards you, and you averted your gaze towards the baby.

“He likes you, you know.” He said, quietly.

“He likes you more.” You replied, cheekily. He snickered. “No, I’m serious.” You insisted, turning towards him. “I’m certain he thinks you’re his father.”

“Then I’m certain he thinks of you as his mother.”

There was a beat of silence, and your felt the blood rush to your cheeks. The Mandalorian tensed, and you were intrigued by the falter of his stony demeanor.

You allowed yourself to laugh softly, and the tension left his shoulders almost immediately. You squeezed his thigh gently right above his knee guard and stood carefully, the Child in your arms.

“I’m going to put this little one to bed and retire for the night.” You said, sauntering towards the ship. You felt his eyes on you as he stood.

“Care to join me then, daddy?” You teased him, pinpointing his earlier slip-up and driving the metaphorical knife in with a show of good humor.

Instead of a feeling of humiliation bubbling up to his throat as he expected, the Mandalorian’s mouth went dry. It was shameful really. He wanted you to say it again. He wanted to hear you say other things, too.

Care to join me then, daddy?

He walked quickly to catch up, lost in the sound of your sweet mirth and the snoring baby amidst the crackling of the dying fire and the wind in the tall trees behind him.

You laughed.

He laughed, too.

[sevryx]

A Mandalorian Discount

Fandom: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Rating: M

Summary:

The sun was setting again when you had completed all external repairs. You were currently inside the ship, fixing wiring issues you were sure could be finished within the next few minutes. This is why you had shoved yourself halfway into a small opening in the ship, the panel pulled aside and at your feet with your headlamp illuminating the crevice. Why the wiring was so far into the ship wall, you didn’t understand, and didn’t have the energy to question. You were simply relieved that you were small enough to fit into the opening.

That was, until you couldn’t get out.

You cursed and spat enough words to make a mercenary blush, kicking at the wall for what was at least a few embarrassing moments before stopping to catch your breath.

This evening couldn’t get any worse.

“You’re supposed to fix my ship, not dent it.”

It could get worse, apparently. And it did.

READ IT ON AO3

Sand and hot air left a dry taste in your mouth. The sky was vibrant orange, but you felt nothing for the sunset any more.

You had just now come back from the cantina, considering that no customers visiting your shop all day, and attempted to drown your sorrows in the single glass that you could afford to purchase without threatening your month’s budget. It wasn’t that you envied those men and women passing through in their extravagant armor with their big guns, purchasing the most expensive drinks and chasing after every little fancy they wished in their few days on Tatooine. They could afford to do so – to bet on pod races, get in a few fights, down a few glasses of liquid courage and spend a few nights with a village member who they would promise to revisit, only to never come again. There was a special drink for that, you remembered with a soft laugh. Many a night, unaware merchants and soldiers and bounty hunters came through hoping to score an eventful evening, confiding in the bartender simply to be served the solution to their problems in the form of a glass of purple concentrate, ripe with the ability to increase the confidence and libido of the village fool. Many a man had made a fool of himself that way, and in that cantina, fools were abundant.

Lousy travelers here to have a good time, get drunk, get laid, and nothing else.

You couldn’t afford any of that. You could barely afford to keep your shop running.

You arrived at the entrance of your hangar with a loaded sight. Crossing your arms, you surveyed the workshop you called your own for nearly a decade now. You found yourself at your workbench more often than not, spending your evenings stripping old machines or droids for parts just to trade them for different ones from a mechanic struggling just as much as you were. This evening was no different.

You wanted an out.

You’d lived your entire life on Tatooine, but you’d spent the last eight years saving up to leave it. Being a mechanic was traditionally rather lucrative, but living in a galaxy ravaged by the recent fall of the Empire left whatever economy there was to crumble, leaving you with reluctant and few customers and a city thriving less by the day.

There was no money to go around, no money to get you out of here.

You huffed indignantly to no one in particular when the telltale sound of a ship landing in your hangar shook you from your thoughts. Standing, you brushed the dust from your trousers, testing the strap of your goggles and lifting it up over your hair and off your eyes.

This ship was impressive, you admitted. And familiar. As you walked down from the inside of your shop, you watched as the hatch opened, and an intriguing looking Mandalorian sauntered out into the open. You knew the Razor Crest was dated, but the wear on it made it look significantly worse. The wear on the bounty hunter to which it belonged somehow seemed to emphasize that, the shininess of the metal holding far less damage than the last time you’d seen it. You felt a little guilty for it, but you wondered if him wearing that much new beskar meant he had enough money for you to charge a little extra.

You stood a short distance from him and crossed your arms. There was a moment of silence, and you raised your brows in expectation.

The Mandalorian reached for his belt, and in a moment of instinct, you found yourself reaching for your blaster.

“You want money to fix my ship, or a fight?”

Though filtered through his helmet, Mando’s voice immediately caught your full attention, just as it did the first couple times you had met him. It was smooth, yet husky at the same time. Deep, yet handsome and almost boyish.

You swallowed, and your hand fell from your holster, but you didn’t apologize.

He waited a moment, watching you. He then reached for what you assumed to be a pouch of credits on his belt. The bag felt heavy enough in your hands when he placed it in them, but only appeared to be enough to cover the cost of what looked like basic repairs.

“Will that cover me this time around?”

You opened your mouth to speak when a loud crash erupted from behind the bounty hunter. Your eyes widened as he spun quickly, pushing the two of you back in a defensive manner. A piece of the hangar had broken off, landing violently with a shower of sparks.

You pursed your lips as he ran back into his ship without another word.

Interesting.

You examined the outside of the ship for only a moment when he then reemerged, carrying what looked unmistakably like –

“Is that a baby?”

“So you can speak again.”

In truth, you barely knew the man, and his words were typically nothing less than sarcastic or monotonous. Despite this, for some reason, you wished to hear him speak all evening. You felt your face flush, partially out of your own thoughts and secondly due to his remark, and you lowered your brow in offense.

“Yes.” The Mandalorian had answered you, seemingly detecting your lack of amusement. He seemed off-put, as if he were typically the one short of words. He seemed like the type, from what you remembered.

Examining the child, you noted how very much not human it was. Wrinkled green skin looked soft and indeed baby-like, big ears and even bigger eyes watching you curiously. It was quiet for a moment before erupting into an excited babble, little teeth shining in joy. This child was clearly not produced in any way by the Mandalorian, and that much was obvious. His little three-fingered hands grabbed towards you, and the Mandalorian’s shoulders raised in what could have been suspicion or shock. He made a soft grunt that barely broke the static of his helmet before extending the child towards you.

Your eyes widened once more, but you lifted the baby in your arms, silently reveling in how the little thing squealed at the attention. You couldn’t hide the smile that graced your lips as you bounced him a few times in your arms.

“He likes you.”

That rugged voice broke your thoughts once more, sounding nearly in awe. Or, as much as you can sound in awe with such a monotone statement. You spared a look towards the bounty hunter, back at his ship, and at the gibbering child in your arms.

You sighed.

“This can cover basic repairs. External damage – no tune-ups.” You said, flatly.

He shook his head, as if emerging from his own thoughts. Whether he was looking at your or his child, you couldn’t discern.

“I can get you more.” He said. “I can’t afford to stop again soon.”

You bit your bottom lip, resting the baby against your side. He was a heavy thing for such a small size. The visor in the helmet locked in on your face, and you were now certain he was examining you alone. You adjusted your bare arms over the babbling child, absently wishing that you had fully donned your jumpsuit instead of tying the top around your waist, halfway clad if not for the black tank top you wore.

You tilted your head in though, pretending to mull over an answer you already had decided upon. In all honesty, you planned on doing a full diagnostics check, anyway. You nodded.

The Mandalorian didn’t speak for another moment.

“What is your name? I have come here before, and yet you never tell me.”

“You never ask.”

Why your pulse decided to increase in that moment, you couldn’t say. In truth, you never typically tell clients your name. On one hand, it could be a practice good for business if they were to recommend you. But in a dangerous galaxy, you preferred to keep your head below the radar, even if that meant avoiding a job or two.

But this man returned, for what was at least a third time. He cocked his helmet, and you sighed. You told the bounty hunter your name, and he nodded, as if turning it about in his head.

The child yawned in your arms, eyelids falling shut as he fought his urge to sleep. Again you felt your lips curl into a soft smile. The Mandalorian took the child from you gently, almost more gentle that you believed he was capable, and brought him back aboard the ship and into a small nook, where he assured you that he would stay asleep for the night.

With that, the Mandalorian (for which you now realized you had no name for) armed himself and marched into town to find your remaining payment.

You sighed heavily staring at the devastated ship. This repair would likely take the rest of the evening and almost all of tomorrow, and required parts you weren’t even sure you had.

You strapped the goggles back over your eyes.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *      

That night had passed quickly, and although you had found restless sleep and a cold shower that morning, you found yourself nearly exhausted. You found breaks resting and playing with the Child, who had slept peacefully through the night, as promised. But the hours ticked by nonetheless, the sun setting and repairs still remaining. The baby was asleep for what you’d hoped would be the day, but somehow knew better. He would wake and wish to play at least once more before the night was over.

Throughout the day, you were tormented by thoughts of the bounty hunter you couldn’t seem to get rid of – not that you were trying to in the least bit, you admitted. He was a man of few words, his speech almost exclusively brief and concise. Yet his voice taunted you, and you found yourself wondering what his tone would sound like decorating different words, softer or perhaps even something more sultry. He was taller than you, enough to loom over your head intimidatingly, and yet his presence was so much more impactful than his stature. Enough to make you feel small, or submissive, even. You were certain that years of bounty hunting and training would leave anyone fit, and as your mind wandered, you allowed yourself the pleasure of imagining what could be tan skin, tight and smooth over muscle and littered with scars from battles won. Sometimes, you would think about doing unspeakable things with him. You had a birth control implant, for safety purposes with past relationships. Connecting the two thoughts made you blush, and you shook your head as if it would clear your mind.

You barely knew him, and yet your mind would not leave him. Who he was, what he looked like, the details of his own life and past, where his travels would take him – where you could fit into all of it.

It was silly, you thought, day-dreaming of a man who barely knew who you were. And yet here you were, fixing his ship so that he could leave you and likely never return again.

The sun was setting again when you had completed all external repairs. You were currently inside the ship, fixing wiring issues you were sure could be finished within the next few minutes.

This is why you had shoved yourself halfway into a small opening in the ship, the panel pulled aside and at your feet with your headlamp illuminating the crevice. Why the wiring was so far into the ship wall, you didn’t understand, and didn’t have the energy to question. You were simply relieved that you were small enough to fit into the opening.

That was, until you couldn’t get out.

You had just believed you had fixed what was causing delays in the steering controls, set on testing them to confirm a job well done. When you attempted to remove yourself from the wall and head for the cockpit, you found yourself incapable, the belt around your waist anchoring you to the wall and unable to push backwards.

You cursed and spat enough words to make a mercenary blush, kicking at the wall for what was at least a few embarrassing moments before stopping to catch your breath.

This evening couldn’t get any worse.

“You’re supposed to fix my ship, not dent it.”

You wish you hadn’t screamed in reply, but there was no mistake in the yelp of surprise that left your throat and echoed through the small hole your upper body was trapped in.

It could get worse, apparently. And it did.

“I’m stuck.” You bit out, preferring to skip the banter and get straight to the point.

“I know.”

You couldn’t hide the scoff that his coy response pulled from your throat.

“Are you going to help me?”

He was silent, and for a fearful moment, you were afraid he had walked off. You heard his voice, this time closer than before. You swallowed in a mix of confusion and something else, something darker.

“Don’t know yet.”

You let out a shaky breath, and shuffling on your feet momentarily as if that would loosen the ship’s hold on your waist. It didn’t.

Considering your options, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. You worked alone with no assistants, not even a droid after you had to sell your last one for food. You were orphaned at a young age and hadn’t lived with anyone for the past six years. No one came to visit you, and no other customers would be coming in to see you if already had a ship in your shop.

That led your mind to the final question: What did this man want, anyway?

You sighed. “What is it that you want? If I make your fee any lower, I won’t be making any money off my service.”

“Your service, huh?”

You could see his boots dangerously close to your own from the corner of your peripheral, and you swallowed hard. Even from inside your temporary cage, you could smell blaster residue, leather, and the slightest hint of –

“Are you drunk, Mandalorian?” You asked, accusation sharper than a knife in your tone. You could smell booze on him as he inched impossibly closer, something sweet and hardly detectable. God damn tourist, just like the rest of them, you sneered to yourself.

There was silence, but you could nearly hear the gears turning in his head.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

You scoffed. “Well this isn’t the best time.”

“It’s clearly not the worst time.”

Another incredibly unhelpful comment mixed your emotions up into a cocktail of humiliation and frustration. He was hardly one for words or idle conversation, and you wondered what possessed him to get drunk in the first place.

What’s that supposed to mean?  “What do you want?”

“To talk.” He repeated.

You could almost feel the chill of beskar on the backs of your thighs and wondered just how close he planned on getting to you.

“Then talk.”

You heard a grunt in irritation, but felt nothing other than the vibration of shifting feet on the metal floor beneath you.

“You are a good mechanic.” His voice was slow and careful. Not drunk, perhaps buzzed. But for what reason, you wondered. How reckless for a bounty hunter, you thought to yourself. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “You are trustworthy and I… do not mind your company.” He continued, drawling ever so slightly. He lacked the conciseness in his usual tone, you noted. “And I can pay handsomely for someone of your skill. With the ship,” he paused, “And with the child.”

You turned his offer over in your mind, intrigued and very tempted to take it immediately, before once again recognizing the situation you were currently in.

“That’s a very kind offer, and I would be much obliged to discuss.” You said, feigning politeness in favor of the impatience about to boil over. “But are you of sound mind to be making this offer? I don’t doubt your judgement, but perhaps you had too much to drink."

“You are also very beautiful.”

You froze, your mouth as immobile as your brain. Sirens went off in your brain, and you were unsure that this was the same Mandalorian who had dropped his ship off earlier.

“I was uncertain that I would ever return to Tatooine. So I came back to ask you this, specifically.” You could hear the Mandalorian swallow audibly underneath his helmet. “I wanted to request this of you at our first meeting. And the second.” He admitted. “I wanted to ensure that I wasn’t… emotionally compromised. Or too reserved. I find it difficult to speak to you.”

“Well you’re definitely compromised now, if you don’t mind my saying. But I might have you beat.”

He laughed, and while you were still pissed off by his inaction, it might have been the sweetest thing you’ve heard in a long time.

“I suppose I might be.”

You wondered what you looked like right about now, your hips lodged into an opening in the wall where you’d removed the panel, standing precariously on your tip toes with your waist hoisted into the air. You wondered what the Mandalorian was doing, his heavy boots in between yours, his hips dangerously close to your own. He could likely be looking down at you, hands hovering right above, not daring to touch but threatening all the same. You wondered sinfully if he appreciated the view.

You would shake your head to rid yourself of such thoughts if you could, but the flush was undeniable.

Even you were smart enough to know that you cannot be in love with a man you have only met three times and have never seen the face of, much less a man who is a bounty hunter. You are not the kind of person who rests about the cantina looking for a mercenary to spend the night with, whether for money or for the thrill. You had nothing against that lifestyle, no, but it was not for you all the same. Besides, this Mandalorian didn’t seem the type to go to a bar and –

You blanched.

“Mandalorian,” you called, “What exactly was it that you drank?”

He huffed, tapping his foot twice but not laying a hand on you yet.

“… Tasted like fruit. I haven’t seen it on any other planet. It was suggested to me by a female patron at the cantina.”

“And was she making advances on you?” You were met by silence. “What color? Did it glow?”

“Why am I feeling like you’re about to tell me something I don’t want to hear?” He replied, more of a groan than a statement. It was more emotionally charged than anything you’ve heard him say before, and the tedious ‘will-he-won’t-he’ that his close proximity wrought upon your already preoccupied mind multiplied.

You laughed at him, and while he didn’t appreciate the seeming lack of concern, he admitted to himself that it was the sweetest noise he had heard in a long time.

“I’m going to get you out of there, now.”

Two hands clad in thick leather gloves grasped gently at your waist, and you were glad for a moment that your face was not visible. As his grip tightened in preparation to free you from your entrapment, a bubbling cry emerged from somewhere nearby.

And you felt the Mandalorian’s hips meet yours in a rather clumsy and sudden manner.

“H-Hey, no! Bad!” The Mandalorian was shouting, his voice no longer directed at you despite your yelp of shock. “That’s bad! Stop that right now!”

In a sudden rush of weightlessness, the bounty hunter’s body flew back, followed by yours. The two of you tumbled onto the floor of the ship, heavy clanging noises contrasting sharply with the amused giggling of the little green child which sat innocently on the floor nearby.

It was nighttime, and even the inside of the ship was dark. You were grateful for the lack of light just as the Mandalorian was especially grateful for his helmet.

“I am… very sorry.” The bounty hunter was standing before you realized he had risen, extending a hand out to you. His fingers were twitching visibly even in the low light. “He has powers that I cannot easily explain.” He helped you to stand, turning his head sharply to the yawning child as if to reprimand him. His hand retracted like yours was on fire. “And while he will sometimes aid in combat, I feel he doesn’t yet know the difference between that and… other things. He is just a baby, despite his abilities.”

The onslaught of words did little to ease the rush of blood to your face. His gaze failed to meet yours.

“It’s… alright.” You crossed your arms, approaching the child and lifting him into your arms as he dozed off. While you were at least certain it was an accident, the contact left you shaken. Never had you been that close in that region to another person before, especially not with this mysterious, dangerous, absolutely packing –

The blush you wore could have produced steam if it were any cooler in the ship.

“I would like to hear more about this offer.” You admitted, rocking the baby back and forth while approaching his sleeping nook. “However, the more pressing matter is that you have few options with your current situation."

The Mandalorian followed you, swallowing hard in an effort to calm his racing pulse. He wasn’t used to feeling lost or led blindly. He was sure he disliked it, but the excessive adrenaline pumping through his body and the undeniable rush of blood to the south spoke to a different opinion.

“Depending on how much you drank, you may be able to sleep it off.” You kept your voice steady, or as much as you could considering the daunting aura of the bounty hunter behind you, whose gaze was locked onto you like a loaded gun to a target.

“How much is a lot?” His voice was quiet.

“Just about what you had, by the looks of you.”

“A tankard.” He admitted, sweating underneath his armor for more reason that one. A small inn hosted the bounty hunter for the midnight hours and slow morning after completing a task for the barkeep in addition to his payment, a menial asset for a menial bounty. He took advantage of this to eat and drink in a futile effort to calm his already mounting anxiety. Even the cool water and dry air of a cold shower and an empty room did not subdue his nerves in light of his inquiry for you.

You sucked in a breath of air, making a high-pitched noise in your throat in consideration. It could have been worse. You silently wished it was, quelling your sinful thoughts with a hard swallow. Maybe next time. You lowered the baby onto a pile of blankets. The noise brought the Mandalorian crashing back to reality.

“In that case, you can handle can attempt to handle it yourself,” you tucked the child in, “Which could prove futile if not take a couple of hours.” You shut off the lights in the small room, closing the door with the push of a button on the adjacent panel. “Or you could find company to, ah…” You did not look at him directly. Smoothing out your jumpsuit, still tied haphazardly around your waist, you cleared your throat. “To alleviate your distress.”

There was a beat of silence, and the Mandalorian took a bold step closer to you.

“And where do you suggest I should find this company?” He breathed, deep and suggestive. His assertiveness surprised even himself, but the thrumming of his heart underneath his skin silenced his concerns.

“I would assume you had already decided.” Where is this coming from? You wondered, knowing the answer in truth, but somehow still remaining surprised at your own willingness. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

He was on your in an instant, grasping your wrist with bruising force and leading to impatiently to another room aboard the ship. His hand slammed a button on the wall with enough force to startle you even in your profound and sinful thoughts, the door of the Razor Crest shutting with a loud hiss that failed to muffle both of your inelegant and hurried footsteps.

The Mandalorian’s quarters were small and clearly made for one out and for necessity. That didn’t stop him from pushing you down against the small cot, tossing his gloves somewhere unimportant and simply feeling you with the sense of urgency of a dying man. Your face was buried into his sheets as you fell into them, the warm scent of soap and his own musk surrounding your senses, rendering you wordless. His fingers were like fire on your skin as he untangled you from your jumpsuit, leaving it discarded across the room as he quickly worked you out of your shorts. There was a sudden moment where his hands left your body and a frown made its way onto your lips, only to twist into an expression of pleasure when the undoing of his trousers allowed his length to press against your bare ass.

“You’re already so wet…” His statement came out as a groan, heady and almost as desperate as you were becoming. “You want me that bad?”

You ground back against him, and he rewarded you with a hiss of air through his helmet and the softest growling of your name.

“Please.” Your voice came out as a whimper, and you thought of nothing more than him being inside of you. It was shameful, really – no foreplay, no preparation, no contraceptive. Simply the haunting thoughts of him and a singular incidence of his unfiltered interest in combination with an awkward physical encounter and now this.

Your bodies both felt like they were on fire, and you wondered if his aphrodisiac-induced disposition was somehow contagious.

The Mandalorian was grinding his dick against your wetness and if your mind wasn’t already blank, it was at that moment. He was cussing between his teeth and by the Maker if you weren’t doing the same.

“Please,” you emphasized, hips jutting backwards and into him. “I need you inside of me now.”

With that, he wasted no time lining himself up to your cunt, fingers tight around your hips as he thrust the tip of his cock into you with forced restraint. You caught your lower lip between your teeth, far from a virgin but not accustomed to such girth, regardless. A potential desire for further preparation almost made its way out of your throat when he pulled back ever so slightly, thrusting himself back into you almost immediately and drawing a strangled moan from your mouth.

“You’re so… tight…” He simply growled, his grip bruising. The next thrust found him fully seated inside of you, the tight and nearly overwhelming burn overpowered by the immediate and absolutely filthy feeling of fullness and desperation to be fucked by the Mandalorian.

While you could tell he was absolutely rearing to go, no doubt a product of not only his personal desires but of the powerful drink coursing through him, you were deeply grateful for his patience. You felt his hands skate across your lower back, sliding down your ass and thighs before grabbing appreciatively at the soft flesh there. An impossibly long moment seemed to pass before your shaky sigh filled the room.

“Move, please.” You heard yourself say, his hips drawing back efficiently yet mindfully before the words even left your mouth.

The Mandalorian was big, and you could not deny this. You could feel his member drag against your inner walls, the traction smooth and almost overstimulating against your slickness, deep and almost primal as his thrusts grew more urgent. With every snap of his hips against your own, he knocked heavy breaths and whines out of your throat. Your fingers grasped his blankets as your back arched into him.

“You’re fucking dripping for me, baby.” He drawled, voice dense with lust and clearly too lost in the moment to maintain his stony and formal demeanor, obvious even through the modulated filter of his helmet. You loved it. “I could have fucked you out in the front of the ship and you probably could have taken me just as well, couldn’t you?”

You bit back a moan, the pitch of your voice hitching as he drew a hand back to squeeze at your ass with punishing force. You liked it rough, at least in this moment, which was obvious to him by this point.

“I’ve thought about this before, you know. Thought about being inside of you like this. I wondered what you would feel like around me, what sounds you would make.” His pace wasn’t rushed or urgent, but each thrust snapped into you deep enough to shock you each time. “I wondered if you touched yourself thinking about me.” You did.

“Y-You’re a – ah!” A particularly sharp thrust had you almost tearing the blankets below you. “A talker… When you’re drunk.” You bit out with a shaky voice, head turned with your cheek pressed against the cot to watch him from the corner of your vision. He didn’t slow. “Don’t stop. It’s hot.”

He only graced your statement with a breathy chuckle, his pace increasing just enough to momentarily jar you.

“Have you thought about my offer?”

The question took a moment to register, and you let out a bubbly laugh between your moans. “Are you sure this is the right time to t-talk about this?” Your words were punctuated with gasps, but the question was sincere.

“Figured you would have decided by now.” The bounty hunter’s voice was far from even, but his statement was candid, at the very least. “I can show you a lot of things.” Your moan was unrestrained as his hand slid up your back and over your tank top, fingers sliding up your scalp and tangling in your hair. His grip was firm and pace unrelenting as his leaned over your back, cold beskar contrasting sharply with his hot breath on your ear when he pulled your head back towards him. “And I could use you in more ways than one.” The statement had you gushing, and you found yourself dangerously close to the edge.

“Mando...” You moaned, baring your neck to him only to feel the biting chill of the bottom of his helmet brush against it.

“Din.”

“Wh-What?” Your brow furrowed, and you spared a confused glance his way.

“My name… My name is Din.” He simply said, voice trembling with his own failing restraint. “I want you to moan my name when you cum on my dick.”

The vulgarity of his words and his punishing grip on your waist pushed you right over that edge, and he found himself pleased with the positively strangled cry of his name when your climax washed over you.

You were shocked when he simply flipped you onto your back, pushing into you once more only to hold himself there instead of chasing his own release. Your legs found their place around his waist as he kneeled into the bed and your hands found his helmet before he seized your wrists in a firm, yet careful manner.

“No.” He simply said. His hands were warm, intertwining with yours for an instant before squeezing and releasing them.

“I want to kiss you.” You explained, your hands falling to his chest as you panted softly.

“I can’t.” The Mandalorian’s voice was strained, tinged with a frustrated mixture of impatience and disappointment. You could feel his pulse underneath his skin. His hands tapped against your knee anxiously. “No living thing has seen me since I was a child.” He paused. “This is the Way.”

You frowned, the both of you incredibly eager despite your roadblock. You shifted slightly on the bed, feeling overstimulated but hyperaware of how painfully hard and large and throbbing he was inside of you and you both moaned in response. Your thoughts wandered to only moments ago, feeling his hips grind against your waist, even with your torso still being lodged in –

That’s it, you thought.

“Then I won’t see you.” You gasped. You gestured towards your discarded jumpsuit, and Din leaned down to fish through the inner pockets before producing a red handkerchief.

The bounty hunter stared at the fabric for a long moment, and you swear you could hear the calculations firing off in his mind. A second later, he pulled out, leaving you aching and empty, before coaxing you up onto your elbows and tying the fabric around your eyes. Before you could adjust to your new blindness, the harsh sound of beskar and heavy fabric hitting the ground resounded in the cramped space of the cabin, followed by the creaking of his bed as he kneeled back down on it. The speed of his actions would have made you laugh, had he not immediately reentered you and restarted his utterly demanding pace.

You felt his lips on your neck and swore to whatever gods there may be that you almost died and went to heaven in that instant. Din’s tongue traced up the length of your neck, leaving bruising bites and hickies in his wake. Impatient with his teasing, your hands clumsily found his shoulders, making your way quickly to his face before grasping his jaw and pressing your lips together with passion that shocked even yourself. You felt him hike up your legs over his arms, reveling in the peak of his biceps on your thighs before he fucked into you deeper than what you thought was even possible. You moaned loudly into the kiss, feeling the way his lips curled into a smirk as the connection of your mouths swallowed the noise.

Din pulled back, the two of you gasping for air as his thrusts became wild and uneven.

“I-I’m surprised that you’ve last-lasted this long!” You joked, breathless and feeling that same heat coil in your lower stomach once more.

He chuckled at this and you wished you could see his face. You wondered what color his eyes were, and if they crinkled when he laughed.

“I h-have…” He choked out, “Good self-restraint.”

It was your turn to laugh.

“Ha! I can’t w-wait to test that when I – oh, fuck!” Your back arched into the bed and he grasped underneath your top at your breasts as he sucked another bruise behind your ear. “Wh-When I join you!”

“So you’re c-coming?” He asked. You wondered how he even managed the question when the both of you seemed to only be hanging by a thread.

“Tell you… Tell you what,” you breathed, “C-Come inside of me, and I’ll l-let you know.”

He groaned loudly, and you could tell that whatever self-restraint he had was washed away. Din’s hips stuttered, and your name tumbled out of his lips as he came deep inside of you, painfully powerful thrusts forcing his seed impossibly deeper into your body. The feeling of his hot release inside of you managed to wring out another bout of pleasure with a dangerously loud moan, and even if you weren’t blindfolded, you were sure you would have seen all black, regardless.

His head was resting against your chest as you basked in the high of your collective orgasms, and your shaky fingers raked gently through his hair. It was softer than you imagined it would be, loose curls sliding through your hands as your breathing slowed.

When Din finally pulled out, you felt a rush of wetness between your thighs, and you almost wanted him to hurry up and put his helmet back on to satisfy your odd desire to see just how much was leaking out of you. He made a soft noise of questioning before you pointed reassuringly at the slightest bump on your arm where your birth control implement was located. He sighed, seemingly understanding and sounding relieved, and your heart was warmed by his thoughtful display of concern.

You felt him sit up and extend towards the floor before you reached out clumsily. Your hand landed on his chest, feeling taut skin and the slightest bit of hair. You grinned.

“Leave it. I’d rather feel you for a while longer.”

His lips were back on yours, and you smiled. You felt him smile back.

“You still owe me for these repairs, though.” You kissed him again.

You felt his smirk disappear for only a moment before his body was pinning yours against the bed once more, and you didn’t try to hold back your own laughter.

“Can I convince you otherwise?” He asked. “Service in exchange for service?”

You could worry about packing your things and collecting his payment in the morning, you supposed. Or perhaps you could change your rates, just this once. A Mandalorian discount. You’d make some more money simply selling the spare parts, equipment, and space that you would no longer need when you left Tatooine for good.

For good, huh? You thought, your swollen lips daring to curl into a smile.

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“I don’t know about that one, Din.” You jested. “I may be joining your crew, but I’ve got to make a living somehow. Can’t go around fixing ships for free, now.”

“So I should have just left you in the ship wall and flown off, huh?”

“That’s called kidnapping, so no.”

He chuckled. “Then it looks like I’ll just have to barter.”

You smiled and raised a brow. His lips muffled your thoughts just as they muffled your moans.

A Mandalorian discount, then, you thought. Just this once.

[sevryx]

A Partnership, of Sorts

Fandom: Star Wars/The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mandalorian/Reader

Rating: M

Summary:

“Let me ask you something.” He said, more as a statement than a request. “Who am I to you?”

"A business partner. And a trusted companion.”

The Mandalorian simply stared back at you. You cleared your throat. He turned away. It was a seemingly endless stretch of time before he responded.

“Is that all?”

READ IT ON AO3

He was quiet when you first met him.

“Am I mad? Mad doesn’t begin cover it!”

His voice was still husky, smooth and handsome even through the modulator. But this time, he was yelling at you. The sounds of gunfire faded into the distance, or maybe that was just your ears failing you.

“Broken a few windows, maybe fatally wounded a few patrons – that’s mad! You set fire to establishment and almost blew up our asset! And ourselves! What the hell were you thinking?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that wheezed out of your lungs, cut into fragments between your pained gasps and being jostled in his arms as you were carried back to the ship.

“And now you’re laughing about it!?”

You couldn’t see very well, but the familiar hissing sound of the door of the Razor Crest alerted you that you were now aboard the ship.

“I know y-you’re upset, Mando… I can see it from – ah!” You grimaced as another stream of hot blood leaked from your side, the taste of copper and burnt debris on your lips bitter in your mouth. “From the  – the look on your f-face!” You laughed, deciding your joke was good enough to be worth breaking into another coughing fit.

He threw you onto a bed, a little rougher than warranted. He apparently did not find it humorous.

“You’re lucky we still got the full bounty! And I have half the mind to keep your share for the trouble you caused!”

Gloved hands began to tear away at your charred armor, exposing the gnarled flesh on your torso to find a dark gash full of ashes and shrapnel. For once, you couldn’t find the words to speak in the midst of the searing pain.

“This is going to hurt. A lot.”

He sounded almost apologetic, anger giving way to something softer, yet equally urgent. Something fearful.

The last thing you heard before losing consciousness was the sound of the cauterizer turning on.

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You woke up to a throbbing headache and the sound of anxious pacing. You took an experimental breath in, feeling a sharp aching in your torso and a heavy creaking in your limbs. Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, collecting your observations with eyes still shut. You weren’t wearing any of your armor – you were not wearing familiar clothing at all, but clothing that seemed much too large to fit you. You were not covered in a thick layer of blood and dirt and grime. And you were not in your regular sleeping quarters on the ship, but in someone else’s bed covered by someone else’s blankets. This equaled three discrepancies to your typical disposition and brought a wrinkle of concern to your brow.

“You’re awake.”

You grunted in a blunt agreement.

“… Are you okay?”

You opened your eyes. “I’m not dead, so I’m fine.”

“I appreciate that your standard is ‘not dead’.” Heavy footsteps approached your bedside. “That’s good. Let’s keep it that way. ‘Not dead’ makes for a great bare minimum.”

There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. You were used to his sarcasm, but not like this. Not with such a bite. With such unfiltered grief.

“I’m sorry.” You offered.

Another beat of silence.

Then the Mandalorian laughed at you. Even through the muffle of the helmet, it was a deep, rich kind of laugh despite the pang of pain behind it, the kind that made people smile involuntarily and bite their lower lip in response. Or maybe that was just you. You smiled softly.

“And here I thought your ‘way’ didn’t allow you to have fun?”

You stared at the reflective helmet that was angled directly towards your own face. Though his expression wasn’t visible, it was clear that there were countless thoughts running through the man’s head. He seemed relieved.

“I could have lost you.”

It was uncharacteristic. The pain in his tone plucked effortlessly at your own heartstrings and you felt guilt wash over you. The Mandalorian sat on the bed beside you, careful not to cause you any more discomfort that the previous night had.

“I appreciate your concerns, Mando, but -"

“Din.” He interrupted you. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he turned away for a moment before staring back at you. “Din Djarin.”

You stared with your mouth ajar for a second too long before pursing your lips. “I appreciate your concerns, Din,” you repeated, “But I wouldn’t doubt that you can find another crew member even if you had.”

He was silent for a moment, and you swear you could almost hear his brow furrow in what was either guilt, anger, or something more.

“Let me ask you something.” He said, more as a statement than a request. “Who am I to you?”

You mulled over the bold inquiry with a heavy sigh. An acquaintance? No, your sentiment was much more deeply rooted than what would be appropriate for such a title. You’d been traveling together for ages it seemed, coming up on what was going to be about a year now. Partners? Of the sort, yes. Two bounty hunters who partnered up on jobs, who traveled together, killed together, escaped dramatically together, lodged together – your face began to flush.

“A business partner.” You said, as if it were obvious. “And a trusted companion.”

The Mandalorian simply stared back at you. You cleared your throat. He turned away.

It was a seemingly endless stretch of time before he responded.

“Is that all?”

Traveling with this man was something that required you to develop a very sharp sense of intuition, which included reading not his unavailable facial expressions, but his voice and occasional body language. Most times, his voice was flat and even, all business and no emotion. Sometimes he would yell, urgent or snappy, typically in combat. Or sometimes he would whisper, either when sneaking about or when the child which he claimed as his foundling would have just been put to sleep.

But now, his voice was positively dripping with disappointment.

Taking a risk, you moved your hand towards his gloved one lying on the blanket draped over you. You were in his quarters, underneath his sheets, clad in his clothing. You draped your hand over his, the leather feeling warm under your hands as if he had been wringing them. He didn’t move his hand, but turned to stare at it. Who was he to you? That was a loaded question.

“Where is this coming from, Din?”

Static emitting from the helmet reflected a heavy sigh.

“You are… a valuable companion and warrior. I am grateful to have you fighting alongside me.”

You pursed your lips. “... Thank you?”

It was quiet for a moment, and a breath that sounded like it would precede a thought erupted from his helmet before a crashing in the other room resounded.

“I wonder who’s awake now?” You asked, amused despite the heaviness of the tension that hung around the two of you like smoke. Curious cooing in the next room confirmed your suspicions.

He stood quickly, and your hand felt cold again.

“I should let you rest.”

He was gone before you could get another word out.

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It was only a day later when you found yourself able to walk again, albeit slowly, carefully, and very painfully. The wounded flesh of your stomach strained with every movement, and tempted you to sleep longer simply to forget about the pain. But you needed water, and Mando – or Din, you corrected yourself with a small smile – hadn’t come in to see you since leaving food for you that morning as you slept.

Tossing the sheets from your body, you shuddered slightly. You felt heavy and immobile, numb in protest but moveable all the same. Clad only in an old long sleeve shirt that was clearly fitted to Din and not to you, you felt exposed and cold, your skin prickling with sensitivity that was visible through your top. You noted absently that you were wearing your own underwear, but not the same kind on the night of the accident, and chuckled wondering what Din must have looked like rooting through your belongings in the search for undergarments.

Your reflection in a mirror-like panel on the wall confirmed that while you felt rather horrible, you were healing quite nicely. The scars across your torso were dark and obvious, but clean and improving quickly, likely to leave a lasting mark, but already ignorable from underneath a shirt. Bruises littered your legs and arms, cuts of different lengths cleaned and bandaged up by someone who clearly had experience doing such things. Your face was left with a shallow scrape up your cheek and a bruised lip, something that would likely be nothing but a memory within the month.

“You look good.”

Any other voice would have had your reaching for your blaster. But you knew his now, and it registered faster than what you would like to admit. You didn’t turn to face him when you responded.

“Oh, this old thing?” You asked, coyly.

He snickered softly, but failed to hide the hint of sheepishness that seeped into his wandering stare and twitching fingertips.

“Your wounds. They are healing well, I mean.”

You laughed without contempt. “Don’t you know how to make a girl feel special.”

There was silence, but it was comfortable.

“We’ve landed. Food and better lodging for the night. Maybe a medic, if you want.”

“The first two, yes.” You answered, turning towards him. “I think you’ll do just fine for the third.” You felt self-conscious as his stare locked onto you, helmet clearly tilting up and down just enough for you to gauge that his eyes were raking over you. You crossed your arms over your chest, which was likely a leading cause for his stare with the coldness of the room.

“Can you walk?”

You nodded.

Approaching him, you braced your arm on the wall for support.

“Where are my things? As much as I appreciate the clothing, I might want to be more sufficiently covered if we are entering a city.”

He cleared his throat. “Right.”

Leaving the room for only a moment, he came back with a leather bag that held everything you owned. The latch was undone, and it was clear he’d gone through it, just as you’d thought. Your stare did not go unnoticed.

“I had to find some… things for you. I did not take anything.”

“I believe you.” You smirked. You wondered if he was the type to blush. Waiting a moment, you looked over him from the corner of your eye as you grabbed a pair of trousers and an undershirt from your bag, soaking in the seemingly rare yet currently repetitive shy and almost clumsy behavior the Mandalorian was exhibiting.

“… May I get dressed now?”

Silence. An audible swallow from beneath the helmet.

“Do you need any help?”

“Getting… Getting dressed?”

He shifted back and forth on his feet, as if in uneasy. You would smirk again, but you were too shocked by the cheeky remark that your mouth simply hung slightly open.

“You’re, ah – You are injured.” He simply said. “I don’t mind helping you if you require assistance.”

Who am I to you? The question rang in your head from the previous night.

“Yes.” The agreement was out of your mouth before you could think. The beat of silence that followed told you that he wasn’t expecting it either.

“Sit.” He directed. For once, you listened wordlessly.

Kneeling before you on the bed, he pulled the trousers over your legs carefully. You felt the blood rush involuntarily to your face. His gloved fingers worked the clasp shut with deft hands, and you wondered if his heart was racing just as yours was.

“Lift your arms.”

You grasped the bottom of your borrowed shirt loosely before hesitating. “You won’t look, will you?”

His breathing was audible in the quiet room, but you weren’t sure he could tell that you could hear him, too.

“No.”

You lifted the shirt over your head and set it aside, crossing one arm across your chest in an automatic defense and watching as he fumbled for your undergarments. Whether he was acting to convince you that he wasn’t looking or simply keeping his word, you weren’t certain. Sliding your arms through the straps of your bra, you stared directly at his helmet, searching for any signs of him paying attention. He seemed to be angled directly above your head – a good sign. That was until he reached forward to get around you and clasp the article shut, missing slightly and instead grasping at your left breast.

You had wished you hadn’t made a sound, but you did. An embarrassing mix between a gasp and a moan at that one. It had been a long while since you had been touched like that, on accident or not. That was when his helmet jerked ever so slightly down, and you could quite easily tell that even if his eyes had been shut, they weren’t any longer.

His hand didn’t move, and you found yours resting atop his wrist. You looked down, and then back up at him to meet his gaze. His head snapped dramatically further up and away.

“… I apologize for –“

“Don’t.” You said, not in a reprimanding fashion, but soft and forgiving. Hopeful, even.

He let out a breath before awkwardly clasping the device shut and reaching towards your shirt. Pulling it gently over your head, he helped guide your arms through the sleeves before sliding your socks and boots on over your feet.

He was lacing up your shoes when you laughed softly.

“You looked, didn’t you?”

His fingers fumbled with the strings.

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The food was decent, but the drinks weren’t much better. The lodging, however, existed as the most pressing issue. You leaned against the bar, your bruises throbbing in protest but better than before, regardless.

“What do you mean there’s only one room?” You asked, incredulous.

“One room. One bed.” The innkeeper looked less than amused, his English broken, but stern. “Take or leave.”

Placing your credits on the bar, you swallowed hard and returned to the booth which the Mandalorian occupied. He hadn’t eaten or drank anything he'd bought, but you knew it would be taken to your room and gone before the night was over. Din was currently crooning silently over the child, green fingers grabbing excitedly at gloved fingers above his head.

“Small problem,” you said, finishing the remainder of your drink before setting the glass down on the table casually. He turned to face you. “One room left, and one bed. I don’t mind sleeping back on the ship if –"

“Okay.”

You paused, shutting your mouth quickly and knitting your brow.

“Mando – Ah, Din. There is one bed.”

“Yes.” His hands were clasped shut, posture astute as if he were talking business.

“There are two of us.”

“Yes.”

You tapped your fingers against the table.

“There are two of us and one bed.”

“Yes.” He sounded insistent. He leaned forward slightly as he spoke, helmet lurching ever so slightly with the force of his affirmation.

You waited for an explanation you weren’t sure he was going to give to you. After a while, he retracted his hands and stood.

“The Razor Crest is under repair until tomorrow morning.” He said bluntly. “Where are we staying?”

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

The room was small, the bed and a small dresser and table occupying the majority of the space. The bathroom was clean enough, and when you emerged in the same shirt which had been lent to you the night before, nothing was said by the Mandalorian sitting on the edge of the bed in full armor other than a quiet cough. An empty plate and cup sat on the table, your bags taking residence on the floor. Your damp hair was slicked out of your face, clean of the deep-seated filth that you never exactly enjoyed but always tolerated in your line of work.

“How long are we staying here?”

“No more than a few days.” He answered, standing nonchalantly and making his way towards the other room. “I'll find work. You and the kid can stay here.”

You would argue, but for once, tiredness and the ache throughout your body subdued your urge to resist. You sat on the edge of the bed.

“He’s asleep.” You remarked, admiring the soft snoring emitting from the carriage before shutting the top. Kicking your legs slowly over the top of the bed, you were grateful that it was a decently large piece of furniture.

He didn’t respond, but stood silently for a moment before disappearing into the restroom.

You had been traveling with Din Djarin for months now, almost ten to your count. You had met when you both received tracking fobs from the same client, and found working together came almost as naturally as breathing. Not that either of you would admit that to the other. Neither of you were exceedingly loquacious, to say that least. That is to say that the entire first month aboard the Razor Crest was filled with silence, occasionally uncomfortably long stares, and the sound of the Child fighting for the attention of at least one of you at any moment it was awake. The latter you didn’t mind at all, but the lingering stares left a kind of weightlessness pooling in the bottom of your stomach that the literal lack of atmosphere in space couldn’t take credit for.

During your second month together, he had walked in on you coaxing the Child back to sleep in the middle of the night, humming a soft tune from a life that had been taken from you as a child. It held no trace of regret, but a gentle sort of nostalgia that any onlooker would notice, one that Din, in particular, appreciated. He stood and watched from the shadows of the entrance of the Razor Crest until you has laid the baby’s sleeping form into his little nook, only stalking away once you stood, back still to him, and asked quietly with a sly grin: “Trouble sleeping, Mando?”

The third and following months were layered with idle chatter, hard-won battles, and long sessions of deep conversation as you helped with each other’s wounds. He knew your name, your past. What you’ve left behind and what you’ve sought until reaching this point. He knew your favorite drinks and the way your stare lingered on trinkets and such in the bazaar before you were later shocked, finding them laying on the small cot you took as your sleeping quarters on the ship. But you knew him as well – you knew his name, what he’s lost. You understood his Way, his love for the Child and his dedication to the creeds he lived by. You knew how he was feeling by the tilt of his helmet, the volume of his breath and the way his fingers twitched in his gloves.

He wasn’t your lover. That explicit thought shattered your daydream, and you tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. You looked at the Child’s carrier longingly, wondering what exactly this Mandalorian meant to you.

Who am I to you?

The question still rang in your head. You turned the lights out and laid silently in the darkness. Chewing your bottom lip, you rubbed at the back of your neck in thought.

“What’s wrong?”

You flinched, wanting to turn around but resisting, simply because the voice you heard was incredibly familiar, with the exception of the static filter that you knew so well. It was pitch dark in the room, and you wondered if he would turn the lights on. Without the helmet, no. You closed your eyes, but didn't move.

“Thinking.”

The weight on the bed shifted behind you and you felt him settle beside you. You swallowed hard as the scent of soap and him invaded your thoughts, the slight brush of what was unmistakably the warmth of his hand brushing your back.

“About…?”

His voice was tinged in curiosity and fatigue. You sighed.

“You.”

You expected a response, that was true. You didn’t expect it in the form of his hand, much larger than yours and warm on your cool skin, to run up your exposed arm and rest on your shoulder.

“What about me?”

His breath was hot on your ear, and you shuddered faintly. You answered after a moment.

“You asked me who you are to me.” You explained, slowly so as to not trip over your own words. Only his hand was on you, but you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “And I’m afraid I might have withheld the entire truth from you.”

The hand on your shoulder squeezed, and you felt Din shift behind you.

“Is that so?”

There was a kind of certainty in his tone that made your body go alight. His voice was deep, rugged and tinged with a predatory sort of rumble that did nothing short of make your mind go blank and your lower stomach twist with excitement. He knew was he was doing, but he wasn’t going to let you go without an answer.

“Yes.” You choked out, sounding more strained than what you intended. His hand traveled lower, finding purchase underneath your shirt and at the curve of your waist. His thumb stroked along the smooth skin that contrasted so heavily with the scars there that were still tender, but you sighed at the contact all the same.

“Then by all means,” he leaned impossibly closer, lips brushing your ear, “Please explain.”

“You are a very trustworthy business partner, and an inarguably skilled bounty hunter.” You shifted slightly, feeling your hair fall over your ear and exposing your neck to the man behind you. You heard his breath hitch. “But I will admit that our… relationship. It has exceeded what I – ah.” Your breath faltered as he thumbed at the waistband of your underwear as if asking for permission. “I-It is… I am…” You fought for the words as impossibly gentle hands grasped at your rear, his deep sigh sending heat across your neck and resetting your thoughts. “I am afraid that I feel things for you that exceed the realm of our professional relationship. Things that could easily compromise your opinion of me.”

A sharp huff of breath left Din’s nose, and although he couldn’t see you, you raised a brow in confusion. Your expression melted into one of sheer arousal when his grip on your waist brought his body flat against yours, what hardness of what was unmistakably his erection pressing insistently against your rear.

“Does this compromise your opinion of me?”

It was teasing, both his tone and his words. A soft moan escaped your lips.

“I see the way you look at me. I hear you at night, sometimes.” Grinding his hips into you, you bite your lip to hush the whimper that bubbles in your throat. “Oh, those nights are my favorite. For someone as stealthy as yourself, it’s like you want me to catch you. Those fucking sinful noises, I can hear you writhe. And when you say my name, like a god damn prayer…” He trails off, his hand traveling carefully up the skin of your torso to trace the sensitive skin of your breast. His lips are on the rim of your ear. “It’s enough to make a man go positively mad with lust.”

You never want him to stop talking. But when he shifts you the center of the bed, suddenly looming over you with your legs around his waist, you feel what little resolve you have left to preserve your dignity crumble away, and you are content with whatever he chooses to do in the moment. You can’t see his face at all in the pure darkness – you can barely make out his silhouette in the room. But you feel the hardened pads of his fingers trace your thighs around him, feel him lean down to press kisses to your neck that make your skin vibrate with need.

“I know that you want me. And I want you. I want to hear you moan my name when I’m inside you.” His hands skate up your chest, pushing your shirt up as his lips travel lower still.

“Then have me.” You hear yourself say, before you even realize the weight of your words. It doesn’t matter, though, because you would have said them months ago. You would have said them yesterday. So of course, you had no hesitation to say them now.

He groans, heady and dark with need, and his lips come up to capture yours. You swear you’ve never felt this intoxicated from anything the galaxy could offer, that the desperation and the lust brings your heartbeat to your skin and you’re sure Din can feel it, too.

Your shirt is over your head and somewhere on the floor, and the rest of the minimal clothing between the two of you follows. Your hands are tangled in his hair, softer and longer than you imagined, leaving only to follow the sharpness of his jawline, grasping at his broad shoulders before his body sinks lower. You whine with the loss of contact, your breath only hitching in your throat when you realize –

His fingers trace over your sex gently before you feel his tongue push into you, and you can’t hide the whine that leaves your throat. Your hands find purchase in his hair once again, pulling carefully as your body arches into his mouth desperately. His tongue is nimble, and threatens to push you to the edge far sooner than you would prefer. As you fought to voice this, however, two thick fingers sink into you, pumping in and out with the intent to have you teeter right over that ledge.

Only minutes have passed when you feel dangerously close, grasping at his locks and moaning his name between muttered curses.

“Fuck, Din – I’m, ah!” You can’t make the words out, and he seems to understand, but instead of stopping, you find another finger threatening your hold onto reality, and he doesn’t slow down at all, instead increasing his pace with a force you can only handle for a moment before you arch dangerously into the bed with an embarrassingly loud call of his name.

He comes up to kiss you, and you can taste yourself on his lips. It doesn’t bother you.

“I was right. It sounds so much better up close.”

You were already flushed, but you were glad he couldn’t see your face nonetheless. There was a moment of silence as you felt him reach towards the ground, the rustling of objects on the floor and his clumsy grip nearly shaking your from your suffocating bliss. You released a shaky sigh, as you felt his fingers at your cunt yet again, replaced momentarily by the thickness of his length sliding against your wetness, a nearly undetectable layer of what you believe is a contraceptive. You wonder where he got it, but you resolve to mention it when you can moan anything other than his name from your lips.

“Please.” You whine, and although you can’t see him, you swear he’s smiling.

It doesn’t take long for him to hike your legs up carefully around his waist once more, lining himself up to your center and pushing into you with one languid thrust. He moans in appreciation, whispers your name and how good and tight you feel around his cock. It’s only a few more breaths before he pulls out, thrusting in slowly but with enough force that you feel like you were never whole until he was entirely sheathed inside of you. He speeds up, lifting your leg over his shoulder and fucking into you at an angle that absolutely shatters your grip on reality. You can’t feel the injuries on your stomach, and you realize that even in his rut of passion, he leaves that side of your body to the gentle and sparing caress of his other hand before he trails down and grabs at the flesh of your ass with reckless abandon.

You could stay like this for hours, either of you. But the tension and desperation in the room was far too much and you found yourself at that same edge you faced earlier, Din himself falling just as fast.

“Wish I could – ah, could see you.” He says it aloud, but you’re just as guilty for thinking it. You know it can never be so on your part, but you are satisfied knowing that he lets you see him through touch. You see him every other way, in truth. Through his words, his emotions. His actions. Deprivation of sight doesn’t deter you from loving him—

And you realize that’s what he is to you.

Your fingers cup his jaw, shaking from both your own instability and the pace of his hips snapping up into you at an unforgiving pace. Your lips meet again, fueled with discoveries that you’ve both made, but neither has voiced.

Din crescendos in pace as you do in volume, the sound of skin on skin and joined moans of pleasure enveloping all of your senses, turning every thought you have into static. When you both climax, it’s like heaven on Earth. Like you found peace in a shabby little inn on Tatooine and it’s better than anything you’ve ever experienced in your life.

After a bout of shuffling, Din retreats to the restroom and returns with a wet cloth, gently wiping the residue of your passion and leaving a trail of kisses across your skin. You wonder how he navigates so well in the darkness, but leave it to another day to question. When he returns to bed, you feel your breaths slow and you find yourself lying against Din’s chest, who it seems is also piecing together his thoughts.

“I think I love you.” You say it before you realize it’s left your lips.

Din laughs, a hand brushing your hair behind your ear gingerly.

“You think too much.” He says, a smile in his voice. “But I believe I love you, too.”

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You wake to an empty bed, light flooding into the room through the window that has now been slightly opened and faint noises echoing from the restroom. You stretch your hands above your head, turning towards the window and the floating carriage which the Child –

The Child.

You shot up in bed, scrambling out from underneath the covers.

“If you’re wondering if we woke him up, then the answer is no.” Din’s voice piped up from behind you, filtered by the modulator in his helmet. “He’s slept through much louder, much more dangerous things.” Even in full armor, he seemed more relaxed than usual, and you couldn’t help but take pride in the realization that it was likely because of the events of the previous night. “Although, you were very, very loud last night.” He tagged on, a smirk in his voice.

Though the blood rushed to your face, you ran a hand through your hair and stood, pretending not to notice the way Din’s eyes raked over your body. A new collection of hickies stood out among your previous scars, a collection of purples and reds that you were proud of. Heading for the restroom, you heard the softest of whines coming from the enclosed contraption, signaling that the baby was awake.

“Looks like someone’s up.” You yawned and slipped past the Mandalorian, brushing against his side for a moment too long. Instead of letting you past, a strong arm looped around your waist, the cold beskar of the underside of his helmet resting against the top of your head as he trapped you.

“We have a few days here. I know someone trustworthy who can watch the little one.”

You raised a brow. “Don’t you need to find work?”

“We have a few days.” He repeated.

You smirked, and you swear you could feel those handsome lips curling into a sly grin underneath that helmet.

“A few days, huh?” The beskar of his chest plate was cold under your touch. “Works for me, Din.”

“Good.”

You didn’t know, of course, but he had been smiling at you when you had first met him, a silent grin playing at his lips underneath his helmet.

He was smiling now, too.

[sevryx]

- What’s a “Spideypool?” - Like “Brangelina.” “Beyon-Z.” “Neil Patrick Burtka.” Don’t you have the internet? - Aren’t all those people married?

Spider-man/Deadpool (2016-2019)

[sevryx]

You Can Quote Me On That

FANDOM: Marvel

PAIRING: Wade Wilson/Peter Parker

RATING: M

SUMMARY:

"Hey baby boy, you ever notice how we're just like hot-chocolate and marshmallows?" "What?" "Because you're totally hot and I'd love to be on top of you."

[A 15-chapter collection of continual "oneshots" based on horrible pick-up lines. Each chapter follows in chronological order of the relationship. See chapter titles/summaries and A/N's for more information.]

READ IT ON AO3.

[sevryx]

It's Not A Faux Pas If He's Into It

FANDOM: Marvel

PAIRING: Wade Wilson/Peter Parker

RATING: M

SUMMARY:

In which Peter Parker is a socially awkward freshman college student on the gymnastics team who gets assigned senior student part-time personal trainer Wade Wilson. Huge, drop-dead handsome, cocky, muscular, handsy, flirtatious Wade Wilson. Can you blame a horny ninteen-going-on-twenty-year-old boy for one, tiny, little, naughty slip of the tongue? Wade's not forgetting it, that's for certain.

*Inspired by the hilarious Kumail Nanjiani tweet*

READ IT ON AO3

[sevryx]

It's Called Coccinellidaephobia

FANDOM: Durarara!!

PAIRING: Shizuo Heiwajima/Izaya Orihara

RATING: T

SUMMARY:

Out of any flaws the great Orihara Izaya could have, this was one that really took a swing at his pride. In fact, that was an understatement. It knocked it right out of the park. But it always helps to have a bodyguard around, even if they're a six foot one blond nuisance who throws furniture at public service workers.

READ IT ON AO3.