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thirstworldproblemss · 4 years

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Fic: It’s All About What You Want, p1

Fandom: The Mandalorian Pairing: Din x F!Reader (no Y/N) Length: 11,131 words in part 1, ~21k total Rating: Mature (Explicit in part 2) Summary: Omega!Reader starts to feel differently about her Alpha employer, Mando, during a stopover on a planet with an unusual social hierarchy. [Set between seasons 1 & 2]

Warnings: A/B/O fic; this part contains scent-marking, confusion, implied f masturbation, and lots of UST; author doesn’t know how plots work [Part 2 has a drugged drink and the alpha/omega heat sex (p-in-v sex + knotting)]

Notes: This is my extremely belated Secret Santa fic for @lark-cale who has been absolutely the best possible sport about my extended tardiness, and also wrote this absolutely lovely Marcus Pike fic for me. Here you (finally) go, love. Thank you for your patience! I hope it you like it.

I also owe so many thank yous to @keeper0fthestars who repeatedly listened to me rant, talked me down, and picked me back up when I was ready to quit (and also read all 20k pre-editing which deserves a goddamn medal) and to @yespolkadotkitty for yet more encouragement (I needed a LOT), the beautiful custom banner, and beta’ing this beast!

It’s All About What You Want - part 1

[ twp’s Masterlist | Part 2 >> ]

—

Din stares at his reflection in the small mirror in the fresher.

“Pull it together, di-kut!” he tells himself, and then quickly shoves his helmet back on so he doesn’t have to see his stupid lovesick face any more. After all, only a complete idiot of an Alpha would fall in love with an Omega that didn’t love them back.

—

“So, where to next?” you ask Mando as he pilots the ship up though Duron’s atmosphere. “Do you have another bounty or are we going back to Nevarro?”

From the copilot’s seat, you watch as the blue-green sky fades to the black of space. The baby is tucked comfortably in your lap playing with his favorite control knob.

“Another bounty. Last known location Reglan II.” Mando says, but doesn’t elaborate right away, and that’s fine. Over the half-cycle you’ve been working for him, you’ve learned not to take Mando’s silences personally. He always gives you what you need eventually.

Sure enough, once the ship is out of atmo and presumably pointed in the right direction, Mando turns to you, pulling up a holomap of the galaxy and zooming in on a section near the Mid Rim.

“Here,” he says, pointing out the dot labeled Reglan II. A quick tap, and an info card for the planet appears.

You look it over, narrating for the baby’s sake. You don’t know how much he actually understands, but he babbles back happily. “A temperate climate—that means not too hot or too cold—that will be nice! Moderately developed. Ooh, maybe there’ll be someplace we can go shopping and get you some fresh fruit. And it’s a... a gynocentric omegarchy? What does that mean?”

“It means there’s a rigid social hierarchy.” Mando answers you. “Omega females at the top; Alpha males at the bottom. Should be safe for you and the kid to go out alone.”

“Wait, you mean Omegas are in charge?” you ask, surprised, and he nods. You try to imagine how that could possibly work. Usually it’s the asshole Alphas that have all the power because they’re willing to use their biological advantage and what or whoever else they can to get it. Of course—you eye the back of your employer’s shiny helmet—not every Alpha is a complete bishwag, but enough of them are to make an Omega-run society sound implausible. Nice, but implausible.

Something else occurs to you.

“And Alpha’s are on the bottom rung? Will that cause problems for you when you’re trying to catch the bounty?”

“I’ll manage.”

You imagine he probably will.

Arriving dirtside on Reglan II is uneventful... for all of about five minutes.

After getting your things together, you follow Mando down the ramp, and out into the space port, the baby tucked into a carrier slung across your front. The grey-jumpsuited ground crew working in the shipyard mostly ignores the three of you, at least until you get within scenting distance. You watch bemused as a short, furry Beta whirls around to stare at you with wide yellow eyes. They scent the air, then turn their back, speaking urgently into a com link.

You can’t make out the words, but Mando probably can. When you see his shoulders tense up, it’s enough to have you stepping a little closer. A few cycles ago, you’d have laughed at the idea that proximity to an Alpha could mean safety, but that was before you’d started working for Mando. It had seemed like the best of a bunch of bad options at the time, but he’s never given you cause to regret it.

“Let’s go.” He grabs your arm, urging you back towards the ship. You start to retreat, but before you can make it to the Crest, you’re intercepted by uniformed guards.

Mando sweeps you behind him with one arm, crouching slightly. You step in close and clutch the baby protectively, watching the guards warily as some of them spread out and circle around to surround the three of you. They’re all armed but none have their weapons drawn. Yet.

“Is there a problem?” Mando asks. His voice is calm, but the hand that hovers over the gun holster on his hip tells a different story. You’re sure the guards notice too. The baby whines into the tense silence, wiggling in protest against your too-tight hold. You shush him without looking down, trying to keep an eye on Mando and the guards at the same time.

“There doesn’t have to be,” one of the guards says, stepping forward with hands raised in a deliberately non-threatening way. She seems to be the one in charge. “If you come with us. We just need to ask you a few questions.”

Mando turns to you, and you feel him hesitate. Can tell he’s weighing the likelihood of being able to shoot his way back to the ship with you and the baby without anyone getting hurt. You give a slight shrug, trying to let him know you’ll follow his lead. You trust him to calculate the odds better than you can.

After a long moment, Mando turns back to the guard leader and nods. “We’ll come.”

The guards relax, and so does Mando, but you notice his hand doesn’t stray far from the gun on his hip. You resolve to stay alert and make a point of sticking close to his other side—just in case.

You’re escorted into one of the buildings surrounding the spaceport, down a long hall, and through a set of double doors flanked by another pair of guards. Security headquarters, you assume, based on the sheer number of uniformed guards in the room. Oddly enough you can’t smell a single Alpha among them, only Betas, and even a couple of Omegas which is weird. You’ve never heard of Omegas being part of a security force before, but maybe it has something to do with the social hierarchy Mando was telling you about.

The leader of your pack of guards keys you through a heavy duty blast door and into yet another hallway. This one is narrower and dark, featureless except for a row of doors with small windows in them. You jump as the blast door clangs shut behind you. Kriff. You don’t like being so cut off from the outside and your only means of escaping this planet if things go bad. You hug the baby close and scoot a little closer to Mando. You don’t like this at all.

“It’s okay,” Mando says, quietly. You turn a deeply skeptical look on him, but he looks the same as he ever does. The armor blocks most of his scent, but what little you can smell seems calm—overly so, like maybe he’s putting out calming pheromones. Or is he just so used to terrifying situations that they don’t affect him anymore?

Before you can question him, one of the doors along the hallway opens, and a tall, white, androgynous alien in an even whiter robe steps out.

“Mistress Omega, this way, please,” they say, putting their four arms to good use as they prop the door open with one hand, hold a holopad in another, and gesture you through with the remaining two.

A moment later, the guard leader says, “Mandalorian, you’re with me,” as she opens the neighboring door. Your anxiety spikes as you realize they mean to separate you.

“But...” You cast a pleading look at Mando. Realize with a start just how little space there is between the two of you. You wonder if you’ve been subconsciously edging closer to him or if he closed the distance himself. Then he wraps one large gloved hand around the back of your neck and squeezes, and you freeze in shock.

Your mind catalogs the feel of worn leather, cool and smooth against your skin, and the way his scent is suddenly filling your senses. Then Mando lets go and steps back; gives you the smallest of nods, like nothing out of the ordinary has happened; and follows the guard through the door.

You stare after him. Did that really just happen? Mando’s never touched you like that before. He hardly ever touches you, much less to scent-mark you like some storybook Alpha comforting a skittish packmate. Kriff, you kind of are a skittish pack—er—crewmate, aren’t you? Was he trying to make you feel better? If so, it seems to have worked. You’re still not happy to be here, but you definitely feel less nervous now. You kind of hate that.

Stupid Omega biology. Stupid feelings.

“What was that?” you grumble to the baby. He just babbles back as you finally get your ass in gear and follow the polite white alien through the door they’ve been holding open for you.

The room you enter is… nice. Welcoming, even. There’s soft lighting, framed art on the walls and a comfy-looking couch and two armchairs that sit on a large, fluffy rug in the center of the room. Except for the lack of windows it wouldn’t look out of place as some rich family's living room. However intimidating the hallway had been, this room was obviously designed to put people at ease.

“Please. Have a seat,” the alien offers. Now that it’s just the two of you, you can smell that they’re also an Omega, which makes you feel marginally better about being stuck in here with them. They watch as you sit gingerly on the couch before settling into one of the arm chairs.

The baby cranes his neck in an attempt to look around the room—no doubt checking to see if there’s anything edible. You free him from the carrier, settling him on your lap where he begins to fidget with your fingers.

“So what happens now?” you want to know.

“Now I ask you a few routine questions. The goal of this interview is to gain information about the intended purpose of your visit to Reglan II, and to verify your safety as an unmated Omega traveling with an Alpha.”

“Oh. Huh.” You’re not quite sure what to make of that, but you suppose it can’t hurt. “Okay.”

They smile at you encouragingly, then read the first question off the holopad. “Are you being coerced, restricted, restrained, or otherwise influenced against your will in any way by the Alpha you are traveling with?”

“What? No!” you exclaim, “He wouldn't do that.” You’re almost offended on Mando’s behalf, but.. well... you know how the universe works.

Your interviewer nods and makes a note on the holopad, smiling faintly.

“I am required to ask. Then you are traveling with this unmated Alpha Mandalorian of your own free will?”

“I… Yes.” Those are actually some pretty important questions, you realize. Maker, you wish they’d ask questions like this in more places.

“Good.” They nod again. More tapping at the holopad.

“What would happen if I... wasn’t?” you ask, thinking grimly of all the horror stories you’ve heard over the years. The ones you’ve seen firsthand.

“Then we would help you regain your autonomy. The government of Reglan II believes in an Omega’s right to self-determination without compulsion, and our society works to ensure the comfort and autonomy of all Omegas. If you were being held against your will, you would be offered sanctuary, and your attacker would be permanently expelled from the planet.”

“Oh,” you hear yourself say. There's an odd feeling buzzing in your chest at the idea that there is a whole planet working to protect people like you. It feels a little like fury and a little like grief and a whole lot like joy. Your lips tremble and stretch in an unfamiliar way. You think you’re smiling, but it feels strange, sharp. Your voice comes out unintentionally vicious when you continue, “I think I’m going to like it here.”

The alien Omega smiles back, a touch of the same sharpness in their smile, and a moment of understanding passes between the two of you.

They’ve just looked back down at the holopad to ask the next question when the baby lurches suddenly to one side, almost falling off your lap completely before you manage to grab him.

“Whoa! You okay there buddy?”

Big eyes slowly blink up at you, and he leans heavily against your arm.

“Are you getting tired? It’s almost naptime.” He’s usually a pretty good sleeper, but you have to wonder if he’ll really be able to go to sleep here in such an unfamiliar situation.

You look back up at your interviewer. “Do you mind if I walk around with him while we do this?”

“Not at all.”

So here you are, walking in slow circles around the couch, rocking the baby as you answer questions:

You came to this planet because Mando’s hunting a bounty.

No, you don’t know who he’s hunting. A female twi’lek Beta... uh... you think?

You’re pretty sure the plan is to stay until Mando catches the bounty, maybe a little longer.

It’s almost embarrassing how little you know, but plans are really more Mando’s department. Your job is to watch the baby and be an extra set of hands when needed. In exchange you get to travel the galaxy with Mando. It’s a pretty good deal, actually.

At this point you’re answering questions mostly on autopilot, more focused on keeping your voice quiet and trying to project a calming aura in hopes of lulling the baby to sleep. It all seems pretty routine, until...

“What are your heat preferences?” the alien asks.

Wait, what? You look over at them, confused. “What preferences?”

“Heat preferences. For a partner.”

You blink stupidly for a moment, trying to make sense of the question.

“I can put your Mandalorian companion down as your preferred heat partner,” they prompt. Your face or scent must give away your shock, because they quickly continue, “Or social services has a selection of safe, clean Alpha partners in a variety of genders on call. There are also well stocked isolation rooms available if you prefer to work though heats alone?”

“I…” You’re still stuck on the first option. Mando? Sex with Mando?!

“But I have a suppressant implant!” you finally manage to squeak.

“You will still need to make a selection. We are required to have one on record so that your consent is not violated in the event of a breakthrough heat.”

You duck your head to stare down at the baby. Thank goodness he’s already dozed off, because you’re sure as shit not projecting calming energy anymore.

“I— Can I think about it for a minute?”

“Of course.” Long white fingers begin tapping away at the holopad, and you’re grateful your interviewer is giving you at least the illusion of privacy.

You take a minute to tuck the now-sleeping little one back into his carrier, trying to decide what to do.

It's not like your answer will matter at all. You’ve been on suppressants for a long time without any issues, and your current implant is good for another three years. You haven’t had a heat since your very first ones as a teenager!

They are still expecting you to answer though, so you should probably at least try to take this seriously.

You close your eyes and take several deep breaths in through your nose, blowing them out through your mouth, trying to fight down the semi-hysterical laughter that wants to bubble up as you consider the offered options.

Mando? You snort. Yeah, No.

And definitely not some random Alpha.

You think about those “well stocked” isolation rooms. They’re almost guaranteed to be a damn sight nicer than the shitty rooms you’d locked yourself away in to ride out your first few heats. That was a long time ago, but you still remember how miserable it had been. The heat and the longing, the aching emptiness that eventually turned to cramping pain when nothing you tried could satisfy the need to be filled. It had been unbearable. You’d done everything you could think of—scrimped and saved and worked your ass off—to be able to buy suppressants as soon as you could, and you’d never looked back. You’d sworn at the time that you’d never feel that way again, and the promise of some fancy isolation room isn’t enough to change your mind.

But you also can't imagine letting an unknown Alpha help you through your heat. Your stomach knots up just thinking about being that vulnerable with someone you don’t know, and you have to take a few more carefully measured breaths to fight down a sudden bout of queasiness.

That leaves… Mando.

You’ve never really thought about Mando that way. Not after you got over your initial worry that he might try to take advantage of you like some other Alphas might have. Mando is just Mando. Your solid, dependable employer.

You might trust him enough, but you don’t even know what he looks like; barely know what he smells like under all that armor. But... The feel of his hand on the nape of your neck comes back to you, and you try to imagine that feeling, but more. What would it be like to be close to Mando, surrounded by his scent? To have him between your legs, pressing against you? What would it be like to have him inside you? The image comes easier than you’re expecting, arousal shooting though you hot and sudden.

You gasp, eyes flying open. You meet the politely questioning stare of your interviewer, feeling somewhat appalled with yourself. Your cheeks are burning, and you wish you could blame the heat there on embarrassment alone.

“I’ll just put you down for an isolation room, shall I?” they say, obviously sensing your distress.

“N-no. No.” You try to sound more certain than you feel. “Put the Mandalorian I’m travelling with down as my preferred heat partner, please.”

The interview wraps up quickly after that, and all too soon, you’re heading back out into the hallway, brand new temporary ID bracelet shimmering on your wrist. Mando’s already there, looking shiny and solid as always, but your all-too-recent thoughts about him fill your head, making it almost impossible for you to look at him. Out of the corner of your eye you see his helmet tilt forward slightly as he looks you and the baby over, and a shiver goes through you.

When the guard opens the door to escort you out, you’re glad for the excuse to turn away.

Mando’s silent on the way out. You think you feel his eyes on you, but you still can't look at him. You keep your head down and try to think about anything other than the bracelet around your wrist, which, among other things, lists Mando’s Bounty Hunters Guild identification number under ‘preferred heat partner.’

Once outside and out from under the watchful eyes of the guards, Mando immediately pulls you aside. Your stomach clenches in a not-entirely-unpleasant way when he presses in close, his bulk crowding you back against the wall of the building.

“Are you okay?” he demands, his voice low and raspy over the modulator. Has it always been that deep? Have his shoulders always been that broad? You catch yourself leaning in unconsciously, and okay, you need to stop. Mando is your employer. Your crewmate. A comrade—yes, a friendly one—but nothing more.

He raises a hand with—Kriff!—a matching ID bracelet to hover near your shoulder uncertainty. Is he going scent-mark you again? You inhale, trying to get a better handle on what is going on, then you narrow your eyes at him. He smells unsettled.

“Are you?” you ask, turning his question around on him. You wonder if the guards asked him any uncomfortable questions, or if he’s just reacting to the turmoil in your scent. It’s common knowledge that Alphas have a strong drive to protect those under their care. You’ve seen Mando go into worried protective mode over the kid before. You stare up at him, a little disconcerted to realize that you want him to get all protective of you too.

“I’m fine.” he says gruffly, hand dropping as he steps away. “Let’s go.”

Shit. You had to go and make it weird, didn’t you?

You tell yourself not to be disappointed that he didn’t touch you again.

—

The spaceport turns out to be on the edge of a good-sized town, which is also the bounty’s last known location.

You walk side by side with Mando on the road from the spaceport, content to follow his lead in silence. You’re trying to use the quiet time to sort out what’s going on in your head.

Okay, so you’ve had some unexpected thoughts about your employer. And that’s fine! It’s normal, even, for an Omega to think about an Alpha they spend a lot of time around. It doesn’t have to be a big deal. It's not like Mando’s interested in you that way, so as long as you don’t do anything to make things awkward, it should be fine! You just need to relax and forget about it.

You tilt your head back, trying to let the warmth of the suns beating down on you and the gentle weight of the still-sleeping baby wash away the lingering tension. Spaceport security aside, this planet is actually really beautiful. The sky is wide and bluish-purple, twin suns peeking out from behind feathered white clouds. The low buildings that line the road are painted in a rainbow of colors, green plants springing up between them or hanging from their balconies. It’s… peaceful.

You turn to look at Mando and find his helmet titled in your direction. You smile at him, and he looks away.

As you get further into town, the road starts to get more crowded, and some of the sentients you pass shoot alarmed looks at Mando. You wonder if the Alpha thing, the Mandalorian thing, or the giant rifle strapped across his back. Probably all three, you think with pride. He is pretty intimidating.

The road eventually spits you out into a wide open square filled with row after row of colorful booths and stalls and shops. A marketplace! Your lips quirk up.

“Do we have time to look around?” you ask Mando.

He nods, adding, “I’ll ask around about the bounty while you shop.”

You shoot him a grin, taking off towards one of the rows of stalls. You have some pay saved up, and you’re excited to see what you can get with it.

You look over the contents of each little shop and stall carefully as you make your way down the aisle, stopping occasionally for a closer look or to ask for or argue over prices.

You’re surprised by how friendly everyone is. Strangers nod and smile and move out of your way, and the shopkeepers all seem to want to chat, some even spontaneously offer you a discount. Everything is going so well that when you start to feel nervous, it takes a little while to figure out why. Everyone is being too nice. It makes you feel like you should be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then it does, but it’s not the shoe you were expecting.

“I don’t have anything to say to you, Alpha.” The sharp words make you look back at where Mando was trailing a little ways behind you.

Now that you’re paying attention, you see the way the crowd has parted around him, people tense or outright glaring, and it’s… odd... to see your own general mistrust of Alphas reflected in the faces of these strangers in the marketplace. They’re treating Mando like chopped convor liver, and it makes you want to defend him—to announce to these random market-goers that it’s okay: he’s trustworthy; one of the good ones. You don’t, of course, because that would be ridiculous, but you have to do something.

“There you are!” you call, backtracking to Mando and smiling up at him. “C’mon, there’s something I want to show you!” You hope the smile on your face looks more loving and less frantic than it feels. You’re trying to make it clear that you’re here with him, and, more than that, that you’re happy to be here with him. You are happy to be here with him, you remind yourself, trying to swallow down your nerves so your scent doesn’t give you away.

After a moment some of the tension melts out of the crowd. It’s working! Disgust fades into disinterest, and people start to move on with their shopping.

You tow Mando away, thankful that he follows your lead back to the stall you’d been exploring before the interruption. The seller tenses a little as the two of you enter, but relaxes when you start up a conversation, chattering about the colorful blankets he’s selling. A lot of heavy praise, a few minutes of bargaining, and one purchase later, he even condescends to answer a couple of Mando’s questions.

“Thank you,” Mando says quietly as the two of you step back out into the marketplace.

“You’re welcome!” You realize that you’re still holding his arm, and you give it a small pat before letting go.

After that, you pay more attention to how Mando’s being treated, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he collects nasty looks anytime he falls too far behind. One particularly rude Devoronian Beta even spits at him!

And after that, you hold onto his arm at all times, practically gluing yourself to his side. Things start to go a lot smoother like that. Everyone is just as polite to you either way, but they’re a whole lot more likely to answer Mando’s questions if you’re right there looking equally interested.

Once the baby wakes up, you discover that parking him in Mando’s arms works almost as well. But only almost, so you continue to stick close. You’re glad you can do something to protect Mando for once. It’s usually the other way around.

—

You stay at the marketplace until dinner time.

You and Mando have split up—he’s taken the baby to look for a fruit seller, and you’re in charge of finding the rest of dinner. You’re standing in front of two promising-looking food stalls, trying to decide between them, when a voice comes from behind you.

“Go with the one on the left. They don’t cut corners with their ingredients.”

You turn to see another Omega woman about your age, gesturing at the non-offending food stall.

“Oh, thank you!” You get in line, and when she joins behind you, you turn and introduce yourself.

“Lovely to meet you,” she says after you give your name. “I’m Aitana.”

“Nice to meet you too! And thanks for saving me from possible food poisoning. Do you have any recommendations for what to order that will survive a walk back to the spaceport?”

She does, as it turns out, and recommends a couple of types of stuffed bread, one with savory filling, the other spicy.

“Just make sure you ask to have them put in different bags,” she tells you. “If they sit together for too long the scents spread and it dulls the flavors.”

You thank Aitana for her help and place your order. You’re hoping to chat more with her after she orders, but by then both Mando and your food have arrived.

It’s time to go home.

—

Later that night, after the baby’s asleep, you and Mando sit together in the cockpit. He’s been telling you about some of the different worlds he’s visited, and he just finished a story about an ice planet where a giant sea creature apparently tried to eat the Crest. You think he must be pulling your tail, and you tell him so.

“It’s the truth,” he swears, then, “I’ll take you there someday if you like.”

“I don’t know,” you tease. “The ice planet I’d like to see. The gigantic hungry sea monster, not so much.”

“Good choice. Two words: fish breath.”

You can’t help but laugh out loud at that, but it also reminds you of something. Something you were thinking about earlier because of scents and prejudices and delicious bread.

“Oh!” you turn towards Mando suddenly, surprised to see he’s leaning in, closer than you expected.

“Do you think I should scent-mark you tomorrow?” you muse.

“Wh-what!?” He sounds so incredulous that it makes you giggle.

“No, really,” you tell him, liking the idea more the more you consider it. “Think about it! Everyone in the marketplace treated you much better when I was nearby today. The baby and I can’t go within you all the time, but people also treated you better once you smelled like me, even if I wasn't right there! So all I have to do is rub on you in the morning. You should have an easier time of things once you smell like you’re mine. Uh… Mando? You okay?”

He’s been getting progressively more and more tense as you babble on, finally ending in a strangled sound during your last sentence. Your stomach swoops when he doesn’t answer. Oh kriff, you’ve probably offended him! Why didn’t you just keep your stupid mouth shut.

“I mean, I could scent-mark you, if you think it would be helpful?” you try to backtrack, “But we don’t have to! If… if it’s weird or you’d rather not, then that’s fine, and oh Kriff—I’m sorry, Mando. I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t do it yourself or needed my help or…”

Mando’s hand covers yours and you fall silent. You squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for his judgement.

“It’s a good idea. Thank you,” he says, deliberately, before getting up stiffly, and disappearing out the door and down the ladder.

You sit there for a few minutes staring after him and wondering what just happened. It’s not until you get up to head to your own bunk in the storage space behind the cockpit that you realize you still have a goofy grin on your face.

He thought it was a good idea!

Of course, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea the next morning when you actually have to do the scent-marking.

You’re barely awake, just out of the fresher, and still in your ratty, threadbare pajamas, when Mando catches you in the hold and announces, “I’m going out. I should be back by dark.”

You cross your arms over your chest and stare at him for a moment, trying to get your brain to wake up. “Oh….kay. I guess I’ll take the baby back to the market today. If… um… if that’s okay? I can take the com link in case we need to contact each other.”

“That’s fine,” he says, but he still doesn’t make any move to leave. He’s just standing there facing you. If he were anyone else you would say he looked expectant, but… oh, kriff! Your conversation from the night before comes back to you, and your stomach swoops as you think about actually making good on your offer.

He must be able to smell the way your scent goes wonky or maybe your hesitation shows on your face, because Mando steps forward and lays a hand on the back of your neck again. Squeezing just like he did at the spaceport yesterday.

It’s simultaneously better and worse than last time. The gesture helps to settle your Omega, but it also reminds you of your thoughts from the day before, and heat blooms in your cheeks and the pit of your stomach.

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind,” comes his reassuring voice. And how does he do that? How does he always seem to know what you’re thinking? Maker, you sure hope he doesn’t know everything that you've been thinking.

“No. I do want to—“ you have to pause to swallow down the impulse to say mark you. Why is he still touching you? And why do you like it so much!? You ignore the way your skin tingles as the heat from his hand seems to leach through the glove, and finish instead, ”I want to help. Sit down, please?”

You gesture somewhat frantically to one of several crates scattered around the hold, and he finally, finally releases your neck and sits down facing you.

The newly released skin at the back of your neck prickles, goose bumps spreading outward from where his warm glove has been replaced with the cool air of the ship. You do your best not to shiver visibly under his gaze.

You circle around behind him, hoping to gain a little privacy. It takes a few false starts and a little bit of flailing on your part, but you do eventually run your hands across the back of his wide shoulders and down his arms. You stroke over the folds of his cape too, and hope that will be enough. It’s the best you can do, unless… You hesitate for a moment, then lift your hands to rub over the scent glands on the sides of your neck before bringing them down to mark the cowl around his.

A staticky exhale comes from the helmet, and Mando stands abruptly, spitting out a low “thank you” as he heads for the already-lowering rear ramp. You barely have time to call out “you’re welcome” and “good luck!” before he’s gone, the ramp beginning to rise again as soon as he’s clear.

“Okay, that was weird,” you say to the baby, who had poked his head out of Mando’s bunk when the ramp started lowering. You scoop him up, trying to ignore the way your hands still tingle where they touched Mando’s clothes. Your stomach feels a little shaky too, but you're glad you did it. Mando’s out there smelling like you, and it’s going to make it easier for him to find the bounty. Fierce pride spills through you.

It was a damn good idea, after all.

—

A supply run is also a good idea. A necessary one, you discover when you go looking for breakfast and come up empty. You dress quickly, pack up the baby and some sturdy bags, and head back out to the market.

You return to the same food vendor as yesterday, ordering more of the savory bread for the two of you. It was the baby’s favorite last night. You wonder how difficult it would be to make.

You’ve just snagged a spot at one of the long tables situated nearby, when a friendly voice calls out “you again!” and you’re thrilled to see Aitana, your acquaintance from yesterday, heading your way.

“So where’s your Alpha?” she asks, sliding in across from you, a steaming, yummy-smelling pastry in hand.

“He’s not my Alpha!” You concentrate on doling out bites of bread to the baby so you don’t have to look at her.

“No? Big shiny dude from yesterday? I’m pretty sure my nose says different!” she teases, and then smothers a laugh when you try to surreptitiously sniff yourself. You actually do smell just the tiniest bit like Mando. You try to ignore the thrill that shoots through you at the discovery.

Upon hearing you’re there for supplies, Aitana offers to give you a tour of the marketplace and help you find the best deals. The three of you set off after breakfast, the baby cooing happily in his carrier, and you very quickly realize that you’ve gotten lucky. Your new friend knows exactly where to go to get the best prices. She also seems to know all the best dirt on the shopkeepers.

Your first stop is a clothing stall. According to Aitana, the owner likes to get drunk off his ass every night and keeps trying to climb onstage to sing along (poorly) with the band at the local cantina, but his prices and wares are good. That’s good because you need some new pajamas—your encounter with Mando has driven home just how worn your current pair has gotten—and maybe see if you can find a jacket small enough for the baby.

After looking around a bit, you’ve found both and are now debating the relative merits of buying the baby a tiny cape to match his dad’s when Aitana calls your name.

“What about this?” she says, holding up a beautiful black wrap dress. The cut is nice as is the quality, and you're sure it would make anyone, even you, look elegant and beautiful. You make the mistake of running your hand over it, and discover that the fabric is thin and floaty without being see-through and one of the softest things you’ve ever felt. It’s not even all that expensive. Unfortunately it’s also not something you need.

You admire it for a long moment, before gently returning it to the pile.

“You’re not going to get it? It would look so nice on you!”

“It is lovely,” you agree wistfully, “but I don’t need it or have anywhere to wear it.”

“What about wearing it for your Alpha?” She’s teasing you again, but you can’t help but imagine it anyway.

What would it be like to stand before Mando wearing just that dress and nothing else? The image of him unwrapping you like the galaxy’s biggest Life Day present steals the breath from your lungs, and you have to shake your head to clear it.

“He’s not my Alpha,” you repeat, not sure if you’re reminding her or yourself. You give the dress a last lingering pat—it is very soft—then you make your purchases and move on to the next shop on your list.

It’s mid afternoon by the time your shopping is done, much more cheaply than usual thanks to your local guide. You thank Aitana profusely for her help and her lovely company, then head off towards the spaceport, weighed down by your purchases and the baby dozing in his carrier.

And if you make one extra stop at a certain clothing stall on the way back to the Crest, well that’s no one’s business but your own.

—

That night, you’ve just finished preparing dinner when Mando comes up the ramp. He seems to be in a better mood than this morning. His footsteps are lighter, and when the baby goes running to him, Mando chuckles and scoops him up easily.

When you ask, he helps you move a couple of the big crates in the hold, making a place for you to sit across from each other. You realize you can still smell yourself on him, just a little. It surprises you how much you like it, and you remind yourself sharply that he’s not really yours. He’s just your employer.

But as he sits with you and the baby, keeping you company while the two of you eat, you think he might also be your friend. The idea makes you smile.

Mando trails off in the middle of telling you about visiting the local cantina, just staring at you. At least you’re pretty sure he’s staring at you. You can’t see his eyes, but the weight of his gaze makes your skin prickle with awareness.

“What is it? Do I have something on my face?” you ask, shifting self-consciously.

“No, I just—” He pauses. “No.”

You wonder what he was going to say, and cast about for something to fill the suddenly-awkward silence.

“So the hunting went well?

“I didn’t locate the bounty yet, but I have some leads,” he says. He also thanks you again for scenting him. “It was a good idea. I don’t think I would have made as much progress without it.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad it worked.” You smile at Mando again, proud that you could help him. When his visor stays trained on you, you imagine that he’s smiling back, and it makes happiness spread like liquid honey through your chest. You only wish you could smell him a little better, or that he could take off his helmet and share a meal with you.

You try to imagine what it would be like. He’d come home to you just like he did today, but once the door of the Crest was shut, he’d remove his helmet. You can’t imagine his face, but you can imagine the way his scent would be that much stronger. The way he might step forward and wrap a hand around the back of your neck again, only this time, he’d use his grip to pull you in, kissing your lips gently before ducking his head to lick and suck gently at your neck.

An indecipherable noise from Mando interrupts your daydream, and you realize with a guilty start that you’ve been fantasizing about the poor guy right in front of him.

“I—” his voice is hoarse over the modulator, and he clears his throat and tries again, “I need—”

He stops. You stare at him, taking in the tense set of his shoulders and the way one of his hands is gripping his knee so hard the leather squeaks, and will him to continue. You try not to imagine all the ways that sentence could end, ‘I need… you.’ It could end that way, right? Yeah, it could, but ‘I need you to stop stinking up the ship with your pheromones’ was probably more likely.

Oh, Maker. He probably can smell you. Shit! So much for not making things awkward! Your already heated cheeks burn hotter as embarrassment curdles in your stomach. What are you even doing, thinking about him that way?

“I need to go eat,” Mando says curtly, interrupting your panicked thoughts. He stands abruptly, grabs the bowl you prepared for him, and heads for the cockpit where he usually retreats to eat his meals in private. He hesitates for just a second as he passes by the crate you’re sitting on, and you feel the slightest brush of leather over the nape of your neck. Then he’s gone up the ladder with a soft “thank you,” leaving you staring blankly at the baby, breath stalled in your chest as warmth seems to ripple down your spine from the place where he touched.

What is he even doing??

—

You think it over carefully, lying in your cot later that night. You catalog the ways you've reacted to him. The things you’ve been thinking about. The way you decided not to shower tonight because you didn’t want to wash away the tiny hint of his scent that lingers on you.

And okay: you’re definitely attracted to Mando, and you might—might—be developing feelings for him.

That’s… not great, actually, since there’s absolutely no way he’s interested in you. Your chest clenches, and you roll onto your side trying to shake off the hopelessness weighing you down.

He’s been nothing but completely professional since he hired you, all those months ago. You consider it a win that he’s warmed up enough to have a friendly conversation with you, but there’s been nothing to suggest he considers you more than a valued employee. Except… well… you run your hand over the back of your neck, thinking about the times he’s touched you there over the last few days, and then you have to press your other hand to the surging ache between your legs. Yeah. You chuckle humorlessly to yourself there in the dark.

You’re totally screwed.

The next morning comes too soon, and you stumble out of bed and down the ladder to the fresher in a daze. Mando and the baby are sitting side by side on one of the crates in the hold, the baby munching on something from a little tray.

At least, you think blearily to yourself, I’ve got my new pajamas on this time.

Once you’re finished using the fresher, you wash your hands and stare at your anxious face in the tiny mirror. Now that you’re a little more awake, your stomach is in knots at the thought of facing Mando after your moment of... self discovery last night.

You make yourself take a couple of deep breaths and splash a little water on your face. Then you practice smiling at yourself in the mirror until it looks almost natural instead of half asleep or terrified. Okay, you can do this. One last deep breath, and you open the door smiling a hopefully-not-obviously-terrified smile.

You can’t quite force yourself to look at Mando, so you focus on the baby instead, making your voice as cheerful as you can.

“Good morning, little one. What have you got there?”

The baby coos and lifts his little tray up to show you.

“Oh I see.” You make a show of bending down and very seriously examining the contents, overly aware of Mando watching from beside him. You force another smile. “Looks like dad got you a good breakfast.”

Mando makes an odd sound at that, and you turn towards him, somehow surprised at how close he is. And, oh shit! You take an involuntary step back when you realize what you just let slip. You’ve been calling him the kid’s dad for a while now, but you’ve never said it in front of him before.

“Oh, sorry! I know that he’s not— That you’re not— I—” You try to fumble your way through an apology, but he only lets you mumble on for a few moments before cutting you off gently.

“It’s okay.”

You just shake your head, still feeling awkward and horrified at your lapse, because he explained this to you when he hired you to look after the baby.

“It’s okay,” he says again, standing and wrapping that big hand around the back of your neck again, and you can’t help the way that your eyes flutter shut and your head tips forward. He must be trying pretty hard to pump out calming pheromones, because even with the layers and helmet you can actually smell him clearly for once.

“Okay,” you whisper, and you relax under the weight of his hand, your head dropping even further forward until it’s almost touching his chest plate. It feels so nice that you guiltily resolve not to move a muscle so that you can continue enjoying the feeling of his hand on your neck for however long as he’s willing to stand here. It turns out to be a pretty long time, his scent slowly fading from calming to just calm.

Eventually a loud clang breaks the silence, and you both jump back from each other and stare down at the baby’s little tray, now on the floor, food scraps scattered around it.

“Oh no, buddy!” You say at the same time that you hear Mando swear. You drop to your knees and pick up the tray, trying to sweep up all the little bits of food.

“I have to go,” Mando says from above you.

“Alright,” you respond automatically, distracted trying to pick a particularly stubborn piece out of the floor grating.

“Would— will you—” Mando stumbles over his words, and heat rises up to fill you when you realize what he’s asking for, nearly stealing your breath. He’s asking you to scent-mark him before he leaves.

You set the tray on the crate with forced calm and stand, awkwardly brushing your hands off on your pants.

You step up in front of him, trying to ignore the way the heat is pooling in your cheeks and… other places. You don’t dare look at his visor, so you stare at his chest plate instead. Just like yesterday, you start by rubbing your hands across his shoulders and down his arms, but it’s so much more intimate when you’re standing face to face. He’s so broad and tall.

Mando stands solid and still as you touch him. You’re not even sure he’s breathing as you run your hands down his chest plate. Some madness seizes you, and you step forward and press your face to it, beskar cool and hard under your overheated cheek.

You hear a raged inhalation from under his helmet, and it brings you back to yourself. You can’t believe you just did that!

You start to step back, having embarrassed yourself yet again, but Mando has you by the back of the neck before you can go too far. You can hear someone’s heavy breathing rasping in and out, but you can’t tell if it’s you or Mando or both of you.

You realize that you want to scent-mark him. Not just so people will be more polite to him, but because you want every bit of him to be absolutely covered in the scent of you.

You are suddenly very aware of every inch of your body and his and the places they connect. And the places they don’t.

With his hand on your neck, his vambrace is lightly resting on your shoulder almost touching the scent glands on the side of your neck. You tilt your chin up, unconsciously angling your head until they make contact with his wrist, then arching your body to rub along his glove and vambrace.

Mando groans like you’re torturing him, and his other hand comes up to grip the side of your jaw, fingers splayed cover the scent gland on that side, lifting up and forward. The pressure forces your head back at a sharp angle, and you go up on your tiptoes without meaning to, every part of you straining forward towards him.

Then just as suddenly he lets go and steps back.

“I— I have to go,” he says again. And for the second morning in a row you’re left watching Mando’s back as he beats a quick retreat out the rear ramp.

You’re not sure how long you stand there staring blankly at the rear of the hold, your body still twitching and shivering and begging for him. Eventually you’re distracted by something squeezing your ankle, and you look down to see the baby hugging your leg. You pick him up, and he squeaks and coos at you excitedly.

“He just ran away, right buddy? That was running away.” You close your eyes, trying to get your body under control. “What am I doing? I have got to stop getting distracted and making your dad uncomfortable.”

The baby coos again, and you smile at him. It feels a little stiff around the edges, your mind still focused on Mando.

At least you’re damn sure he smells like you today.

—

After the scent-marking debacle, you can’t stand the idea of staying on the ship with only the baby and your thoughts for company. Somehow you manage to pull yourself together, finish cleaning up the spilled food from the floor, and get both of you ready to go. You decide to head back to the marketplace, hoping Aitana might be there again today. You could use a friendly face.

She is there, sitting at one of the long tables, and you're so relieved to see her, you feel like you could cry. When you sit down next to her, she greets you cheerfully and offers you one of the pastries off her plate. You thank her, and share it with the baby. It’s delicious. You wonder if Mando would like it? You rub a palm over your face. After this morning you’d better hope Mando still likes you, or you’re going to be right out of a job.

Aitana, more observant than you might like, asks if you’re okay.

“I…. I don’t know. I’m just so confused.” The whole situation with Mando is confusing—much too much so to try to explain in the middle of a busy marketplace. Instead you ask if she can take you somewhere less crowded, “Maybe somewhere that the little guy can stretch his legs?”

“Of course. Come with me.”

She leads you through the marketplace and down an alleyway that cuts through several rows of colorful buildings before delivering you to the edge of town.

You step out of the shadow of the last building and gasp. A wide meadow of gently waving green and grey grasses stretches out before you, scattered yellow flowers are being visited by delicate pink butterflies, and the perfectly clear blue-purple of the sky arcs overhead. It’s so beautiful that you actually stop and stare for a moment.

The baby seems to be enjoying the view as well. He babbles excitedly as you walk out into the meadow. You stroll along until you find an area with slightly shorter grass to let him down on, and you and Aitana sit nearby, smiling as you watch him roll happily through the grass and chase the butterflies. You have a small moment of terror when he starts munching on one of the yellow flowers, but your friend quickly reassures you that they’re safe to eat.

“Even for people,” she says, picking two and taking a bite off one before offering you the other. You take it, but decide against eating it, tucking it behind your ear instead.

She asks you again if you’d like to talk about what’s bothering you.

So you do, trying to borrow a little of the serenity of this perfect place to bridge the gap where your own inner calm is failing.

You tell her about everything that’s happened: getting detained by spaceport security, thinking about Mando that way for the first time, the way it’s only gotten harder not to think about it, and how your bright idea to scent-mark him so he wouldn’t be mistreated is not helping!

Aitana looks sympathetic at first, but more and more amused as you go on, until she’s barely hanging onto her composure by the time you’re struggling to describe how Mando keeps…. keeps….

“He keeps running away every time I do something awkward!”

Aitana loses it at that, the bright peals of her laughter ringing out across the meadow. And maybe it’s a little rude of her to laugh, but here under the gentle warmth of the twin suns you can’t quite manage to be annoyed. The situation can’t be all that bad if your friend is laughing, and… and Mando did look pretty silly this morning, cape streaming out behind him as he made his escape off the rear ramp.

The memory makes you snort, which sets Aitana off even more, and soon the two of you are laughing hysterically together. After a few minutes, she seems to master herself and sits up, gazing seriously at you, but as soon as she opens her mouth, she starts laughing again, which sets you off again, which, well... It may not be getting you any closer to figuring out your feelings, but you can’t help but feel better for the release of tension.

After several long minutes and false starts, both of you are finally calm again.

“You’re going to be fine,” Aitana begins, and you're hoping that maybe she’s finally going to give you some insight into the situation when the tranquility of the meadow is interrupted by a shout of your name.

Mando comes bursting out of the mouth of the alleyway, and you're up on your feet, already scooping up the baby before you even realize you’re moving.

You look to Mando for some clue of what’s going on, and quickly realize you panicked over nothing. The way Mando’s moving, his arms swinging loosely and the tiniest bit of bounce in his step, tells you that he’s bringing good news.

“Mando!” You shout, and wave, and his ground-eating stride covers the distance between you quickly. The baby’s hover pod trails along behind him. By the time he reaches you, you’re certain:

“You found the bounty, didn’t you?”

“How did you know?” he asks, sounding confused.

“Because you’re excited” you tell him, but that only seems to confuse him further.

“How— How do you always...?”

You just shrug and then make a face at Aitana who seems to be laughing at you from behind Mando’s back.

It occurs to you that they’ve never officially met, so you do a quick round of introductions. You’re glad to see Aitana treats Mando politely.

“My younger brother is an Alpha,” she explains. “He moved offworld many cycles ago.”

The baby reaches for Mando, so you hand him over, watching with a smile as he shows him the yellow flower he has clutched in one tiny green hand.

“Very nice,” Mando tells him, then immediately starts cursing when the baby shoves the entire thing in his mouth, “Spit that out you little—”

“It’s okay. They’re edible,” you reassure Mando, patting his shoulder, then looking at him in confusion when you feel him tense up.

“I did find the bounty,” he spits out, then hesitates before elaborating, “She’s holed up in the local Omega Club.”

“The Omega Club?” Aitana looks him over incredulously. “You’ll never get in there without—”

“Without an Omega,” Mando says, looking at you.

“Okay, wait. What even is an Omega club? And why do you need me?”

Mando hems and haws for a few moments until Aitana takes pity on him and explains.

“Omega Clubs promise to cater to any and all Omega needs, but they mostly exist to provide relief to Omegas in heat since there aren’t enough Alphas to go around.”

You wonder if that was where you’d find the “well stocked isolation rooms” mentioned back at the spaceport.

“Solitary Alphas aren’t allowed in unless they work there,” Mando says, “so the only way I’m getting in without a firefight is as your bodyguard.”

“Or your lover,” Aitana adds, and it sounds like Mando chokes on his tongue.

“Oh.” You very deliberately do not think about that second scenario. “What about the baby though? Won’t it be dangerous?”

You can’t imagine leaving him on the ship alone, but bringing him with you doesn’t seem viable either.

“I won't let anything happen to you,” Mando says quietly, and the hand he brushes over the back of your neck short circuits your brain before you can tell him you were worried for the baby, not yourself.

He turns to Aitana and looks her over appraisingly, then asks, “Would you be willing to watch the kid until tonight? I can pay you.”

“This little tadpole? I’ll watch him for free.”

She and Mando argue briefly about payment until she eventually accepts a small handful of coins to cover the cost of their dinner.

You and Mando walk Aitana home, the baby trailing behind you in his hover crib. She tells you a little bit more about the local Omega Club on the short walk, but it’s not enough that you really feel prepared. All too soon you’re giving the baby a kiss and waving goodbye.

Then all that’s left to do is go back to the Crest and get ready.

—

It had sounded so simple earlier: just get dressed up and go with Mando to the Omega Club.

“Sure. Simple,” you mutter to yourself, trying to check your appearance in the fresher’s tiny mirror.

You make a face, feeling self-conscious in the unfamiliar clothing. The wrap dress is simple but elegant, and far nicer than anything you’ve worn in years. You mostly stuck with drab, utilitarian clothing after you'd presented as an Omega during puberty, not wanting to draw any extra attention.

The dress is lovely though. You run your hands down your sides, enjoying the way the soft fabric settles over your hips. You adjust the neckline one last time to make sure you’re covered. Here goes nothing.

Mando is standing by the open weapons locker, and he turns to look at you when you exit the fresher.

You freeze in the middle of compulsively smoothing the dress over your hips, as heat rises under your skin and locks the breath in your lungs. He seems to be frozen too, and the moment stretches out until Mando finally gives himself a shake and turns back to the weapons locker. If it’s going to be like this all night you’re not sure you’ll survive. You’re just so aware of Mando, and you like having him look at you more than you should. You wonder what it would be like to submit to him.

“Good,” Mando says, and you shudder at the thought of it before you realize he’s talking about your dress. You stare down at yourself, and run your hands over the fabric self-consciously, smoothing imaginary wrinkles and ruthlessly squashing the urge to preen for this particular Alpha’s attention.

“Here. Put this on under the dress. Just in case,” Mando says, handing you a small bundle.

You stare at the leather wrapped metal in your hands for a minute before you realize that he’s just handed you a mini blaster and a holster for it. You try to straighten out the straps, but the weight of Mando’s gaze on you makes your fingers slow and clumsy. After the second time you nearly drop the stunner, you give up, looking for a place to set it down before you accidentally shoot yourself in the foot.

Mando must have reorganized the hold, because the crates you’d been using as seating are now lined up neatly by the rear ramp. The only flat surface left at this end is… Swallowing hard, you walk over to the open hatch of Mando’s bunk.

You look back at Mando seeking… something—permission, maybe?—but he’s closing up the weapon locker and doesn’t even glance in your direction.

Feeling like an intruder, you lean into the bunk just enough to set the gun down gingerly on the mattress. Mando’s rich, earthy scent seems to permeate the small space, along with a jumble of Alpha pheromones and traces of leather polish and gun oil. Your body responds, thighs trembling as you lift a foot and brace it on the edge of the opening. Making sure your back is to Mando, you fold back the open edge of the wrap dress to expose your thigh. Kriff. This feels way too intimate, too personal, being so exposed here in Mando’s space, but it’s too late now.

You puzzle over the mess you’ve made of the holster, straps twisting every which way around the formed leather piece. Thankfully it doesn’t take long to sort out the two straps and secure them around your leg, just above your knee. The holster sits oddly though, and you poke at it, trying to figure out why.

“It’s too low.” Mando’s voice comes from close behind you—much too close.

You panic, trying to spin to face him and flip your dress closed at the same time, and nearly fall on your face when your foot gets caught on the edge of his bunk. Only his big hands gripping your upper arms save you, but that mean he’s even closer! (Not nearly close enough, a little voice in your head insists.)

“Oh,” you breathe, trying to right yourself, too stunned by his nearness to even feel embarrassed. Once you find your balance, he releases you, one hand sliding up to wrap around the back of your neck. Warmth seems to radiate from his gloved hand, and a wave of heat rises up from your stomach to meet it, skin tingling in all the places he’s no longer touching you. You feel both calmer and paradoxically more on edge the longer you stand here, and you have to take a step back before you do something stupid like stepping forward to rub up against him.

“It’s—” Mando clears his throat, then continues, “It’s also upside down.”

What’s upside down?

“Can I?” he asks, inclining his helmet toward your leg. Oh, right. The holster!

“Uh huh,” you manage. You part the edges of your dress far enough to provide access to the holster, then wait, stomach feeling shaky with anticipation and not entirely sure what, exactly, you just agreed to.

Mando drops to one knee in front of you, and all you can do is stare down at his helmet as his hands reach for you. He makes contact just above your knee, and you have to remind yourself to breathe.

“Here.” His voice is going to be the death of you. Low and rasping and deeper than before, it makes your stomach clench. The fire there burning hotter as his large gloved hands make quick work of releasing the straps and flipping the holster.

“Like this,” he says, directing you to spread the edges of your dress wider.

You do as he asks, baring more of your leg to him. Kriff, this isn’t fair! Then his hands slide the holster high up your bare thigh, and you forget to breathe entirely.

Your entire being focuses, laser-like, on the feel of his leather covered fingers brushing across your sensitive skin as he wraps one of the straps around your thigh and buckles it. If it were any other man—any other Alpha—touching you like this, you would have been doing your best to incapacitate them and run for the hills, but with Mando you just wish he would touch you more.

A second later, you get your wish, as Mando reaches between your legs to position the other strap. Oh, Maker. Your whole body clenches. Then you jump as the cold metal of his vambrace makes contact with your inner thigh. You spread your legs a little wider to give him more room and try not to pant audibly. This is torture.

There’s a staticky gasp over the modulator, and Mando’s hands fumble for just a moment. Then they’re moving again, ghosting over your skin as they finish securing the second strap in place.

Shit. You’re so turned on that you can feel how wet you are. You close your eyes in mortification. Don’t even want to think about what Mando must be smelling down there.

Stupid Omega hormones. Stupid Alpha sense of smell.

Thankfully, Mando doesn’t comment, just smooths the material of your dress back into place over your thigh and stands, mercifully retreating to the far side of the hold. You stare after him, feeling overheated and shaky, but still mostly in control of yourself, until...

“Come here,” Mando demands gruffly, beckoning you over with two crooked fingers. No Alpha in his voice, just a dangerously pleasant rumble that makes you shiver all over again. “I want to see if it shows when you walk.”

You cross the hold towards Mando slowly. It pleases you more than it should to be obeying him. Mando stands stock still as you approach, but you know he’s watching you—watching your thighs—as you walk, and you can’t help but put a little extra swing into your hips. Fuck. Have you completely lost your mind?

“Looks good,” he rasps, and your body clenches. “Time to go.”

You’re not sure you’re going to survive the night.

—

[ Part 2 >> ]

[ Alternative p2 Links: Reblog or For Desktop ]

Edited to Add: The links above work fine for me, but apparently some people are having trouble with them, but you should still be able to copy & paste one of these addresses into a web browser):

https://thirstworldproblemss.tumblr.com/post/640140098884812800/itsallaboutwhatyouwant2

https://thirstworldproblemss.tumblr.com/post/646157327064580096/fic-its-all-about-what-you-want-p2

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/thirstworldproblemss/640140098884812800

Want more to read? twp’s Masterlist | twp’s Author & Fic Recs

——

End Notes: Part 2 is finished UP! The whole thing is finished, but I split it because I can’t handle trying to deal with a 21k post, and so that it’s easier for people who don’t want to read the accidental drugging scene that happens in the next bit to skip it (see the end notes of part 2 for more specifics).

SW References Used: Mando’a database, The Wookiepedia

Adorable Planet Dividers made by @whimsicalrogers

—

Tagging: (See my Tagging Lists Page to be added or removed)

@agirllovespancakes @heatherbel @keeper0fthestars @knittingqueen13 @lark-cale @pedropascalito @rosiefridayrogersunday @songsformonkeys @yespolkadotkitty

(Unsolicited tagging of people I think might be interested): @absurdthirst @frannyzooey @fromthedeskoftheraven)

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ariainstars · 4 years

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Congratulations, We Fell for Another Love Bombing or Thank You, Disney, You Did It Again

Sigh. Luke Skywalker is back. And Din Djarin and his child had to say goodbye. I never thought I would curse and say “Oh no!” when Luke appeared in that fateful corridor.

I wonder why the Disney studios are doing this - trying to "make up” for the oh-so criticized sequels, I suppose?

The Jedi have made their time. It was shown and proven over and over again that their attitude is wrong and needs to change, and Luke was the last of the old school Jedi. Again, a Force-sensitive child is all but kidnapped by a Jedi: he obviously did not like to go. Mando is no longer the hero of the story, he was stripped of his agency and all of his personal choices were questioned and valued for null and void. But the Dark Saber is in his hands now, so he’s the heir to the throne of Mandalore I guess. Like he ever wanted that.

This show, which grew to be so well-beloved in only a few episodes, now is not “The Mandalorian” any more. Its new title is “Luke’s Skywalker’s Comeback”. Hardcore fans may be out of their minds with joy, but for us, who admired Mando both as a badass hero and as a father figure and loved the dynamics between him and Grogu, the whole purpose of the show is destroyed. And here I naively had thought The Rise of Skywalker was bad enough to teach the studios not to repeat its mistakes.

~~~ more under the cut ~~~

Star Wars ought to be a fairy tale. It is and always was one. I can understand that the prequels had to end in a tragedy, we all knew that from the start, but why the sequels? And now, why must this generally acclaimed and beloved tv show again appease hardcore fans of old with Luke coming to save the day, cancelling in a matter of minutes what the story had built up within two entire seasons - the relationship of the two protagonists, heart and core of the narrative, as it had been with Rey and Ben Solo? And when both of them had their relationship just getting started - Rey and Ben kissing, Din calling Grogu by his name and the latter seeing him and touching his face? Why make Rey a queen without her king, and Din a father without a son?

Again, a Force-user is denied having a home: „Jedi training” matters more. By Luke of all people, the guy who never was trained in the first place (only very briefly), who except for a few lessons with Obi-Wan and Yoda was self-taught in the Force, and never understood that his strength lay with his compassion and his connection with other people, not with his alleged „superpowers”.

Think back to how Anakin, Luke and Rey were before they met the Jedi: unaware of their powers, compassionate, idealistic, brave. The Jedi mindset tainted their characters and lives, making them believing that they are (or have to be) untouchable and invincible, compelling them to live for duty instead of love, condemning them to a lifetime of loneliness. Will the Jedi never learn?

Though I practically grew up with the classic movies, I loved The Last Jedi; I can accept that Luke failed, and also that Han and Leia did. Nobody is perfect, and the Jedi mindset as well as the universally accepted idea that „Jedi” is a synonym for infallible saint-like hero was wrong in the first place, else the Empire never would have risen. Making Luke not the cavalry who came to save the day - until the battle on Crait, that is - but a man who failed and picked himself up again was much more meaningful, and I know not a few fans who felt inspired by this. Luke had saved his father choosing love over power, not the contrary. Some fans just never get it. To appease them, why not simply give him a new storyline of his own, instead of making him intrude in other Star Wars related shows? Why stop the new stories in their tracks just to bring him back?

Instead of seeing Luke as the grand kickass hero in a tv show that never had anything to do with him until now, it would have been more to the purpose to finally shed light on the thirty years between his father’s and his nephew’s death, to explain us where the Jedi and the Skywalker-Organa-Solo family failed to make such an outcome possible - the granddaughter of Palpatine taking over with their own blessing. There must have been a huge build-up between the end of the original saga and the fateful night at the temple when Luke briefly panicked looking into his nephew’s mind. Many fans still are convinced that „Kylo Ren just chose to be bad” because we hardly know how the relationship between these two was in the first place. (A very easy plot twist would e.g. have been Snoke warning Ben that his uncle sooner or later would turn on him, frightened by his power. The fulfilment of that prophecy would have made the night at the temple much more impactful.)

I understand that the studios want to tease us, to make us watch the other shows, too. But honestly, I’m getting tired of feeling duped. Tired of getting attached to new heroes to have their purpose smashed just so the Star Wars dudebro fans can sleep quietly at night because „some Jedi will take care of it”. First the characters from the sequels, now the ones from The Mandalorian. You get to love the new characters, you root for them to find happiness or at least some closure, and then, at the last moment, poof!, the hero of old comes back and the story development stops right there.

It is not right and it never was for the Jedi to take Force-sensitive children away from home, to enforce „you have to become a Jedi, like it or not” on them, to teach them not to have attachments, to make them focus on the Light Side thereby bringing the Force out of its much-needed balance. While Ahsoka saw that Grogu has formed a strong attachment to Din Djarin, Luke obviously did not, or he did not care. The irony is that he always wanted a father, and knows the pain of losing a father you’ve just found.

The Mandalorian felt like a consolation after Episode IX, a blessing for the fans for whom heart and soul are more interesting than nostalgia and „Jedi superheroes”. Now it’s just another kick in the guts. It’s painful and embarrassing to get to love characters so much, to get invested in their story so deeply, and then to realize again that they seem to mean nothing in the shade of the heroes of old. Ben Solo died young and miserable and Din Djarin and Grogu can now, I suppose, be miserable too. Can someone please explain to me why after the classics, no Star Wars film or show had an uplifting ending any more? With the possible exception of Solo, which was a nice filler but not a really important storyline. (I do not count Episodes I and II, they officially had a happy ending but it was tainted by the knowledge of what was to come.)

Fans are not blind. We saw the parallels between Darth Vader and Din Djarin as well as the differences - both being cool and tough but the latter not disdaining to be a caring father at the same time. The entire show lived from the dynamics between the gruff but kind bounty hunter and the innocent-looking powerful child, ever from the first episode. Two years of build-up for nothing, as it was with the four years of the sequels. Mando has to relinquish Grogu, Rey loses Ben. What was all that for? Both Mando and Rey are fighters, they have done nothing else their entire lives. What is to become of them now that they have nothing to fight for any more, nor anyone to live for? Except staying on a planet that is foreign to them and, for all they know, inhabitable or at least inhospitable?

With Rey and Ben Solo, the situation was different: she had proven good intentions but bad attitude (arrogance, violence, judgement) over and over, unable to deny her heritage, and even impaled her „antagonist” once while he was only defending himself. He had been the head of a criminal organization for years, and had committed patricide. Of course there are nuances to these characters and I still believe that they would have deserved another chance; I understand however that would have been unfitting to let the sequels end giving them a happy ending.

But in the case of Din Djarin, a man of honor, who has made friends and brought peace wherever he went throughout the galaxy? Grogu, the last surviving padawan of the old Jedi temple, who saved both his and Greef Karga’s life despite the danger for himself? What did they do to deserve being ripped apart like that?

So, all I can say: thank you, you did it again. And, once more, just before Christmas. I wish at least these depressing endings would be released at some other time.

I would dearly want to see a galaxy that finally learned from its faults, where family and attachments and Balance and free choice are not contrary to being a Jedi. I am in my late forties and I’m beginning to give up hope that I will live to see it. By now I am wondering whether George Lucas himself will live to see it.

I always loved Luke. He is one of my favorite heroes. But now he’s become an insensitive know-it-all who suffered from his own daddy issues to the point that he almost died crying out to his father for help, yet did not learn not to separate fathers from children and vice versa and, on the contrary, is doing it over and over again. He did not even tell Mando his name, or where he could reach him. We don’t have a clue as to if, when and how the Clan of Two will meet again.

I get it that since this show is set five years Return of the Jedi, it would have been difficult to ignore Luke’s existence altogether. And of course, we can rest assured that Luke will do his best for Grogu. But still: he has made his time. I wanted to see the new heroes going their own way, not hanging on the sleeves of the former generation. Mando is a man of honor, he had promised to bring Grogu to his own kind and he relinquished him despite his own wishes. (Not to mention that technically, since he identifies as a Mandalorian, by being a Jedi Luke is his enemy.) Why did Luke have to take the child away? His greatest strength always was that he was first and foremost himself and only in the second place a Jedi. What became of his trademark compassion?

Before The Mandalorian, we have never seen a healthy and working father-son relationship in the saga. It was incredibly refreshing and heart-warming to see these two traveling through the galaxy and living through adventures together; also, contrarily to Yoda, Grogu saw a lot of the bad things happening in the galaxy with his own eyes, which certainly was good for his character development.

But in the end, both he and his „father” did not go anywhere. Like Rey in Episode IX, they found a) power and b) a surrogate place, but neither got what was actually his heart’s wish - a home. I can’t understand why. Deliberate cruelty? We never knew whether Han and Leia and Ben felt how painful it was to break up their little family for the sake of „Jedi training”. You bet Din and Grogu did feel that pain and loss.

Both as a person with a heart and a brain and an almost lifelong Star Wars fan I am sickened by the readiness of the studios to end all that this well-made show had built up, for the appeasement of Jedi worshippers who just don’t want to see that the Jedi mindset needs urgently to change. It can’t be that difficult to renew them for the better; there is no necessity to erase the Jedi completely and there is nothing bad with making them grow wiser and stronger by finally understanding and accepting the importance of attachments and family ties. Yes, I realize that being a father also means learning how to let go; but here we are speaking of a literal child, not of a young adult who chose his own way in life.

I thought that George Lucas knew why he sold his franchise to the Disney studios, given their tradition in telling stories about family and friendship. This development is not a triumph, it is unworthy both of the studios and of the entire Star Wars saga. I’m tired of producers bowing down before fans who see every shred of the saga through „Jedi are always right”-tinted glasses respectively who value coolness over compassion even though it always was the saga’s central message.

Whatever happens in Season 3, countless fans will only be watching it asking, „Where’s Luke?” If Grogu should choose to join Mando again, everybody will be like, „But how can he want to leave Luke Skywalker of all people?” Some already see Grogu die prematurely, killed by the oh-so-bad guy Kylo Ren, for no other reason than to just to further prove how evil he is. In which case both Ben Solo and Grogu will have lived and died for nothing except for leaving a lot of heartbreak behind.

There must be another and better way to honor the legacy of both Luke Skywalker and the original trilogy than to think up new heroes and then destroy their purpose for the sake of old times’ glory. Lucas himself had said that Star Wars is basically for twelve-year-olds. It seems not: it’s for the fans who were twelve years old forty years ago, when the first movies hit theatres.

There are enough voices crying out for the sequels to be erased from canon. Who knows? This may be the next step into the past instead of the future. The sequels were hinting at a better future (Balance), Grogu was, too (family). But the grand past is so reassuring. The sequels tried to tell the audience to grow up and learn to do without their heroes, to see that even they were flawed and that the new heroes could grow beyond them. Fie on them, said the hardcore fans. Now it’s the turn of the younger generation, who got to know and love the saga with the sequels or The Mandalorian, to be like „WTF”.

Rogue One also had been a huge disappointment to me. Not that I found it badly made, but I went into a depressive mood for three days for the same reason: I did not like that I had grown so attached to all of these characters only to see all of them die. The infamous Darth Vader scenes and the design with the huge hints at the classic movies were no consolation. Nostalgia does not make me happy. Heart does. Rogue One, the sequels and The Mandalorian were all, in the end, deprived of all human feeling except loss and regret and many, many thoughts about what might have been.

The Mandalorian was an excellent story on its own. It did not need Luke Skywalker. It is and ought to be Din Djarin’s story, who lost or gave up everything because he was afraid to lose the child: and now he did. It’s not comforting that he lost him to the alleged Good Guy. Luke of course won’t turn a hair on Grogu’s head, but he can’t offer him a home, we already know that. Ahsoka saw the attachment between the two and she knows the dangers of it; Luke does not know what drove his father to his terrible fate. If the sequels remain canon, then we already know that Luke will not allow his pupils having and keeping healthy attachments. And that does not promise well for the child’s future.

Unless the studios commit the madness of officially erasing the sequels and starting the saga anew, we can only hope that the child will not stay with Luke for long since it’s a good five years before he will start his own Jedi temple. Maybe he will die of a broken heart, poor little guy. And Din Djarin might become the new ruler of Mandalore, though sad and alone. But who cares: Luke is back. Please: I did not subscribe to Disney+ wanting to see Schwarzenegger movies. The lonesome hero can ride into the sunset for all I care, out of sight and of mind. Star Wars’ greatest strength always was its heart.

My own take was that Grogu is meant to be a healer, and since Luke is not, there is no way he can teach him this particular skill in the Force. Anakin was a pilot and a mechanic, Luke and Ben also were pilots. None of them were Jedi by choice. Grogu is older than Luke and he was already trained at the old Jedi temple: he’s more likely to be a teacher to Luke than the other way around. Grogu as the first Force-user who values attachment and family over power and Jedi training, that would indeed have been a new hope. This backpedaling is shallow and useless. Even if Luke sends Grogu back to Din Djarin, this won’t teach him not to take a child away from its home, since only a few years later he will do the same thing to his nephew. (Although it would admittedly be an interesting plot point to see a small Ben Solo interacting with Grogu for a while.)

Please give us back The Mandalorian the way it was, with its characters and dynamics. The themes and messages of The Last Jedi already were almost all aborted in The Rise of Skywalker; we didn’t sign up on Disney+ to see the exact same thing happen with The Mandalorian. I for my part am fed up with this kind of love bombing followed by a quick and coldblooded let-down. Star Wars may be a cult, but it need not be the kind of cult where you get hooked and then unwittingly follow a carrot hanging before your eyes. I thought the exaggerated Jedi cult was mostly made by the fans: the studios did not need to jump on this ship. This is not the Way.

Now everything I feared is flaring up again - fans jubilating because “the Jedi are taking matters in hand” instead of accepting the failure of the Jedi mindset at last; and even insisting that since things are going so well, all Disney needs to do is to cancel the sequels from canon and everybody can be happy again.

Please, please, give this tormented galaxy a chance to heal at last. We don’t need Luke Skywalker to save the day by killing all the bad guys. We don’t need the oh-so-powerful and perfect Jedi. We need faith in the Force. We need a home. Don’t take it away from us again. Thank you.

P.S. If we see Luke again in Season 3, at least give the role to a live actor. That digital “rejuvenation” made him look wooden. Luke’s best trait, apart from his compassion, always was his smile.

P.P.S. What’s with Boba Fett claiming Jabba’s throne? I thought Jabba had a son. What in the galaxy happened to him?

P.P.P.S. I don’t mind kickass women, but honestly, I’m getting somehow tired of them. What became of the ladies of Star Wars, the diplomats, the good queens, the loving mothers, the accurate librarians, who contribute to the galaxy without killing (or hurting) anyone? I’m feeling kind of underrepresented here...

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