#baby yoda show ft pedro pascal

[unstoppableforcce]

so all those jokes we made about mando having to drop the kid off at day care... weren’t jokes

[thesparkinthefire]

Ghost - Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: I have a one and a half hour breakfast break because my company does not know how to plan, so I thought I might as well upload this now. I am uploading it through my phone and don't know how to proper edit on tumblr so this might look like a mess. English is also not my first language and I never wrote in it before - please point out any mistakes I might have made. I think this is part one of two.

Word count: 1,997

Paaring: Pedro Pascal crushing on musical!Reader ft. Oscar Isaac

Trigger Warning: age gap mentioned, a lot of jealousy

"Though my heart is broken, it keeps breaking every day." - With You, the Ghost cast album

Pedro didn't hate Oscar. It was quiet the opposite – that guy was his best friend. His amigo in the US of A and the wild life of Hollywood. Working with him on Triple Frontier was a dream come true and felt more like a guys-trip than work most of the time. Both of them were part of the Star Wars universe and if it somehow would have been possible they would love for their characters to meet just to work together a little more.

No, Pedro didn't hate Oscar. Except for two things.

First being that one time when he gave him a Wet Willy during that interview when they were answering questions people seem to type into Google – he still cringed whenever he thought back.

The second thing were you. Not exactly you-you because you did absolutely nothing wrong, but for Oscar's relationship with you. 

What an irony, that Pedro had introduced the both of you. You were a young actress from Europe and after you blew up because of your role in a teen-romance movie you were his partner on the second season of The Mandalorian. Your character had been a fan favourite, came into the show half way through the season and was set to stay at least for a few more episodes in the third season.

You were younger than him. A lot. But that had never bothered you. In every interview you had you were asked how working with “an experienced actor like Pedro Pascal” was like – which he found a little offensive, he might have a little lower back-pain but he wasn't that old – you smiled and answered that age was only a number and you two got along very well. And he was more than glad that you saw it that way.

To claim that he had never crushed on one of the actresses he had acted romance with would simply be a lie, but he was a professional. He never told anyone if he did and he did his best at keeping it a secret and not letting his feelings dominate his brain. But it was different with you. The moment he first saw you he thanked god that you had gotten the role. You were stunning in your very own way. Always kind to everybody – it didn't matter whether you were talking to him, the director or the clumsy intern. You always brought yourself to smile in the morning even though getting up early was like torture to you. You stayed focused on set, even when your nerves were killing you. Having a bad day was tough but you always acted kind and polite. You were perfect. In every possible way. Acting romance was the main job for the two of you and that wasn't only hard because he was wearing Din's helmet all the time. No, the problem was that he wasn't acting. He fell madly in love with you. It wasn't even your character. You were just so damn perfect.

You met a bunch of times outside of work, after the second season had aired and press tour had been wrapped. You got along so perfectly well that he sometimes had to ask himself, if he wasn't being too obvious. Maybe he was. But you never told him to step back or just didn't notice it. You should have noticed it by the time he asked you, what you were doing for Christmas. “Probably watching Netflix,” you had answered. “I am not going home until the new year and, yeah, everyone else is with their families.”

“You could join me,” Pedro had said before his mind had really processed the words you had said. “I mean- I am having dinner with a bunch of friends and, yes, we don't have a no-girls rule and you could join me. Us.” He had never seen something as beautiful as you when your eyes lit up in that moment. You happily accepted. That's how you met Oscar Isaac. Pedro's best friend, who he had never hated as much as in the moment when you were kissing him.

Oscar and you had a lot in common. You both loved Star Wars and were more than happy to discus every single theory about Finnpoe, Din Djaren and your character, the Skywalkers and Baby Yoda – just like you and him had so many times before. You both started by playing theatre – just like he did. You learned Spanish when you were still in school and tried your best to hold simple conversations with Oscar while he tried to teach you more – just like Pedro had. The thing that really connected the both of you and that made Pedro feel invisible were musicals. Sure, he had seen a few but singing was just not his thing. Oscar and you, on the other hand spent hours talking about the motifs in Hamilton, the fate of Gleb in Anastasia, the musical adaption of Heathers, the movie adaption of Cats and the harmonies in Dear Evan Hansen. Pedro loved listening to you. You were the most beautiful when you were talking about something you were as passionate about as musicals. You whole face lit up and you started talking with your hands. As much as he loved it, he hated it. Because it wasn't him you were talking with but mainly Oscar. You both loved singing and sooner or later ended up with his guitar, when the three of you were meeting at Oscar's house, or at your piano, when you were in your apartment. Pedro didn't dare to imagine how many hours you had spent in togetherness singing and acting out scenes. Fuck's sake he shouldn't – Oscar was married after all.

The year after you met some genius decided to bring the musical Ghost to California for a four week run and thought that no couple would be a better fit than Oscar and you. That was solely a PR-gig because the same director was about to host a bigger play the month after the run, but Oscar still accepted. So did you. And that hurt Pedro so much.

You had been doing a few musicals before you blew up as an actress and were just perfect for the role for Molly but Oscar, god, out of all people. He didn't know if he could handle seeing the you being in love. Even if it was just on stage.

The day Oscar and you accepted the part the three of you met up and watched the movie the musical was based on. You were crying half of the time and Oscar was visibly touched too but Pedro hated it. Maybe only because of the thought of you kissing his best friend for at least four weeks – rehearsals additional. He watched you from the corner of his eye and when he saw Oscar lean in you direction, he quickly wrapped his arm around you and pulled you in. “You are truly a crybaby,” he mumbled and handed you another tissue. For an hour the world was perfect – you, cuddled into his side while watching a romance.

But it soon got back to the cruel reality when Oscar decided, after the movie ended, the best way to cheer you up was singing Unchained Melody to you.

And now he was standing in the doorway to your rehearsal room in the theatre that you had stared working in a week ago, looking at you somewhat between sitting and laying on the orange couch and Oscar above you. Kissing you. Hands roaming over your body, under your shirt, moving it up. It was like looking at an accident – he didn't want to watch because it horrified him, but at the same time he couldn't look away. His heart was crushing, breaking. And the worst thing was, that the first thing that crossed his mind wasn't, that Oscar is a married man.

“Okay, wait,” you said, pushing him away from you. “Is it weird when I do that?”

“What?”

“That.” You tapped against his side, which was turned away from Pedro.

“Normally not but the audience can't see that because that side of us is turned to the back of the stage.”

Fuck.

That was a stage kiss. You were practising. That was all part of the rehearsal. Oscar wasn't cheating on his wife and you weren't... well, you weren't doing anything at all because Pedro had never made the god damn move of asking you out. It had been almost a year since he first met you at the table reading for the second Mandalorian season and he never said anything. Why did he never say anything? He was such an idiot. He could have slapped himself, hit his head against the next wall. What the fuck was holding him back?

“Hey Pedro! Didn't hear you coming.” Your voice brought him back to reality. Oscar moved off of you and you sat back up again. God, he had been starring. He had definitely been starring.

“Todo esta bien, amigo?”, Oscar asked.

“Yeah... Yeah, sure. I am just not feeling well.” That was an understatement. He was feeling sick. Fucking sick. He couldn't wait for the premiere. You would be so happy and excited while the knot in his throat was growing minute by minute until he was forced to sit through two hours of you and his best friend being in love. Usually he was good at separating the human from the role they were playing but somehow it was not possible for him this time. His brain couldn't and it made him mad and sad at the same time because he wanted to be happy for you. Ghost was a musical you were talking about before. It was possibly a dream come true and a huge opportunity to be selected for the leading role and he should be happy for you. He wanted to support you and his best friend on their project and give them the acting advice, they asked him for – that's why he even came here – but his heart wanted him to turn around and walk right out the door and never come back. Maybe even drink to get the images out of his head. They were nightmare material to him.

“Well, don't get us sick. We only have two more weeks until the premiere.”

“I will let you know once I know how to control sickness,” he snapped back a bit harsher than the wanted to. That's what it was. Sickness. A virus. Jealousy was poisoning his heart.

All he wanted was to be there for you. Because he knew how anxious premiers made you. Everyone kept asking you about how you were doing and you always smiled and said that you were just as nervous as everybody working on the production but that wasn't the full truth. Pedro saw it in the way your smile faded for a split second, once the question was asked. He noticed it when you took longer and longer to reply to his messages. He noticed, that you were a little more quiet than usual when you were out for dinner. Stress-crying was a thing you did and he would bet that you had already have a few breakdowns.

He wanted nothing more than to comfort you. To pull you in a tight hug, kiss your head and tell you that everything will turn out just fine, because you were gorgeous in every way possible. You were intelligent and strong and beautiful – simply amazing. Why did he never ask you out? It was way too late to do it now, wasn't it? You had grown to be something like best friends and best friends don't date each other.

He had shoot his shot.

And you would never be his.

Part two

[unstoppableforcce]

rough hands and soft touches

pairing: the Mandalorian x reader

post waves crash smut (18+) | masterlist | kofi

a/n: so this is only my second smut, and I know it’s not great but it’s the best I’ve got right now. and if I wanna get better I gotta keep trying right? all forms of feedback encouraged as always! and obviously, waves crash spoilers !

“How’d you get it?”

From where you were behind him, the faint question barely made it to your ears, and even though you had an ear for his hushed tone, you couldn’t make it out. Instead, you hummed inquisitively back and continued your work with the rifle sat across your lap, cleaning the intricate mechanisms.

But he didn’t continue on. You could just feel his stare directed your way from where he sat in front of you on crates along the floor of the Razor Crest’s bottom hull, forcing you to stop your delicate work and look up.

He was treating his own wound, a lengthy cut on his forearm, one he insisted he was capable of treating himself. But he wasn’t actually doing any treatment at the moment, he was looking back over his shoulder at you.

Furrowing your brow, you asked with real words this time. “How’d I get what?”

Using his injured arm, he brought his bare and un-gloved fingers to where the mouth would be on his helmet and gestured vaguely. But even with confidence in his motion, his voice still came out strained behind his helmet. “Across your bottom lip.”

With one hand still holding your cleaning equipment, you used the other to reach up and gently trail over the pale clinch on your bottom lip with your calloused fingers. It didn’t surprise you that he asked, honestly, it only surprised you that it took so long for him to.

He rarely ever asked questions of the sort, but the day he picked you up off the planet you had been staying on for a new mission, the first time he saw you since you acquired the small mark across your lip, it had given him pause. You got a real and genuine stand-still out of him when he caught sight of it. His staring was normal, it was something you grew fondly accustomed to, but this was shock.

But he didn’t ask then, he just welcomed you aboard the Crest. There was a job to get to and no time to linger.

Apparently there was time now.

He didn’t go back to treating his wound, he only waited, watching as you held your lip gingerly between two fingers, a persisting stare.

“I was thrown into a wall, split it, didn’t have any bacta.” You explained simply, giving a simple shrug to your shoulders but still holding his stare, not going back to work as long as he wasn’t.

He nodded with a sluggish pace, glancing back to his wound briefly before turning entirely on his seat to face you more. “You have a lot of scars I’ve never seen.”

“You more so than me.” You responded carefully.

Talking like this was new. The two of you functioned on such a similar wavelength that talking tended to fall to the wayside, you just didn’t need it. But there was once a time when you would talk like this. Maybe this wasn’t new, maybe it was back to what you once were.

And that was something you were certainly not opposed to.

Setting the rest of your equipment down, then your rifle, everything in its proper place, you turned back towards him and moved forward onto your knees in front of him.

“Will you let me?” You spoke when normally the gesture would have been enough.

He nodded much quicker this time, passing the cleaning supplies to you and allow your precision fingers to go to work, carefully tracing along the edges of the wound. Each time you skirted into the gash, he hissed in a breath through his modulator, sharp no matter how he tried to muffle it in his throat.

“Who threw you into the wall?” He asked to try and keep together once the cool tingles of the bacta met his skin.

Your fingers pressed the patch along the gash, ensuring it was all entirely covered. “Someone unimportant, it was a cantina fight.”

“Did it hurt?”

You glanced back up to meet the stare of his steel helmet, inhaling just as sharp as him as you tried to find the line the two of you had been dancing around for the few months you had been aboard.

You found the line. You were stepping over it now.

The hand not holding pressure to his wound reached to the collar of your tunic, tugging down just slightly, enough to reveal your collarbone with a jagged scar traced along the skin there. You wanted to pretend you didn’t hear him suck in another breath entirely unrelated to the pressure you were providing, but that would be an offense to your heightened hearing around him, you heard it all.

“Not as much as this one.” Biting down gently on the scar along your bottom lip, you followed his stare to your skin, you watched him hold it there.

He took his other hand, the uninjured arm, and brought it between his thighs, pinching them together to tug the glove off before he reached for your skin. You had felt his touch before, all the times he treated your wounds, but this felt different. This felt charged with the heat the two of you seemed to be dancing around ever since you came back aboard with him.

You’d be lying if you denied finding comfort and warmth under the touch of his rugged fingers. All kinds of warmth.

“How’d you get it?” He asked through an entirely strained throat this time, no amount of low brooding able to cover it.

“Knife slice, disagreement of terms after a job.” Reaching up, you held his hand there. “You?”

He quirked his head, his helmet going full tilt to the side as he shifted from your skin back up to your face. “What about me?”

“Which one hurt the most?”

His grip hesitated under yours for a brief second, but whatever he was searching for in your stare, he found, making him pull his hand away and move to begin stripping off pieces of his armor. You helped where you could, slowly at first, afraid to dip your hands anywhere he didn’t want them. But once the chest piece was off, and you could feel the heat from his skin, his hand not pushing you away, you only continued to help.

The last time you had seen him without his armor on had been back at your house, but before then, it was only in passing aboard the Crest and never without his helmet. He would be stripping his armor to tend to wounds or to change after a job, never really revealing though. It was never purposeful.

This was purposeful. This was him, fully aware of what he wanted, letting you help reveal more and more skin, starting with his tunic.

Finally confident with the pressure and treatment on the wound, you pulled your grip away and used both hands to help his one pull the entirety of the thin tunic over his head. You were careful to keep your distance from his helmet, but he trusted you, he didn’t fear your touch, if anything, he was melting under it now.

The scar from your clean-up work when he collapsed in your doorway caught your eye first. It was healing well for the somewhat old-fashion treatment. But it was far from the only scar riddling his chest.

He reached out gingerly, letting the rough skin of his fingertips draw at your wrist before grasping around and dragging it in towards his heart. Along his tan skin, a pale scar ran almost entirely vertical along the center of his sternum. It was longer than any of the others, the edges of it just as jagged as the one that adorned your collar bone.

“What happened?” You touched it gently at first, flinching back before you could even gauge his reaction, purely having psyched yourself out. But after a brief breath in, you moved your fingers back to it, without hesitation.

Tracing along the length of it, you heard him sigh but only continued, the sigh feeling like one more of relief than anything else.

“It was a hunter, trying to take my beskar and helmet.” He managed only slightly above a whisper.

His heartbeat was increasing under your touch, you could feel every beat, not disconcerting in any way though, not like the last time when you had to check to ensure he was alive. If he could reach out to yours, he’d feel a similar increase.

But he didn’t reach out to you, he just stared. Your eyes remained along the line of the scar, but you could still feel the heat of his stare. You always could.

“When?” Your fingers began to drift down to his other scars, tracing them equally as carefully, monitoring the way his skin and breath shifted with every touch. He had so many more than you did, though that again wasn’t surprising, almost all your business was done from a distance.

“Before I met you.”

You nodded, moving to the next, one that traced right along his hip, just where his pants came up to. “And here?”

His breath officially hitched, and he made absolutely no attempt to muffle it.

“A bounty gone wrong.” You nodded, lifting each finger and lowering it with gentle rhythmic taps, if he hadn’t melted yet, he was sure to now.

Your fingers dipped slightly lower, dancing across the band of his pants but holding there until your eyes could look back to the slit of his helmet, where his stare had never moved from its focus on you.

“Will you close your eyes?”

This was your turn to quirk your head. His hand moved up to the side of your face, his calloused thumb dancing over your bottom lip briefly before skirting the flat of your cheek.

He repeated, “Will you close your eyes?”

Taking one last scan of his bare chest, you nodded with a brief up and down of your head and slowly let your eyes fall shut, not into total darkness as the lights of the ship’s hull remained on, bright enough to paint your vision with shadows and shapes but nothing visible.

“You have to keep them shut.” His voice was lower now, a deep rumbling from his lips imploring you to nod again.

His touch moved back to your lip, your scarred bottom lip, the focus of so many of his constant stares. You nearly whimpered when his touch pulled back, but within seconds, the sound of his helmet hitting the ground next to you shut you up.

The next touch you felt was his lips onto yours, and if he was melting, you were exploding.

Like the burning lava pits of Mustafar were erupting in your stomach, you felt like you were exploding the second his lips touched yours. It wasn’t hungry, or even very deep at first. Immediately you could tell this was something newer for him, but you didn’t care.

You pushed up against his lips with an increased ferocity and you felt his grip stutter in it’s hold on your face, he didn’t know what to do and you didn’t care.

Placing a hand on his thigh plate, you lifted yourself up more, enough to press your lips even harder against his, earning an appreciative groan into your mouth which only added fuel to the flames burning within your chest. Your other hand reached for his face, to pull him in closer and it was only then you realized you had no idea what he looked like.

His hair was softer than you would have guessed, matted from the helmet, but still soft as you ran your fingers through it.

You didn’t need to know what he looked like. He nosed forward, biting onto the scar he was so obsessed with. No, you knew him you didn’t need to know what he looked like.

He groaned again and you practically sighed into his mouth in response, only making him grip tighter. But the second he did, he grunted out in pain, the pain coming from the wound on his wrist, making you pull back out of breath.

“Sorry.” He sighed out, not letting you pull back too far.

You could hear the nerves in his voice, everything much clearer now that it didn’t have to cut through the helmet modulator. All you wanted to do was ease that.

Pulling back from his face, you reached down to the bottom hem of your tunic and pulled it off over your head, all while keeping your eyes shut. You didn’t know what to say, you just hoped that made your point clearly enough for him.

And the second the fabric hit the floor, his hands were back onto you, answering the question on your mind.

He hauled you to your feet, snaking his hands carefully around your waist and walking back with you until your back was against the wall of the hull. You had seen him in some of the most brutal of fights, he was a monstrous man and yet, every grip against your skin was gentle. Not that you expected him to be violent, you just didn’t expect him to be soft… so soft.

The cool metal was a striking contrast to the fire inside, and set a raging energy through you. You had to move, you had to do something.

Your hands moved back to his waistband, trailing along the scar there for a second before going lower. Fumbling around for a moment in your blindness, the last thing you expected was his hands to meet you there, aiding you in lowering them, inch by inch as his mouth pulled from yours, desperate to catch his breath, each hot huff igniting against your skin.

“I don’t know…” He gulped, nose nudging yours as his forehead did the same. “I’m not…”

You ventured your hand lower, beneath the fabric of his pants, chopping his vocal strength even further.

“Is this okay?” You asked as the first moan released from his throat.

He nodded ferociously against your head, the flop of his matted hair moving up and down against the skin of your forehead to signal his agreement when you couldn’t see him. He was falling apart under your touch, beginning to think that maybe it would have been better if he was the one pressed to the wall.

He had to recover, to keep his strength up, not because he had something to prove to you, but because he wanted you to feel the way he felt. He wanted you to feel this good.

His hands dropped to the waistband of your pants, but stuttered once more as you stroked the entire length of him still in his pants. He moved again, dipping his rough hand, burdened by the scars of his job and the lives he bloodied them with, beneath the bands of your pants, hesitant to do anything until he heard you moan directly into his ear.

“Is this okay?” He echoed back to you, still huffing against your skin. And when you nodded frantically, he could see it, and he felt the war torn muscles of his knees go a bit weaker than before.

He killed with these hands, just as many as you had with yours, yet watching you, completely breathless, lean your head back against the cold metal of the ship’s hull, he forgot about all of that.

He could only think of you.

You met his hands, guiding him slightly before pulling the entirety of you pants down, kicking them off your ankles. His movements were semi-sloppy but the he was willing to learn, moving in the circles your hands demonstrated and eventually taking over as his confidence began to build, making more moans fight from your throat.

He couldn’t exactly say he had never imagined this. He’d spent plenty of nights alone in his bunk with nothing but the scent of you on his sheets and the memories of you playing though his mind, but even then, he was never capable of coming close to this in even his most imaginative dreams. Put simply, his own hand had never felt this good.

His own dreams had never been this good.

You were better than a dream. You were better than a dream—

The moan overtook his thoughts as it poured from your throat, such a sweet sound filling his ears as he pressed his lips into yours and tried to inhale the noise as it escaped you.

Muttering a string of curses in your native language, you led his hard length into you and he repeated a similar sentiment into your neck. For the first few second the two of you held still, the only motion coming from your heaving chests. But the silent communication you two prided yourselves in effortlessly maintaining took back over and he understood what he needed to do, he needed to start moving.

Each thrust was languid and slow at first, he was slowly bringing his mind back to grounded reality, having drifted into such a blissful plane for a brief moment there. He was surprised by how sloppy you allowed your hands and motions to be. Everything he knew about you was exact, careful, precise and yet you seemed to lose all semblance of your perfect composure in your blind grips and grasps around his body.

Your hands moved from his hips to his chest, trailing every scar with a somewhat trembling grip, not sure where you wanted to be and somehow everywhere at once. Up to his face, you pressed slow kisses along the valley of his neck, then further up, dancing along his skin, so soft, much softer than he would have expected from your calloused skin.

But for one another, the two of you were soft, so painfully soft for each other alone.

You lifted your leg and wrapped it around him higher, encouraging him to pick up the pace and the power of each of his thrusts and he got the message immediately, complying as much as he could. He was losing his composure, not that he had much to begin with, but he was too familiar with this building intensity in his stomach.

He opened his eyes just long enough to see one of your hands reach between the two of you and while he wanted to do that for you, he was using his good arm to hold you up against the wall and keep the angle and his other arm was capable of nothing but running along the soft curves of your skin. He wanted to communicate that, but you seemed plenty competent on your own, and he was too distracted by feeling you clench around him to even think of words, much less say them.

So, he pressed his lips to your neck the same way you had done to him and continued to melt as your gorgeous noises flooded his ears.

He loved you. He moved to kiss your lips, as deep as he could manage. He wanted you to know.

You kissed back. You knew. And you felt the same.

He moaned out your name with a stuttering final string of thrusts and completely lost control when you moaned back the name he admitted to you only a few weeks ago, “Din…”

The few times he had ever heard it spoken aloud in his adult life, it had never been in moments like this, it had never been times when he thought he would beg to hear it again. He would never beg, and yet he would get on his knees any day for you if it meant it would feel this good.

He was there, and your moans told him you were just as close and he thrust one more time into you and came with a grunting moan. When you hit two seconds later, spasming around him, you kissed him and inhaled the last of his noises until only the huffing sounds of your breaths were left.

There didn’t need to be words. He pressed his forehead against yours and sighed out when you pressed yours back all the same.

He slowly left a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Keep your eyes shut.” You nodded and he pressed another kiss to your lips.

“I don’t need to see you.” You muttered back breathlessly.

His kiss this time was a thank-you. The kiss that followed was another. And another and another, drilling in how thankful he was with a rapid stream a soft kisses against your lips.

One day, he told himself as he kissed you again. One day he’d be able to take his helmet off and settle down with you. One day you’d be able to see him. One day.

For now, he was more than okay with this. And you were too.

[unstoppableforcce]

waves crash. ships don’t. ( epilogue )

The Mandalorian x reader

waves crash- masterlist here

this is the end of the line y’all, I’m so glad you could come with me on this journey. what was supposed to be small snippets turned into my first finished fic in a long time! let’s see what I do next, I hope you’ll join me then too!

Cara just didn’t understand.

The child had been in her care for approximately 16 hours since Mando and you stopped by Nevarro and dropped the child off with her and Karga, citing a particularly dangerous mission on the horizon, something you couldn’t bring the child into. They just needed to watch the kid for a day, at most, just until you could settle what needed to be settled.

That wasn’t what Cara didn’t understand. In the six months since they had left that stormy planet, Mando and you have had to leave the child under their protection twice when your mission to get him back to his people got too risky to have him around.

This was relatively normal.

What the child was doing, that was what she didn’t understand.

She lived through the child attempting to Force choke her out, she watched the fireworks when he burned the fire trooper to death, she had seen him heal Karga and so much more. This was not strange in the magical power respect, this was strange in the child respect.

It walked around the small cantina crawling with bounty hunters, banging his goddamn womp rat head on surface after surface.

Cara had to stop it from grabbing the metallic leg of one of the droids who entered the cantina and crashing its head against its calf. It was the strangest impulse that overcame his little green body.

It didn’t make any sense. She just didn’t understand.

“It’s like it has a death wish.” She cursed, setting the burlap bundle onto the table in front of Karga. “I swear, just wants to bash its own head in.”

“It’s just a child, let it be.”

The child grabbed a puck off the table and stuck it into its mouth, sucking the metal with a cooing voice which only made Karga bellow out with a laugh.

“Going to be just like Mando with these pucks.” He joked, grabbing the puck back and instead flipping on the hologram to distract him.

“Not if he keeps hitting his head against anything he can.”

“Just tell them when they get back.”

She scoffed, leaning back in the booth. “If they’re coming back.”

“Of course they’re coming back, why wouldn’t they?” He furrowed back, stopping his extension of a hand to order a drink, the words catching him so off guard.

Blowing out a breath from her lips, “If I was traveling around the galaxy on fun quests looking for an ancient people with the love of my life and I could leave this little creature somewhere it would be safe, I wouldn’t come back.”

“Mando is a man of honor and purpose.”

“Well, I wouldn’t come back.” She chuckled out as the kid hobbled to her, headfirst, “Not for this monster.”

“It’s a wonder they left it in your care.” He mocked, shaking his head, finishing ordering his drink when the communicator on the table began to buzz. “That them?”

Cara checked it while still trying to hold the stubborn child back. “Yeah, they just docked.”

“Do you stand corrected?”

“I wouldn’t come back.” She reiterated, grabbing the child and shaking her head. “I’ll be back.” She huffed, sliding out of the booth.

“Ironic.”

She just rolled her eyes and kept walking, the child bouncing along in her arms the entire way to the docks.

The Razor Crest had a few more scratches on its hull than the last time it docked, but minor, nothing that would require repairs or anything, eventually they would just blend into the natural character of the ship.

She considered letting the kid down to run up the ramp by itself, but something stopped her before she got the chance. Just far enough around the corner, she was able to spot the quiet moment she was about to intrude on and hang back, keeping the child quiet against her chest.

He had been sat on a crate in the hull, something that wasn’t there last time she went to pick up the kid, so she could only assume it had been whatever you left to obtain. And you had been knelt in front of him, wrapping a bacta patch around his wrist.

It was such a personal moment, she even felt bad eavesdropping as she waited, but she couldn’t help herself.

“That was stupid.” You cursed out first in basic, then followed it with a string of colorful insults in your native tongue, hands working faster to wrap and secure the dressings.

“I know.” He spoke solemnly back to you, the voice low through his modulator, so low Cara was barely able to hear it over the sounds of muffled coos in her arms.

“Don’t do it again.”

He huffed out a breath, almost strained like he was in pain as you pulled the wrap tighter around the wound. “I thought the beskar would take it.”

“Well it didn’t hit the beskar.”

He didn’t need to be told that, he was the one who felt the sharpness of the blade tear through his shirt and skin as he lunged in front of you to take the hit. There wasn’t much of him not covered in beskar, the guy had managed to hit the few inches of unprotected landscape.

But he could manage the small wrist wound. Had he not, it would have been a much larger wound across your neck, he was confident about that much.

One last tear with your teeth at the patch and he was all taped up. But as you stood to gather the rest of the supplies in the small medicine box, he grabbed your wrist and stopped you.

He held your hand tight with his and pulled you in closer as he stood to his own height directly in front of you.

Cara peered around the corner just in time to catch the brief motion, you standing to press your forehead to the equivalent of his on the helmet, shutting your eyes as your skin gently collided with the cold metal. His gloved hand wrapped behind your neck to keep you just as close, the two of you consumed by each other so silently.

It was a solemn expression that painted your face, but Cara nearly swore she saw a brief upturn at your lips.

You two held there, just with each other, for only a few curt seconds before pulling away. She knew very little about Mandalorian culture, she knew even less about you and where you came from, but even she could recognize the action as something so intimate, certainly more intimate than she had ever seen Mando be in the entire time she had been with him. Even since you came along.

It was beautiful. Which was probably why she felt so bad having witnessed something she imagined existed only between the two of you. Something special, something personal, something yours.

Or maybe not just between the two of you.

The child tugged on the armor which kept it contained to her arms, readjusting in her grip to hit its head firmly on her chest plate.

She felt like she was beginning to understand its new and strange habit.

Mando descended the ramp mere seconds later and she had no time to pretend she wasn’t just intruding. And while he went stiff when her presence caught him off guard, he quickly relaxed when he saw it was just her and the child.

“Mission go alright?” She questioned, looking back up the ramp as she set the child onto the floor. Immediately it took off towards where you were working in the weapons closet, not quickly, just a slow hobble, but adorable, whether Cara would admit to finding it so or not.

“Yeah, fine.” He added back just as short, following her stare now, watching as the child hit its head against your calves while you worked.

There was still a smile being suppressed on your lips, but less effort went into keeping it hidden this time, the two of them could very easily see it. The scar on your bottom lips stretched but you didn’t seem to mind it while you worked.

“The kid’s been doing that head thing all day.” She explained, clearing her throat to catch Mando’s attention back from you. “Couldn’t get him to stop.”

“Yeah.” If she didn’t know better, she would say it sounded like a smile cutting through the steel around his head. “Don’t know where he got that from.”

“Me either.” She chuckled quietly, earing a quizzical tilt of his head her way that she felt better ignoring. “I like this for you.”

“Like what?”

“Just.” She blew out a breath, watching as you picked the child up and retreated further into the ship to where she could no longer see, the last image she caught being you with a smile as the kid tried to headbutt you directly. “This.”

He saw it too. He was staring. He was always staring. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, “I like it too.”

Cara knew why he came back for the kid.

-> my ko-fi

(if you enjoyed and would like to help support me, feel free to buy me a coffee, or just ignore this little message if it’s not your cuppa tea)

tags: 

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @bva14 @steve-thotgers @bonkybaaarnes @persephonehemingway @scintilla-morningstar r @sarcasm-n-insomnia @jellyfishpoptart @tedpicklez @morgannope @vaultingphilosophy @fan-g0rl @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @ginger-swag-rapunzel  @afootnoteinyourhappiness @sinon36 (thank you all so much for your continual support, I hope you enjoy’d it all to the end!)

[unstoppableforcce]

waves crash. ships don’t. ( 9 )

The Mandalorian x reader

previous part - epilogue - masterlist (for waves crash)

oh! it seems I figured out something angsty and soft for the conclusion. stayed tuned for a sweet epilogue.

The second his foot hit the sand; a strike of lightning hit down. It didn’t matter, besides the flash of light, he barely noticed.

Sand at his feet kicked up with every step, stars did he hate sand. He knew he’d find it engrained in the soles of his boots, the fabric of his undersuit, every crack and crevice and all he was doing was treading through it. It was okay, he reminded himself with a holding stare on your form as he approached, it was okay.

He faltered in his step only when you looked up to see him and flinch for your weapon.

He slowed about ten yards from you, beginning to sink into the sand which dampened as fast as he was with the rain picking up, holding his arms out in a brief show of hesitant surrender until you relaxed.

Except you didn’t.

Not for several seconds as you watched him carefully.

“I don’t need help.” Was all you could think to say, the only reasonable conclusion you could draw from his approach.

He knew you well, and even if he didn’t, hovering around for the past few days watching you work, he didn’t need to be told you didn’t need any help. It broke his heart slightly more to know you thought he didn’t already know that about you.

It was a pain he had to push through. He was riding a wave of confidence from somewhere, a burst he had never had before, and he had no choice but to use it while he had it. He wasn’t losing you, not again.

As soon as your hand fell from your holstered knife, he took several strides until he was closer, careful with every step, sinking deeper and deeper and the grainy sand turned almost to mud with the pelting rain.

“You shouldn’t be out here.” The warning came out as you easily slipped back to work, grabbing a fish and swiping over it with a stare of examination before tossing it along.

His silence got your attention back. You had no choice as your heart pulled your stare to him, your stare of careful examination taking a long hard look at his form when the neck strike of lightning hit with the storm behind you over the ocean and his beskar helmet reflected it back to your eyes, each intricate detail of the light showing for the quick second over his visor.

The rest of his form was stripped of his armor, left back in the house you assumed. He was only beginning to stand on his own, the extra weight would only keep him down. But without it…

He wasn’t a small man. But without the armor, he looked smaller, he looked softer, he looked as you always remembered him. He looked real. Not some dutiful bounty hunter with only a sense of purpose when it came to work and nothing else, ruthless by reputation. That wasn’t the man you remembered so fondly even as your brain wished you didn’t.

You remember his passing moments, moments when you swore you could see him smiling through the solid steel, moments when he lingered his hand for a second longer on yours when passing a pack of ammunition, the small moments.

You remembered the pain he caused you when he left right after that, washing any warmth you got from the past away with the cold and constant break between who you were and what you were now.

The rain stuck his new tunic to his form no matter how hard the wind persisted in blowing it away.

He shouldn’t be out in it; he was still recovering.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” you repeated, gesturing back to the house before bending over again, “You’ll tear a stitch, you’ll freeze-”

“Come with me.”

You furrowed your dripping brow, wiping over your face as you looked to him where he stood still spare his heaving breaths. If you didn’t have as tuned an ear as you did for his voice, you weren’t sure you’d have been able to make it out of the sounds of the ragged water behind you or the blabbering of the jungle behind him.

But you did hear him. You didn’t need him to repeat, you heard each and every syllable and froze, fish still in one hand, not having been dropped to the pack yet, just floundering in your hand.

“What?” The words came from your lips only because you weren’t capable of any others. You heard him. Each of the three words was still echoing in your head.

“When the Crest is fixed, come with me.”

You didn’t have a response that time, not even a stutter, every word fell dry and dead in your throat. Three simple words that said more than he had ever said in his entire life, certainly his entire life with you.

Essentially saying that he wanted exactly that, a life with you.

Dropping the fish was all you could manage when your hands went nearly numb, not from the cold. Your lip began to tremble as you took a step away, not from the cold.

The storm continued to rage, a particularly abusive gust blowing all your damp hair from your face and nearly pushing you over because of your slowly weakening knees. You took another step back just to stay stable, he took another step to you, just to stay close.

“I wanted to stay.”

He didn’t know how to say what he wanted to, it came out in separate sentences of vague ambition and want. It was all he could manage when he watched you so entirely overwhelmed with what you were feeling. You weren’t cold this time. You weren’t stoic. Your face remained calm and collected but he caught every turn of your lips, every extra blink, every bend of your brow.

He caught each and every emotion as it coursed through you and all he wanted to say that he was feeling something similar, but he lacked the vocabulary. He lacked the ability to even breathe when he looked at you, he wasn’t too sure he wouldn’t collapse right there in front of you again, his ribs even screamed as he thought of it.

But he was too deep now. He needed you to know. He couldn’t turn back. He’d bear any storm if it meant you knew what he was feeling. If you knew what he wanted to tell you that day on the desert beach way back when, when you smiled and splashed him with water.

You were the only person he knew.  

That was the only thing close to the language he had to describe it.

He just didn’t have the tongue, the heart, the lungs… he didn’t have the physical strength to speak it to you as you stood, continuously doused in rain in front of him.

“I wanted you to stay.” How you maintain his stare, you still aren’t really sure, but something within you refused to let go. It was like there was a voice in the back of your head warning you that if you looked away, he’d be gone again.

Usually, the voice existed to remind you of everything wrong you had ever done, that was if the screams of your memories didn’t drown it out first.

“I wanted you to stay-” it caught in your throat as you tried to repeat it, so you swallowed it and kept your stare, hoping he understood.

He took a step closer to answer.

“I trusted you and you left me-” you finally fought out, a brief second of a seething anger slipping through your calm façade, one deep breath in, one out, but you didn’t calm as he expected. “I thought you knew what I did, I thought you saw what I became, I thought I lost my use to you-”

“I don’t want you because you’re useful-”

“I’m not useful. Not anymore.” You interrupted with a scoff. You didn’t mean to. He was being so open, so much more vulnerable than either of you had ever been, you didn’t want to shut him down.

Shaking your head, a curse in your native tongue slipping out beneath your breath, something he wasn’t sure he’d understand even if it was audible over the storm. “I haven’t shot in years, I haven’t fought- I’m not useful anymore, I’m broken, and you can’t fix me, that was why you left-”

“You’re not broken-”

“I-”

“I was wrong to leave. I thought I was broken, not you. I didn’t want to be a burden on you. But now…”

He didn’t have the words. He searched through every basic word he knew, every word or phrase in Mando’a, every word he knew in your tongue, or any of the few others that he knew. None of them felt right, none of them conveyed the weight he had felt on his chest for years thinking you were here and better off without him only to now know the two of you were anything but.

There was no argument. There was nothing he could say to excuse that. He made a mistake. He did this.

He couldn’t fix it.

You waited for words on his lips that just couldn’t come. He didn’t have the capacity for them.

But he wanted to. When he looked at you… he wanted to.

You broke the stare and turned back to the waves shattering against the shore behind you with a ragged echo, not unlike the thundering in your chest. The lightning struck the horizon, not moving closer or further, the storm was right where it wanted to be, right where it would stay as it raged on.

“You’re the only person I know.”

He didn’t know how the words escaped him without his lips moving, how he heard them over the storm even though he didn’t speak them. He didn’t understand until you turned back, the simple sentiment falling off your lips, off your perfect bottom lip, scar and all.

Taking one final step closer, he needed you to know just how hard his heart was beating, he needed you to know it felt like it was only beating for you.

As the water dripped from his helmet, your hand caught it before it reached his chest as you accepted his gentle touch and allowed your calloused, scarred, and bloodied hand to be pulled to his chest, to lay against the thinner fabric of his undershirt, to feel his chest beat up and down just as you had when he collapsed.

You let him take your disgusting hands because you knew his bore a similar filth.

The lives you had both taken, the tallies along your rifle, the bounties he brought back frozen in carbonite.

“I can’t stay.” He spoke carefully, holding your hand with his gloved one over his heart. “The child, he’s a foundling, I have to…” He shook his head, “Come with me.”

“I haven’t fired my rifle since I came here.” You said as the only way you could get the words, I’m no longer useful to you, out of your mouth without them searing your tongue too badly.

He knew. He understood the second he saw your stare fall back to the mud-like sand coating both of your boots, splashing up with every heavy droplet that rained from the sky.

“I don’t need you to be useful.” He said just as hesitantly, hoping you heard, I just need you, slip through his modulator.

You wanted to pull back, but you couldn’t, you were caught in his pull, no matter how heavy your heart weighed, you couldn’t escape. You could only hold your stare on his visor, follow the drips of water as they raced each other down the immaculate metal.

All of it sat right on the tip of your tongue, everything you wanted him to know, everything you hoped he already did know.

That you were only ever able to sleep aboard the Crest. That for years, you could never fall asleep in the presence of another person because there was no one you trusted. But aboard the Razor Crest, with him piloting to whatever planet, for whatever job, it was the only real sleep you ever got.

That the day he found you in that cantina and you started a fight to escape him, you didn’t do it off first instinct. It was the first time that you almost didn’t flinch. You saw him, and the first thought through your head wasn’t to run like it was with everyone else, it was that you’d give anything to have him squeeze into the booth next to you and just be there.

That he was the only person you knew, and you didn’t even know his name or face.

You didn’t wear the helmet or swear to a creed, but you were just as isolated over the course of your career, just as isolated as he was. It was what snipers did just as Mandalorians did it seemed.

He had been the only person you ever wanted to see again after a job. There were crews you ran with on and off, some for longer than others, some for longer than you should have, but there was never any safety to them. You weren’t a member, you were an asset, you didn’t get the family or the protection, you just got a paycheck and the ability to flee whenever you wanted.

There were other people. People you’d been with, friends you’d laughed with, mercenaries you worked with, but there was no one you trusted. No one you ever knew besides him.

Not because you knew his name or his face. You didn’t. But you knew him.

You knew he hated sand. You knew that he loved you.

“Come with me.” He repeated, holding onto you with a tighter grip.

He had spent two years without you. He wasn’t doing that again, not if he didn’t have to. He was done punishing himself for something so long gone. He was done keeping himself from you out of some sense of protecting you.

He squeezed tighter.

He wasn’t leaving you again.

You gave a small nod of your head. You weren’t leaving him again either.

If the storm raged on, you didn’t notice. If it was another crack of lightning that illuminated his helmet, you didn’t connect it. If the rain still streamed down your face, you just ignored it.

The waves crashed. You didn’t notice

.-> my ko-fi

-> tags

@im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @bva14 @steve-thotgers @bonkybaaarnes @persephonehemingway @scintilla-morningstar r @sarcasm-n-insomnia @jellyfishpoptart @tedpicklez @morgannope @vaultingphilosophy @fan-g0rl @theladyofmanyfandomsofficial @ginger-swag-rapunzel  @afootnoteinyourhappiness @sinon36

[unstoppableforcce]

eccentricity ( 1 )

pairing: The Mandalorian x reader

next part | my ko-fi | masterlist

a/n: here’s something I’ve been working on, I’ve got a couple parts up my sleeve so I hope you enjoy so I can share them! (my motivation guys! I found it, at least I think)

ft: an attention-starved din djarin

It was unlike him to get distracted.

But you were unlike anything he had ever seen before, unlike anything that existed in the vast galaxy.

The club was dark, as dark as the seemingly infinite expanse of space but without the occasional star. It was pitch black as the night, no different with his eyes shut or open. But when you walked onto the small circular stage in the center of the room and the searching lights of vibrant greens and fluorescent blues began to scan, you began to sparkle like every star in the galaxy and more.

A luminescent spectacle, every flashing beam of color reflected off your sparkling form, drowning the room in radiant light. It was more than vibrant. It was like seeing each of the colors emitting from a prism for the first time, a glittering rainbow, entirely awe-inducing and distracting.

You were something special and he couldn’t take his eyes away.

Even as the fob in his hand continued to blink with a bland red light, he remained trapped where he stood in the back corner of the dark club, entranced by your presence on the stage in the center.

Body coated in a snug design of sequins and jewels, dancing along each and every intricate detail of your form—he was far from the only one distracted as your hips began to sway along to the gentle hum of music lulling into the background chatter.

And then you opened your lips, dragging the golden amplifier to your glossy lips and he lost any remaining semblance of focus he thought he had.

It was a language he didn’t know, though he wasn’t sure anyone in the club needed to know it to be caught up in the sound of your velvet accent and the curve of your lips as they trembled around each word.

A roll of your hips along to the beat and the whole crowd audibly swooned at the sight of it, the heavily armored Mandalorian included. He wondered if you could hear his heartbeat, the way the rapid thumps echoed in his head, ten times faster than the rhythm of your sensual song. He wondered because, besides your sultry voice, the beating of his heart was the only thing he could hear, tormenting his head, thundering out of control.

He was more than distracted, he was lost in you.

And the flashing dull fob in his hand, producing a light that in no way compared to the sparkle that shined off of you, kept flashing even as he ignored it.

He would have kept ignoring it too.

Unfortunately, it grew more and more rapid as a figure off to his side, a twi’lek man of a green skin tone not too unlike the main light that basked over you from behind, shattering into individual rays as soon as it hit your sparkling gown—

The twi’lek man. It was the man he was there for, even if his heart quickly shifted allegiances. He had to repeat it in his mind, trying to get himself to snap back to focus under his helmet. The twi’lek man. He was there for the twi’lek man.

The twi’lek man, and nothing else.

He stole another look at you as you continued to sing, switching between an enticing whisper and a low drawl that rumbled at something much warmer inside his gut. You were alluring and he had to look away.

The twi’lek man.

With broad shoulders, he maneuvered easily passed the Mandalorian, barely noticing him as his stare stayed straight ahead upon entry. Straight ahead and maintained only on you. His head bobbed up and down with the tempting rhythm, his lips even mumbled out words like he knew the lyrics.

Mando almost laughed as he caught it, stalking up beside him and remaining still unnoticed, but he kept it to himself, continuing his approach.

The crowd cheered, he glanced away from the man again, distracted by the fear that he missed something noteworthy. It was just another twirl of your body under the cascading purple light, but it was noteworthy, it was certainly noteworthy—

He shook his head and redirected his stare, the twi’lek man, he reminded himself for what felt like the hundredth time.

But the green-skinned man, lekku swaying behind him with every step, was only getting closer to you.

The thumping of his heart was back. The twi’lek was stepping closer and closer to you now, moving through the crowd, shouldering through the hoards of beings, beings of all species, who gathered to be entranced by you. The Mandalorian was able to slip behind him, still unnoticed as every gaze in the entire club remained on you.

The last thing he wanted to do was to stop you, to cause any kind of scene, but the dull flashing of red on his hip reminded him he had no choice.

He wasn’t a man who got distracted.

His gloved fingers teased over the handle of his blaster, waiting for the perfect moment to silently press it into the slot of his back between the lekku—

You were looking at him.

Had he been more focused, he wouldn’t have noticed, but with one sweeping turn of your hips, you turned back to his sector of the crowd and you were looking at him. He didn’t allow himself to believe it right away, but you were certainly looking directly his way, tracing the way the light reflected off his beskar with your sparkling eyes and even allowing the corner of your perfect lips to quirk into a sort of smirk.

The warmth spread across his stomach again, combining with a trace of shivers running along his spine as you whispered deeply along with the song into the amplifier while keeping your stare directed only to him. He didn’t know how he caught your attention, but his mind almost entirely melted from the mission at hand the second you honed in on him.

He was distracted, dangerously distracted, by you.

He should have known better.

The twi’lek man seemed to notice your stare, turning back to trace it when he noticed it wasn’t directed to him but slightly behind him. His lekku swayed, hitting the beskar covered figure so close behind him and whether the Mandalorian was distracted by you or not, he wouldn’t have been quick enough to stop the brutal fisted punch that was thrown his way the second he spotted the flashing fob.

It sent him flying back, no time to grab for his blaster.

And before he could even get to his feet, the rowdy crowd gathered around him, shouting insults in so many languages he lost track. Then came the kicks, repeated and ferocious. He tried to look around, to search for the green skin and flowing lekku but there was none in sight, the dull blinking light on his side growing slower and slower, more time between each blink.

Another quick kick came to the beskar and he flinched, all of his patience fading away, his grip moving for the fire trigger on his wrist-

“Enough!”

The kicks stopped as soon as your voice echoed out the order, the crowd beginning to disperse around him until he had a clear line of sight back to the stage, back to you.

But your next order came again in the language he didn’t understand, and two guards appeared to drag him to his feet while you watched on with a furrowed brow. He tried to fight them but it was no use, they threw him from the club and into the hot red mud outside in the pouring rain.

And even as the warm water fell onto him, drop after drop, and the mud caked every inch of body, he was still distracted.

Distracted by you.

[unstoppableforcce]

the perfect exchange ( 1 )

pairing: the Mandalorian x reader

next part

a/n: it’s been rough since waves crash ended for me, so let me know if this is interesting to you or if you want new Poe content bc I’ve been thinking about that too.

Technically, it wasn’t stealing.

The guards chasing you through the crowded marketplace in the city center would argue otherwise but as long as you were fast enough, what they would argue wouldn’t matter.

They had heavy fingers on the triggers, firing indiscriminately out into the crowd, they hit all around you as you ran. It was almost effortless for you to cut through the packed city square, moving between the dozens of booths packed high with various fruits and fabrics of every color and shade, the guards did it with a different kind of effortlessness. They’d mow over a mob of children or the booth of a small old woman if it meant getting to you any faster.

Stealing a glance back over your shoulder as you leapt over a droid-pulled cart, you spotted them not far behind, tossing patrons out of the way with an almost personal-level of anger.

It was only a couple thousand credits. Technically, they were your credits, too, they just seemed to think the credits belonged to them. Or, more appropriately, the credits belonged to their boss.

Wren Ali. The owner of the small casino you had darted out of with pockets heavy with credits. He was a man of small stature but had an overwhelming anger to make up for his lacking physical intimidation. That and his attitude towards thieves was that you could still play a hand if he chopped off your feet.

Being very attached to your feet, you ran before you had to explain the situation, assuming that he wouldn’t see it your way.

You played a hand and you won. Technically, it wasn’t stealing. While the argument could be made that winning a hand by cheating was absolutely stealing, you maintained that they couldn’t prove cheating. Though, when you grabbed the credits off the table and took off running, you gave them a pretty good basis to prove stealing.

It wasn’t much further to your ship, if you could just make it there, make it out of the atmosphere, out of the system, he’d stop chasing. Or at least, you figured he would. It was only a couple thousand credits. If you could get far enough away for it to be more expensive to chase you, you were golden.

There were plenty of other casinos you had yet to be banned from anyways.

A couple of screams echoed out behind you, the guards getting caught up as they tripped over a large group of traders with their small aggressive animals. It was the first time their stares dropped from your back and you took immediate advantage of it, turning on your heel to disappear down a neighboring alley.

It was enough time to catch your breath, and for the final stretch, you were going to need it.

Slipping into the small alcove of the building, inhaling and exhaling as deeply as possible. It had been a dead sprint for several minutes. It would have been worse had you not been so used to running like this.

But slowing down, your scans of the surrounding area slowed, finding yourself almost comfortable with your back to a hard wall.

You should have known better.

The distinct beep of a tracking fob, you’d know it anywhere. But it was too late, by the time you turned to hear it, the looming armored figure was already there.

(How he managed to sneak up on you in so much heavy armor, you weren’t entirely sure yet)

“Oh come on-” You were on the ground before you could even put up a defense, a heavy boot pressed to your chest to keep you there.

“I can bring you in warm or cold.” Well, that sounded practiced.

But any sarcastic remark of the sort died before it reached your lips, from the corner of your eye, the two stumbling guards appeared, covered in fruit and colorings of cloth from the market they trampled to chase you this far.

“You won’t be able to bring me in at all unless we move, now.” You were forced to strain out as he kept his boot holding you down.

The urgency in your voice was enough to get him to look around, and sure enough, him and the guards spotted each other at the same time.

“Thief!” The guards shouted as they charged. You tried to fight against his foot, but it was no use, either the mysterious armored man was taking you or they were. Neither option sounded good, but the more you fought, the more futile it became.

With one swift kick, he knocked you to the verge of consciousness, teetering back and forth as darkness stained your vision.

In the background, you swore you heard fighting. Armor clanked, grunts sounded off, it was fighting, she knew it well. Two towering guards and one lone bounty hunter.

And you weren’t sure who you wanted to win.

The man clearly was there to collect the bounty, but for who? You weren’t sure. And while the unknown there seemed particularly ominous, it wasn’t any worse than going with the guards back to Ali who would surely take your feet to make a point.

No option was good. But you couldn’t stir yourself from the verge of consciousness anyways.

Whatever was going to happen was happening whether you liked it or not unless you could just wake up.

Whether a century passed or just a minute, eventually you felt your body being picked up, thrown over the shoulder of whoever won the fight. As your face hit against cold metal, it became clear it had been the Mandalorian.

You slipped fully unconscious with one final burst of thoughts on your mind, a thought which should have been concerning the identity of whoever placed the bounty, given that a confrontation was likely in your future. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as coherent nor as focused as that.

This man is strong. And. I’m screwed.

-> my ko-fi, help a student out !

[unstoppableforcce]

din, watching cara beat the shit out of a droid while baby yoda waits in the Razor Crest: self-control

reference : here

commissions | masterlist | ko-fi

[unstoppableforcce]

I drew something today y’all !!

[unstoppableforcce]

after drawing my ocs for about a week straight, I thought I’d finish something more consumable for the masses and it turned out better than I hoped!!

enjoy the pretty Mandalorian :))))