#fwwchtsam

[kill-the-feels]

terminal

a/n: a few lil life updates before this chapter: i graduated and passed my edtpa! i also started dating my best friend, which has been so much fun and inspired a lot of fluffy writing (not this chapter tho, y’all stay safe). anyways, i hope you enjoy the chapter!! we’ve finally caught up to That Scene™️ in the movie — you’re just going to have to trust me on this one ;) (previous part) (masterlist)

word count: ~3.5k

warnings: canon violence, language, angst (a whole truckload this time)

Despite the relentless pursuit of the Jedi, the three of you make it to Geonosis relatively unscathed, even after a chase through an asteroid field.

Jango lands in an underground hangar, the top closing and cutting off your view of the night sky. He and Boba run through the checklist of shutting off the ship before he turns to look at you.

“I’m going to check on stuff in the cargo bay,” Boba says. You raise an eyebrow at his back. There’s nothing in the cargo bay. He glances back at you, and you see the little smirk there.

You and Jango sit in silence.

“If something happens to me,” Jango says, at the same time you say:

“Are we really safe here?”

The both of you pause.

“Go first,” you tell him, and he hesitates, looking past your shoulder to the doorway, as if willing Boba to reappear.

“If something happens to me, I want you to take Boba and get as far away from here as you can.” The way he says it is strange, like he’s trying to tell you something, without actually telling you something.

“What’s going to happen to you?” you ask, making a face and Jango sets his jaw, fixing you with a hard stare.

“If something happens to me. Expect the best, but plan for the worst,” he says softly, in such a monotone voice it sends chills down your spine.

“Alright. Okay. So where do we go?” He sighs.

“Anywhere. Not here. Not Kamino. Not fucking Tatooine. Never go back there.” The last part is said with such vehemence you can’t help but nod.

“Yeah, not there. We’ll figure it out. If it comes to that. Which it won’t.” You’re expecting him to agree, and when he doesn’t, the knot of nerves tangled under your breastbone tightens.

You start to stand, to go find Boba, and Jango snags your hand, says your name softly.

You turn, and he’s looking up at you so intently it makes you weak in the knees.

“Promise me, Cyare,” he says softly, tugging you back down beside him. He rests his forehead against your, your breaths mingling.

“Jango,” you say, “it’s going to be okay. Things will be fine.” You try to pull away again, and he tightens his hold, almost desperate.

“Promise me.” You close your eyes. If you truly believe nothing is going to happen to him, then this should be an easy promise.

“Fine. Yes, okay, I promise. I’ll look after Boba.” Jango shakes his head.

“Not just look after him. You’re as much his buir as I am. You two belong together. Promise me you’ll stay with him. Protect him. Protect each other.” He’s really starting to scare you. You put your hands on either side of his face, leaning into him.

“Jango, I promise,” you say. His eyes stay closed for another beat, before he nods and tugs himself away.

“Stay in the ship?” he asks. “I shouldn’t be long.” Something in you tells you to argue. His tone is off-kilter again, too bright for the heavy moment.

But there’s something in his eyes that prevents you from arguing as he snags his helmet and starts to slip it on his head.

So you match his tone.

“No problem. Boba and I will figure out where we go next. For when you get back.” His response takes just a bit too long in coming. Like he knows the next words out of his mouth are a lie, and at the last minute, he decides to commit, instead of being honest and telling you he likely won’t be with you when you leave.

“Sounds like a plan.” With that, he tugs his helmet all the way down, ducking out the door and heading out. You watch him go, feeling the sick sense of dread increasing with every step he puts between you two. ~~~ Boba is, understandably, livid that he has to stay on the ship.

“This fucking sucks,” he says, crossing him arms and kicking his feet up on the dash.

“Boba!” you say in shock, at a loss over what to say to him. It’s the first time you’ve heard him swear — other than his first words — and while a teeny part of you is amused, the bigger part is frustrated with his attitude.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “But I don’t get why we have to stay here, again. I helped Buir get us off Kamino. And it’s not like the ship is that much safer.” He has a point. But still.

“I know,” you say. “But your buir asked us to stay here. So we help him out by staying here.” There’s a distant rumble somewhere, that rattles the ship a little.

“Can’t we explore? Just a little?” he asks, and you laugh.

“You’re probably not old enough to remember, but one time your buir took the both of us to Tatooine.” Boba leans forward, slipping his feet back down. You’re not sure why you’re thinking about Tatooine so much all of the sudden. Maybe there’s a parallel to be found between both trips. Whatever it is, you don’t like it.

“And? What happened?” Boba asks, interrupting your thoughts. You sigh, brushing some hair off his face. He bats you away with a playful scowl.

“We got caught. Nearly got the both of us in big trouble. Your buir managed to come rescue us, but he was pissed. And all because we wanted to go exploring.” He looks down.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go exploring this time then,” he says, looking sheepish. You knock your shoulder against his.

“Y’think?” you say. He knocks back and the two of you end up in a playful shoving war that lasts for just long enough for Boba to remember why he was frustrated in the first place.

“I hate waiting,” he says, going still and slumping down again. You sigh and join him in staring out the window.

“I know. It fucking sucks, doesn’t it?” It’s his turn to look at you in shock.

“Buir!” he says. You close your eyes and tilt your head back against the seat, pretending like you’re about to take a nap.

Instead, you crack one eye open at him.

“Maybe we can take just a peek out. We won’t leave the ship, just open the door and see what we can hear.” In truth, you’re as bad as he is as waiting. Boba shifts in his seat, nearly holding his breath, as he waits to see if you’re lying.

“Really?” You nod.

“Yes, really.” There’s a slight smirk on his face, the same one Jango always has right before he does something potentially dangerous, but in that moment, you fail to notice it.

Instead, you follow Boba down the ladder and through the cargo bay, aiming for the panel on the side, so you can lower the ramp just a bit.

“How long do you think Buir will be?” Boba asks, as he sorts through some of the excess junk stored in the bottom of the ship. You stop the ramp before it gets low enough to walk out — or in. Peering through the sides will have to do.

“Not sure. Could be all day. Maybe even all night. We’re supposed to figure out where we’re going from here.” Boba slips up beside you.

“How are we supposed to know where to go?” You shrug.

“We can always look at the ship’s database, see which places look off the grid.” Boba looks past you, at the barren wall of the canyon you’ve landed in.

“Good point. Hey, Buir, have you seen Ai-Ai anywhere?” A glance at Boba’s face shows you the true worry he feels, at odds with his casual tone. A tone that nearly makes you suspicious.

“You packed him, didn’t you?” you ask, turning away from the gap, poking back through the random collections of stuff. Boba doesn’t answer you, and when you hear shifting around, you take it to mean he’s looking for the beloved stuffed pet.

“Boba?” you finally call. “You packed him, right?” When you turn around, he’s gone.

You close your eyes, mentally berating yourself. The gap in the side. Just big enough for him to slip through. Always wanting to be a hero, to be strong like his buir.

“Shit,” you say, frozen with indecision. To go after him? Or stay, and wait? Which is better? ~~~ Jango is standing in the middle of the command center, listening to Dooku run his mouth about things he really has no care for, when the door whooshes open and two battle droids enter, hauling Boba between them.

His gut reaction is fear — if Boba is here, where are you? Then Boba sees him, and Jango sees the guilt flash over his face.

The little sneak ran off, he realizes, which means you must be panicking.

“Boba,” he says sternly. Boba hangs his head further, and with a wave from Dooku, the droids release him, letting him come stand beside Jango.

While he needs to get Boba back to you, he also can’t risk drawing attention to you. Not only does he not want to put you in danger, but you’re a fantastic weak spot for the Separatists surrounding him to exploit. Boba will just have to stay with him, until he can make his escape. He’ll try and comm you when he gets a chance, let you know Boba is safe. Ish.

Another droid approaches Dooku and says something too soft for Jango to make out. His unease grows. Something is happening. Dooku was none to pleased with Jango’s failure to kill the senator, and he’s worried about potential retaliation.

“It appears we have quite the show in store today,” Dooku says to him, gesturing to the balcony on the other side of the room.

Carefully, Jango escorts Boba outside, placing himself to the side of Dooku and the representatives for the Trade Federation, aware of every little movement, nerves stretched thin in a way that’s giving him a pounding migraine.

“What’s going on, Buir?” Boba whispers, and Jango tightens his hold on his shoulder, warning the boy not to speak too much. He’s trying to plan, trying to come up with an extraction. And it’s markedly more difficult to get out with Boba, than if he were by himself.

For now, he has to stay put. Has to watch for the opportune moment to make his escape. ~~~ Pressing your hands against your forehead to try and ease the stress headache growing with every moment Boba isn’t in your sight, you take deep breaths.

Okay. Okay.

Plan.

If you were Jango, what would you do? Go after Boba, but how, where, and for how long? You know there’s droids patrolling — you closed the ramp of the ship after a particularly curious set tried to come in. They got bored and left, but there’s got to be more where they came from.

This is a million times worse than Gardulla and her thugs — getting caught here could catapult you into the middle of a conflict you’re entirely unprepared for, with players much more important than a gangster in the middle of a wasteland.

So you have to figure out where on this maker-forsaken planet Boba got off to, and you have to do it stealthily.

No big scenes, no getting caught.

You have your little blade that Jango replaced, a blaster from his munitions locker. No armor or a jet pack, but you’re crafty and easily missed. Just keep your head down and blend in.

With another deep breath, you pull up the ship’s nav system and scanner, trying to piece together a path to take.

Geonosis is full of fucking tunnels. Just your luck. But there’s a city, or at least a concentration of settlements near where the ship’s been put down. That’ll be your start.

Deep breath.

You lower the ramp enough to slip out of, the same way Boba did, then start to pick your way towards the city.

The closer you get, the more a faint rumbling reaches your ears. As you navigate down a tunnel, ears straining for any hint you’re not alone, you realize the rumbling is cheering.

Okay.

Crowds can both work for and against you. Easier to blend in, harder to find Boba. The tunnel opens up on the left side, forming a half-wall, and you can see you’re over top of a battle arena. Your legs wobble a little, looking down at the sheer drop to the arena.

Across from you is a balcony, with a large congregation of people watching the scene unfolding beneath you. The stands are filled with Geonosians, each speaking in their clicking and rolling language, shouting jeers and cheering for the coming violence.

Someone on the balcony moves, and you see a flash of blue next to a glint of metal.

Jango. And Boba.

In the arena, three figures are chained to pillars, watching as three different creatures are prodded out of cages by Geonosians.

You feel pity for the three, but your bigger issue is getting to Jango and Boba. Briefly, you consider going back to the ship, now that you know Jango has Boba, but there’s a clatter of stone behind you and the tell-tell clicks, forcing you to move forward or risk being discovered and ending up with the others on the pillars.

Following the winding tunnel proves to be discombobulating, even as you try to navigate in the direction of the balcony. But the half-wall turns back into a full wall, and you can feel yourself descending, heading the opposite direction, with no cross tunnels to right yourself.

Frustrated, you grit your teeth and force yourself to stop and take stock of your options.

The cheering has reached a near-fevered pitch. In the distance, a single Geonosian speaks, the rolling cadence of his language muffled, but distinct against the cheers.

You turn back around. Going down will do you no good. You’ll have to backtrack and hope for the best. Head back for the ship and be ready to leave.

Footsteps shuffle down the hall, and you freeze, spotting a dip in the wall. You slip in and tuck yourself into the shadows, pressing as deep into the dirt as you can.

Two droids pass you, both armed with blasters. With a shiver, you dart behind them, racing back up the tunnel. You stumble as you reach the half-wall, nearly tripping over your own feet. The three figures are fighting back, one of them on top of the pillar. There’s shouting and chaos, and people jeering as the three hold their own.

Across the way, there is a sudden flash of purple, pointed straight at Jango’s neck.

You freeze, watching as he pushes Boba behind him. Around the arena, more lightsabers are activated, the bright blues and greens vivid against he stark landscape of the Geonosian arena.

“No,” you breathe, fingers clenching in fists at your sides. Not like this. Gasping, you continue back the way you came, frantically trying to map the city in your head. The central point. That’s where you need to be, to every try to get to that balcony. Jango said they’d be looking for him. But like this? He doesn’t stand a chance on his own, and you know he’s too prideful to ever back down on his own.

Back past the ship you race, towards a dirt road you initially discounted as heading away from everything.

But as you head down the road, you can see it’s taking you into the city, on ground level. You can work with this.

No longer caring if you’re noticed, you race along, weaving in and out of crowds of Geonosians, who voice their displeasure at being jostled. In the distance, the spires of the large buildings around the arena rise up. You’re on the right track.

Blaster fire echoes on the breeze, still too far to be much of a concern for the people who don’t know what’s going on in the arena.

But you know.

And you’re running out of time. ~~~ Jango can feel his pulse vibrating against his teeth, even as he takes a measured breath. Boba shivers beside him, and Jango glances out of the corner of his eye at the man wielding the lightsaber.

He speaks to Dooku, discounting Jango, which works in his favor. But he can’t make a move with the blade inches from his neck. Slowly, his hand creeps to his blaster, steady, despite the fear threatening to choke him.

In the distance, he hears the thump of battle droid feet, signaling the massive battle about to break out. The Geonosians start to fly away, and to his horror, he sees other lightsabers that have lit up across the way, far more than he can fight against, in addition to the two in the arena.

From the corner of his eye, he can see a small footpath, leading through the stands to a balcony attached to another room. Boba needs to get in there, he knows, so he’s shielded from any blasterfire.

And you. He still needs to warn you.

Battle droids are one thing, but a Jedi is nothing to mess with, and they’ll be after him. It’s only a matter of time before they locate the ship, if they haven’t already, and you won’t know they’re coming.

“It’s over, Dooku,” the Jedi says, and Jango takes another measured breath, looking down just enough to meet Boba’s eyes. Carefully, he looks pointedly behind Boba, to the other room. Boba looks at Jango, brow scrunched in confusion, and Jango swallows his frustration.

With another long glance behind Boba, he looks at his son again, pleading with him to understand. Boba can warn you too. If he can just get away.

Boba nods, finally, just once. Jango draws himself forward, putting himself between everyone and Boba, drawing the attention to himself in a practiced way.

The thumping of battle droid feet gets louder, and he feels Boba duck away behind him, as the first set of droids steps out onto the balcony. The Jedi removes his lightsaber from Jango’s neck, as the droids start to shoot at the Jedi. Jango snatches out his own blaster, noting the way in which Dooku steps back to let him handle the Jedi.

Disgust has him crinkling his nose, but he focuses on trying to down the Jedi, switching to his flamethrower when the Jedi manages to slip away, out of his reach.

With a huff, he flicks his blaster around before he holsters it. Dooku is still watching him, and he knows he’s expected to go after the Jedi, but he needs to ensure Boba has plenty of time to get away before Dooku even thinks about him.

So he’ll perform tricks to buy some time.

Without much more thought, he follows the Jedi down, off the balcony and into the heat of the battle. His blood pumps and he finds himself calculating escape routes even as he works his way through the Jedi and the creatures, aiming for the purple lightsaber, the lone one against the blues and greens.

With one last, quick glance back at the balcony, he sees the way Dooku stands over it all, seemingly unbothered by all the chaos and death around him.

“Forgive me,” he whispers, praying to the maker he no longer believes in that you hear him, that you find Boba, that you both get away.

The Reek slams into him, and he feels something in his ribs give way, as he’s tumbled over and over, head slammed around in his helmet until his ears ring.

When he manages to extricate himself, his whole body hurts, and his jet pack — already the back-up — is shot to shit. His blaster is in the dirt and he manages to grab it, just as the Jedi comes for him, waving his saber all around, a purple blur that’s too bright, too hot, too close.

Fear grips his mind, instinct flees him, even as he stands his ground.

Ten feet away. Seven. Five. Two.

Jango fires as quickly as he can, even as his mind races, telling him to run, telling him he can’t run, begging Boba to look away. To know how sorry he is.

He sees the swing of the saber, feels the blinding hot fire as it cuts through his hand, leaving nothing behind. Watches as the Jedi swings around again, this time for his neck.

Jango closes his eyes, even as he promises to meet death with them wide open.

Instead, all he sees is your face, you extending a hand to him.

He does not feel the next blow fall. ~~~ You burst onto a balcony at the height of the battle, and nearly turn, because this one is empty, and not the one you’re looking for.

It’s taken too much precious time to sneak past the droids — Geonosians leave you alone, battle droids do not — and everything is in full swing by the time you get there.

And then you see a small figured crouched in the shadows, watching it all go down.

You rush towards him, intending to tug him away, to get him to safety.

Instead, the both of you watch Jango fall.

[kill-the-feels]

youth

a/n: hey y’all! we’re getting close to the end. this chapter has minimal Jango content, but i’ll make up for it, i promise <3 (previous part) (masterlist)

word count: ~3.2k

warnings: this one is pretty heavy on injury descriptions. If those bother you, maybe stop reading after the flashback and skip to the last section of this chapter. i’ll put a brief summary at the end of the chapter so you don’t miss anything. take care of yourselves! <3

Boba, you have a sudden, sinking realization, is young.

So young.

And you wonder what kind of damage this will do to him, to see such a massacre in his formative years. Not only is he watching his father, his buir, being taken from him, but he’s also watching such senseless killing between the Jedi, the droids, and all those men in masks, their armor just close enough to Jango’s that you know he had something to do with it all.

And in that moment, you don’t know who you hate the most:

The Jedi, for letting this happen? The Separatists, for crafting such a scheme? Or maybe even Jango, for getting involved?

All you know is you feel such a deep, burning rage, as you look out over the carnage, even as you snatch Boba towards you, holding tight as he tries to wriggle away, tries to join the battle. You gasp for breath, the dirt of the planet rising up in clouds from the battle, the haze in the air stinging your eyes.

Boba grits his teeth, his fist clenched like he’s ready to take on the world, save his buir.

And he’s young.

So young. ~~~ Boba is perhaps four, and Jango has been gone on a mission for the better part of a weekly rotation. It’s the longest he’s been away in some time, in the aftermath of that ill-fated last trip to Tatooine, finally convinced you’re not going to break. You and Boba are getting along nicely. You’ve managed to keep Boba busy with drawing, playing, and exploring, a far cry from the early days.

Boba is laying on his stomach, his creatures lined up in front of him, while he pretends to save them from an inhumane zoo. You’re noticing more and more the way in which he tries to be the savior, his tender heart something you want to protect as long as you can.

The door beeps, signaling Jango’s arrival, and Boba immediately throws himself off the floor, dragging Ai-Ai by his tail along with him.

When Boba throws his arms around Jango’s knees, he crouches, hugging his son tightly. You watch with a smile, and Jango glances up at you, a soft smile forming on his own face.

He winces a little as he stands, taking Boba’s hand and listening to the boy chatter about everything you’ve done, and you see the dark stain blooming on the side of his flight suit, in the gap between armor plates, intended for better movement.

“What happened?” you ask, interrupting Boba, who sticks his thumb in his mouth with a frown. Together, the three of you move towards the kitchen.

Jango tries to wave you off, but the grimaces instead. Carefully, he lets you and Boba help him peel the armor off, to ease the flight suit down to his hips.

It’s a nasty scrape, like he’s been grazed by a blaster shot, the mark one that has to hurt him every time he moves, but he says nothing.

“I’ll get the bacta!” Boba yells, already running away, familiar with where you keep the kit, from all the scraped knees you’ve treated.

Jango snorts, bracing his hands on the counter. Boba comes running back, holding the bacta and trailing bandages, with Ai-Ai tucked under his arm. He hands you the supplies, then passes Ai-Ai to Jango.

“Here,” Boba says. Jango looks down at him, and you tilt your head. Boba never lets the stuffed toy out of his sight. Never. The one time you tried to wash it, he howled like he was being tortured until you relented and resolved not to get close enough to smell it.

“What’s this for?” Jango asks, glancing back at you. You shake your head softly, not sure either.

“To hold onto while Buir fixes the scrapes. It’s going to sting! But Ai-Ai makes it feel better.” Your heart melts, and you watch as Boba extends his hand to Jango’s other hand.

“And you can hold my hand. That’s what Buir does when she fixes my scrapes.” There’s a funny look on Jango’s face, as he glances up at the ceiling, almost like he’s fighting some surge of emotions.

He’s not used to help, you realize. He’s used to fixing all this on his own. Gently, you dab the bacta over his side, careful not to press too hard. He breathes in and out slowly, seemingly unaffected by the feel of it. Boba winces for him, making faces and quiet squeals, the same way he does when you treat his injuries.

Only once you’ve placed the bandage on does Boba let go of Jango’s hand and circle to the hurt side, inspecting your work.

Then he promptly snatches Ai-Ai away, and runs back to his room.

Jango stares at him for another beat, before the two of you burst out laughing.

It subsides when he reaches for you, tugging you against him and cupping your face.

“Hi,” he says softly, kissing you gently.

“Welcome home,” you say, leaning into him. Neither of you say those three little words, the ones that make the planet feel like it’s slipping off its axis.

It’s just understood, in the way he looks at you, the way you smile up at him. ~~~ Neither you nor Boba cries. You’re not sure if the numbness will subside later; if, once the shock wears off, you’ll be hit with a wave of emotions that rivals the stormy waves on Kamino.

Or if you were so sure he wouldn’t make it off Geonosis, that your mind has already accepted he was a dead man walking, and reality is only now just catching up.

It doesn’t matter, you decide. Not feeling anything is the only thing keeping you standing right now, arm wrapped around Boba to keep him from plunging into the battle, so you lose not just Jango, but Boba too. He stops fighting you, holding onto your arm instead, like he can’t stand on his own.

And as you stare down at the dust, all you can think of is that day he came back home. All the times he came back home.

And now he won’t. But does it even matter, because is there even a home to go back to? ~~~ After the battle, the two of you slowly emerge. Bodies lay strewn in the field, the Jedi uncaring for two quiet civilians, picking their way past the fallen Geonosians and battle droids. You watch the men in white armor lead the operations, blisteringly effective as they start the clean up. Forcing your eyes away, you duck your head, scanning the carnage — so many people, gone — looking for one man among many.

There, in the dust, is the glint of the armor, the helmet a few feet away.

Boba shudders beside you, and it takes all your strength to keep walking forward. You have to look. Have to figure out how to get him out of here, so you can say goodbye properly. You promised.

You feel exposed, here in the bowl of the arena, despite the fact that no one is paying attention to you. Every heartbeat sounds like it’s been amplified, vibrating against your skin, making you stick to your stomach, unable to catch your breath like you’ve just run a race.

Your feet stumble over the last stretch, able to see the odd way Jango’s body is sprawled, one leg slightly bent, like he’s taking the most uncomfortable nap.

Boba inhales sharply and turns away, going instead for the helmet, kneeling and pressing his forehead to the cold metal.

You look down at the body of the man before you. Now that you’re here, you can’t tear your eyes away.

He’s missing his right hand, a blackened stump all that’s left. You swallow the rising bile at the back of your throat, threatening to make you lose what little you’ve eaten. Even though every part of you wants to look away, you can’t. You promised. You can do this for him.

There’s a blackened hole just off-center of his armor, where a lucky blaster shot must have caught him. Once, he explained to you that his armor was not as strong as other Mandalorian armor. A gift from the man who raised him, it’s a durasteel-beskar hybrid, true beskar rare and hard to come by. It never bothered him, because someone would have to be in incredibly close range to do any real damage, and they would have to find a weak spot in the armor.

Ironic, then, that there’s apparently a weak spot just to the left of his heart.

Your gaze drifts further up, to his face, noting the awful way his head is tilted.

There’s a nasty burn on the side of his neck, the fringes bloody and ragged, as if nearly cut by something, but stopped at the last second.

You bite your lip, kneeling beside him, taking his good hand.

“Jango,” you whisper, voice cracking on the second syllable.

Boba drops to his knees beside you, holding the helmet tightly. Around you, the world fades out, the figures moving just a part of the noise.

One last time, you lay your head on his chest, careful not to touch any of his wounds. You can feel them coming, the tears, and you need to pull yourself together for Boba. Give me strength, you will him.

And you hear it.

The ragged breath.

Slowly, not daring to get your hopes up, you sit up. Lean over his mouth and nose, holding your own breath. Waiting.

“Buir?” Boba asks you. You shake your head. You don’t dare tell him what you suspect. Not until you’re sure.

There.

Another ragged breath, catching and dragging in the worst way.

He’s still alive.

“Boba,” you say softly. “We have to move him. Gently. Get him back to the ship. Get him some help.”

“Is he-” You shake your head, cutting Boba off, who nods with sudden understanding. As far as the galaxy is concerned, Jango Fett is dead.

But that’s not quite true. ~~~ It takes you and Boba way longer than you’d like to haul Jango back to the ship. He’s a shorter man, but he’s got plenty of muscle and build, and the ship is a long ways away.

Boba helps, with you tossing him over your shoulders, wincing when it jostles his wounds, and Boba trying to keep him balanced, corralling his arms and feet. Tapping into a strength you didn’t know you had, you take it one step at a time, refusing to let go, unwilling to consider leaving him now that you know there’s a chance, no matter how slight.

By the time you reach the ramp, you’re sweaty and covered in dirt, arms burning as you settle Jango flat in the cargo bay, calling for Boba to grab the medkit.

Together, the both of you pry the amor off, tossing pieces in the corner as you cut through the flight suit.

The medkit’s woefully lacking, armed only with packets of bacta you rip open with your teeth, gagging on the taste and trying to spread it over the worst of the wounds.

But the burn on his neck and the blastershot in his chest are deep and require more than the surface level patching can provide.

“We have to get him help,” Boba says as your fingers brush over the old scar of the scrapes you patched up years ago.

“I know,” you say, ripping open a fresh bandage as new blood starts oozing from the chest wound. His hand’s been bandaged, the skin still charred and blackened — not much you can do for it.

“Where do we go?” Boba asks, helping you lift Jango so you can get a look at his back. There’s no exit wound. Which means the shot settled in his chest, slowly but surely tearing away at his insides, burning everything in there the same way the saber burned the neck and hand.

“Fuck,” you whisper. You’re losing the ability to think rationally; all you know is you need to do something.

“Buir,” Boba says again. “What do we do?” You close your eyes, taking precious time to think.

“Okay. We can’t go to Kamino.” That was your first thought — who better to help than the very people who perfected the best of Jango’s DNA? But the price they might ask is too great. They’ll want Boba, with his DNA, to pick up where Jango left off. They might not even save him, instead cutting their losses while you deliver Boba to them on a platter.

No. Not Kamino.

Coruscant is another option, a large planet that you’ve never personally visited, but have heard Jango talk about, with tons of people. Easy to blend in, but also the haven for the Jedi, and maybe too big to feasibly find what you need in time.

There’s another option, staring you in the face, but your mind refuses to consider it.

Tatooine.

Even though you promised Jango you wouldn’t go back there, at the same time, it makes sense. Gardulla’s got connections. She hates the Jedi on principle. And credits are the biggest motivator for her, something Jango’s managed to stash away.

“Tatooine,” you tell Boba. “Go get the ship ready.” He pauses, looking at you hard, as if trying to gauge your motivations.

“Boba,” you command, “the ship.” He scrambles away and you puff out a breath.

Fuck. Okay. Tatooine.

You’ll have to get your demands straight before you go in there. Decide what you can part with. Boba won’t go with you. Nor Jango. Just you. Asking for help. You close your eyes.

From fucking Gardulla.

The only way Jango survives this is a bacta tank, something you’re sure she can get her slimy tentacle on, if she hasn’t already. Credits aren’t much of an objection — Jango has a nice nest egg saved up — so you can afford to bid higher than it’d normally cost.

You can buy her silence too, add some incentive by offering some of Jango’s precious weapon stock, including some of the fancy, rare weapons from Kamino. Maker knows Jango won’t want them. If he survives.

You feel the rumble of the ship as the thrusters fire.

“Hang on,” Boba calls down, and the ship lifts, a little more jerky than Jango’s piloting but still fluidly heading into atmo. You swallow a burst of pride in Boba.

For Jango, you do your best to get him patched up in a way that will hold for now, his breathing still much too shallow, but more regular in cycle than it has been.

Small victories.

Once he’s stable, you set about finding his stash of credits on the ship, and determining which weapons you can part with before heading up to the cockpit with Boba, so you can direct him on where to land the ship. ~~~ When you leave hyperspace, your stomach drops with the familiar sensation as you stare out at the yellow planet. Boba flies over the barren landscape, gazing down at the pockets of civilization mixed in with the deserts that cover the planet.

As he starts the landing process, you feel your heart rate speed up. You have to do this. There is no turning back.

“Okay,” you say to him, as he follows you down into the cargo bay. “You’re going to stay here and keep an eye on things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” You start for the door, and Boba grabs your hand.

“Wait!” he says. You fight the urge to tug away — you need to go before you lose your nerve.

“What?” He gestures to the armor piled in the corner.

“You should wear that.” You raise an eyebrow at him. That’s… Jango’s. One day it’ll be Boba’s. Not yours.

“I can’t do that,” you say, shaking your head. But he tugs you back, insistent.

“Think, Buir. Be smart. He’d want you to be protected, wherever you’re going. And he’s not here to do it.” In this moment, Boba is so much like Jango, it hurts. Only, where Jango has always been so carful to keep the fear hidden, it’s all over Boba’s face, no matter how brave he’s trying to be. You relent.

“Okay, but you’ll have to help me get it on.” It gives him something to do, lets him help, even in this small way. Together, the two of you work to fit the pieces over your clothes, working the straps together, the pieces falling in place easily thanks to their age and the practiced use from Jango.

The chest piece still has the blaster shot — it’ll have to be repaired — and the helmet has a dent you didn’t notice before, but with some arranging of an extra utility belt, the hole is covered, and the dent just serves to make it look more menacing.

Boba hands you Jango’s blasters, and you hesitate.

“I don’t know how to use those,” you say, “Not really, at least.” Boba nods sagely.

“It’s for show. Buir told me half of being a bounty hunter is being intimidating.” You smile softly. It’s such a Jango thing to say.

In another bag, you pile a few extra blasters, topping it off with the very saberdart and its straw that nearly got you all killed. Your down payment of credits goes in a second, smaller one. You won’t take all the credits; that would just be stupid. But you will take enough to show Gardulla you mean business.

“Keep an eye out for stuff that looks shady. If it gets too dangerous, I want you to take off. Don’t worry about me,” you tell him, echoing Jango’s own directive from before.

You can tell he wants to protest, with the way he shifts back on his heels, looking away, until his eyes focus on Jango, and he looks back at you, with a resigned sigh.

“Are we going to be alright?” Boba asks, voice barely a whisper, and it tears at something in your chest, until you feel like there’s a matching blaster bolt settled there.

You want to lie to him, give him hope that you honestly can’t muster.

But to do so would be an insult to his intelligence, and it reminds you too much of Jango lying to you, the frustration you felt.

So you tell him the truth.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, “but we’re going to try.” You open your arms and he darts for you, wrapping his arms around your middle in a fierce hug, squeezing tight. You fold over top of him, resting your chin in the crook of his neck, holding the back of his head.

Young, your mind echoes. He’s so young.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you skipped ahead, Reader and Boba find Jango after the battle and realize he’s still alive — barely. They need to get him some help, so they patch him up as best they can and decide to head to Tatooine, to barter with Gardulla for a bacta tank to heal him since Kamino isn’t an option — they might want Boba in exchange for Jango.

[kill-the-feels]

twilight

a/n: hey y’all! i know i kinda fell off the face of the earth, but real life got real busy. i posted this on ao3 about a week ago, but haven’t had the time to put it on tumblr until today. but hey! i turned in my edtpa and graduation is just around the corner, so i’ve got more time to write! i hope you enjoy!! <3 (previous part) (masterlist)

warnings: language, a HEAPING dose of angst (like seriously, we’ve caught up to the movie now), fluff, mention of canonical death 

word count: ~4.8k

You recognize Zam Wessell’s voice on the comm even from the other room. You and Boba are sitting in the floor, trying to organize his stuff, when you hear Jango’s comm beep.

“This is boring,” Boba says, with a heavy sigh. You pass him another shirt, motioning for him to fold it. Instead, he wads it up and tosses it in the corner.

“Boba,” you say, reaching back for it. Jango’s voice filters by.

“Shouldn’t be too hard. Just need some backup.” Boba sighs again and takes it from your hands, folding it with exaggerated movements, creases perfect.

You suppress a smile.

“Buir is leaving again soon,” Boba says, putting the shirt on top of a pile of other folded shirts.

“I know,” you say. Boba folds another shirt, picking up the aiwha stuffed animal he’s had since he was a little baby as he does.

“Do you think he’ll take me with him?” he asks. You hesitate. If Jango’s calling Zam, it’s probably a pretty big job, even if he’s downplaying it.

Boba cradles the aiwha to his chest.

“It might be better if you stay here this time,” you say. Boba pets the aiwha — as much as he likes to act tough, you know the little animal brings him comfort.

Boba frowns at the floor.

“I don’t want him to be alone,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, Boba,” you say softly, opening your arms. He crawls over, knocking the pile of clothes with his knee, but you don’t scold him. Instead, you hug him and the aiwha, running your fingers through his curls.

“He won’t be alone. And he’ll be back. I promise.” Boba doesn’t cry — he’s recently decided he’s too old for that — but you do feel the way his breath catches. He buries his face in your neck, and you let him.

~~~

By the time Jango puts away the comm, Boba is reorganizing the shirts he knocked over, the aiwha tucked safely in his bed.

The door whooshes open softly, and you and Boba look at Jango.

“I have to leave for a bit,” he says. Boba looks at you out of the corner of his eye, the “I-told-you-so” on the tip of his tongue.

“Where are you headed this time?” you ask at the same time Boba asks:

“Can I come?” Jango looks between you two, his eyes landing on you.

“Boba, let me and Buir talk about it first,” he says. Something about the way he says it sets you on edge.

“Finish that pile,” you tell him. “And then we’ll play something.” Boba looks between you two, but with a grumbled “okay” he goes back to what he was doing.

Jango waits until the two of you are in your bedroom to speak.

“Boba should stay here with you,” he says. “I won’t be long. And… it’s better for the both of you.”

In your time with Jango, you’ve learned to distance yourself from the bounty hunter in him. You’ve done what you need to in order to rationalize it — most of them deserve what’s coming, Jango isn’t overtly cruel when he goes after a bounty, he tries to be fair — but something feels off about this one.

He never goes into explicit detail — for both your sakes’, you suspect — but there’s something about the way he can’t meet your eyes.

Like he’s feeling guilty.

“Jango?” you raise your hand, intending on cupping his cheek, and for the first time in a very long time, you hesitate.

Jango notices.

“Cyar’ika,” he pleads. “Sweetheart. It’s better if you don’t know.” He lifts your hand, putting it over his heart. You can feel it racing under his skin.

“You can trust me,” you whisper. “Let me in.” He squeezes his eyes shut, guilt turning to pain.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, and you swallow your sigh.

“Yes. Always, yes.” Jango pulls you into a hug, arms wrapping around your waist. He presses a kiss against your hair.

“You’ll be safe. I won’t be long.” When he pulls away, he presses something into your hand.

It’s a small blade, like the one you lost.

You jerk your gaze to Jango’s eyes, and he smooths a hand down the back of his neck.

“I don’t want you to use it,” he says grimly. “But if you have to, it’s there.”

In the morning, he’s gone.

~~~

Zam Wessell was a damn good partner, and Jango is, admittedly, sad to see her go.

He’s not sure what’s worse: being the one that had to kill her, or having to kill her to salvage a botched mission.

At the time, using the Kaminoan saberdart seemed like a good choice. It’s quick and easy, hard to track.

But he should have known. With not one but two jetiise assigned to protect the senator, it’s only a matter of time before one — or both — make their way to Kamino.

Jango pushes his ship hard, intent on getting back before anything can happen. He already commed to say he was on his way, and the both of you seemed fine.

But he can’t shake the worry. If he were to lose either of you, he’s not sure what he’d do.

It’s late evening as he enters the atmosphere of Kamino, the clouds clearing in one of the brief breaks between storms. The sun is dipping down over the horizon, and Jango might take time to admire it if he weren’t so focused on getting to his quarters.

Who knows if they’ll want him to try again. Probably not, he decides grimly. It wasn’t sloppy work, but it wasn’t a success.

The door opens softly, and he hears the two of you laughing further in.

“You mean to tell me your creature can jump higher than mine?” Jango peeks around the corner. The two of you have set up a block set that’s normally used to test the problem solving skills of the clones.

Instead, it’s been deconstructed and formed to look like a battlefield.

“I already told you,” Boba says, “it’s because it can fly. But yours is faster!” The last part is said defensively, as if the two of you have been going over this for some time.

“Alright, alright. So we have to get to the top of the hill?” you ask. Jango watches as Boba nods, brow furrowing a little.

“Yeah. And it’s a race.” You hold your creature up — the stuffed hoojib Jango brought him a few years back.

“And Jibby can climb better, right? I mean, he’s the one with legs.” Boba tilts his head, thinking.

“Yes, but. He’s scared really easily.” You huff, and Boba laughs.

“Because he’s afraid of stuff!” You reach for Boba’s creature, the beloved aiwha.

“And Ai-Ai isn’t?” Boba holds it protectively to his chest.

“Ai-Ai is a feared bounty hunter. Buir, if you’re going to ask a bunch of questions, we don’t have to play.” You shake your head.

“No, I’m just trying to figure out all the rules. And what’s at the top of the hill?” Boba looks at you like you’re being purposefully dense.

“The bounty. We have to collect it, so we can get the credits.”

“But wouldn’t it…” you trail off at the look Boba gives you, instead posing Jibby.

“Okay. So we have to fight, then, right?” Boba smiles, stretching out on his stomach. You copy the motion, the both of you play fighting with the creatures.

Boba lands a sharp slap on yours, and you cry out.

“Not so hard, Boba,” you say, shaking your fingers. Boba looks down, guilty.

“Sorry. But Ai-Ai saw an opening. Bounty hunters have to be prepared.” You glare at him, but Jango knows Boba can see the slight smirk on your face, just like he can. You swat at Boba, and he cries out.

“Jibby saw an opening too.” It devolves from there, the two of you play-wrestling, creatures forgotten. You clasp your arms around Boba, tickling, and he shrieks with laughter.

“That isn’t fair!” He calls, knocking over one of his structures with his foot. One of the pieces rolls over towards Jango, and Boba follows it with his eyes.

He notices Jango first.

“Buir!” he shouts, loudly enough that you pause, confused. Boba shoves you off, harder than he probably intends to in his excitement, and rushes for Jango.

You frown at Boba’s back as you push yourself up, and Jango hugs Boba with one arm, while offering you his other to help you stand.

“Boba,” he says, scolding. Boba looks down.

“Sorry,” he mutters, squeezing your hand in apology. Jango sees the way you squeeze back, and his heart constricts.

He’s been a fool.

It’s not a question of whether or not the Jedi come, it’s when. And maybe, in that moment, he wasn’t thinking. Maybe he chose to use the dart to rationalize the need to leave — the Kaminoans will certainly want to protect their investment.

It was an opening, and he took it, but in taking it, he inadvertently put the two of you in greater danger.

“It’s nice out tonight,” Jango says. He doesn’t have much time, but he’ll be damned if he won’t take what he’s given. He looks between you and Boba. “Wanna go outside?” Boba, of course, gives him a happy yes, because outside means he can play around with the Slave I.

But you study Jango with those ever-perceptive eyes of yours. He looks away, swallowing hard, jaw clenching. While Boba scrambles for his poncho — a smaller version of the one Jango himself wears — you drift closer.

“Jango,” you say softly, cupping his cheek. He squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t deserve this. You. Boba.

“Let me in,” you say, voice just shy of begging. “I can help carry the load.” Boba is back before he can say anything, and he swallows again, trying to rid his throat of the ache that threatens to take away his ability to speak.

Boba charges ahead, but you hold onto Jango’s hand as the three of you step onto the landing platform. Boba runs for the ship.

“Be careful near the edge,” you shout at him, and Jango watches as Boba slows obediently.

“You do a good job with him,” Jango says, sitting beside you near the door. The sun has set, leaving the night sky a beautiful wash of colorful stars and distant nebulas.

Jango slumps down, ache moving to the back of his head. Boba circles the Slave I, running his hands across it, cataloging each part, just like Jango taught him.

“You do too,” you say, and he closes his eyes. He can make you leave. Take Boba with you. He’ll stay here, so the Kaminoans can’t complain.

“Jango.” When he opens his eyes, you’re right there, chewing your lip and looking worried.

“I’m tired,” he blurts, and as soon as he says it, he knows it’s the truth. Not just tired physically, but mentally. Emotionally. He’s tired of fighting, tired of living in fear.

Because he’s a legend, but even legends have weaknesses.

You tug on his shoulder, softly.

“Rest for a moment, then.” He lets you guide his head to your lap, and can’t help the sigh that escapes him as you card your fingers through his hair. It needs to be cut again, the curls longer than he likes, the first hints of silver just starting to appear at his temples.

He’s torn between closing his eyes and committing this scene to memory. Boba wanders over, slouching down beside you and putting his head on your shoulder.

Jango stares at the night sky, the rhythmic crashing of the waves lulling him into a tranquil state. His eyes find two stars that hang right beside each other, one smaller than the other, brighter than all the ones around them. Boba gasps when a shooting star passes below the two stars.

“Did you see that?” Boba asks, sitting up in excitement. You gently tug him back down.

Jango feels like that shooting star. His time’s running out. He can feel it in his very bones.

~~~

You comb your fingers gently through Jango’s hair, tilting your head to lay on Boba’s, and you pray neither of them can feel the way your heart pounds in your chest.

Something is very wrong.

Jango won’t tell you, but it’s there on his face. He’s saying goodbye.

Your eyes burn, and you widen them to dry the unshed tears, staring at the night sky, at two stars that seem to be winking at you. Which ghost from his past is it, you wonder, that’s pulling him away?

A breeze blows across the landing pad, and you shiver. It’s cold, the breeze bordering on wet with coming rain, but you don’t want to go in. The waves below you are soothing to listen to, and the sky above is beautiful. Even with the lights of Tipoca City, the stars are bright, the occasional shooting star arching across the sky.

“We should go inside,” Jango says, voice rumbling against your skin. Boba mumbles something beside you, half-asleep.

“Just a little more time,” you say. If you could bottle up this moment and keep it, you would. Jango sits up, and you protest softly.

“You’re shivering,” he says, cupping your cheeks. You lean into his touch. His lips part, eyes half-closing, and you reach for the back of his neck, pulling you closer to him.

When he kisses you, it is achingly slow. Tender and chaste, at first; he just rests his mouth on yours, the both of you conscious of Boba sleeping on your shoulder.

Jango pulls away, the little hum of protest leaving your mouth before you can stop it. He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“Hold on,” he murmurs. Instead, he tugs Boba up, resting the boy on his back. Boba sighs, and clenches his hands around Jango’s neck.

Together, the three of you make your way back inside. Jango puts Boba in his room, and you stare out the window, watching as the clouds move back over the night sky, covering the two stars.

Jango steps back out, shutting the door softly.

You watch his reflection in the transperisteel, leaning back as he wraps his arms around you, pressing his mouth to the side of your neck.

Your eyes close, and your heart thuds harder. Twisting, you wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his neck. Jango sighs, cupping the back of your head and holding you there. Your eyes are burning again, and this time, you squeeze them shut harder, summoning strength.

Pressing your palms against his chest, you push away.

“Let me in,” you say for the third time, clenching your jaw so your lips don’t tremble.

“Cyare,” he says, reaching for you, and you step back, until you’re pressed against the window, the cold seeping into your skin. You wrap your arms around yourself, holding tight.

“No. I deserve answers, Jango.” His face falls, and he looks down. Nodding slowly, he looks back up.

“I messed up,” he says. The simple phrase shouldn’t chill you as much as it does, but to hear Jango Fett admit he messed up leaves you feeling unmoored.

“How? How did you mess up?” It doesn’t feel like you speaking, your voice landing overly-loud in the quiet room.

“Zam and I went after a senator,” Jango says. “And Zam got caught.” He looks past you, at the skies, which have opened up, the dull sound of thunder vibrating the walls behind you.

“Where did they take her?” you ask. Jango meets your eyes, sadness hidden deep in them.

“They didn’t take her,” you say, and he nods.

“I… I killed her. Because I had to. She would have done the same for me.” You take a deep breath. He killed her. Because that’s what bounty hunters do. They assess the risk and take it out, no matter the cost.

“And now?” you ask. “What about the senator? What happened to them?” Jango clicks his teeth, and turns away from you, straightening some of the blocks Boba left out. But not before you see the guilt flash across his face.

“She’s still alive, last I heard.” Good. That’s good. You’re not sure who it was, but you don’t relish anyone dying.

“But I got sloppy,” he says. You reach for him, hating the bitterness you can hear in his voice, the self-blame.

“Sloppy how?” He turns back to you, agony across his face.

“She had Jedi protecting her, cyare. And I used one of the weapons the Kaminoans gave me. They’ll be coming here. Soon.” You digest his words, unsure what that means for the three of you, exactly.

“So let’s just go,” you say, the reckless words tearing their way out of your mouth. Jango scraps a frustrated hand through his hair.

“We can’t just go,” he mutters, the both of you conscious of Boba sleeping in the room right next to you.

You stomp your foot, releasing some of your frustration.

“Yes, we can! Weren’t you the one who just suggested it?” Jango swipes a hand across his mouth, rubbing over his chin and the stubble there as he does.

“Things have changed. I have to do this. If you leave, it’ll just be you and Boba.” Your fists clench, and you resist the urge to hit something. You will not let him make himself a martyr.

“Do what? What is so important, Jango?” He shakes his head, turning away from you, heading towards the room the two of you share. Your nostrils flare and you take a big, heaving breath before following him in.

“Forget it,” he says, shucking armor and kicking off his boots. The door closes behind you. You grab his shoulder, stopping him from removing any more.

“No, let’s talk about this. You can’t keep shutting me out anytime it gets tough, Jango.” He shakes you off, his side-glare more hurt than anger.

“It’s for your own good.” You fucking hate those words.

“How can it be for my own good when it effects me and you won’t tell me? What is so fucking important that you’re willing to risk our safety — Boba’s fucking safety — to get it? Credits? Fame?” His back tenses as you talk.

“Don’t you dare imply I put either of those above the two of you,” he hisses. Your laugh is caustic, lacking any humor.

“I don’t know what to think,” you say, throwing your hands up. Maker, you hate how shrill and strangled your voice sounds. But this fight has been a long time coming. Jango grips the desk, head bowing.

“I’d hope you know me better than that.” His voice is dangerously low.

“How can I when you won’t answer any questions and keep blowing me off?”

“I wanted information on who tried to fucking kill you!” he shouts, lip curling in disgust as he whirls on you. “Was that so wrong of me?” You jump, flinching on instinct.

Instantly, he pulls back, his head falling as he buries his face in his hands. Jango takes two deep, measured breaths, and when he looks back up at you, he’s composed.

“I couldn’t let it go.” His voice is back to a soft whisper. Slowly, he raises his hand, extending it to you. Tears fill your eyes.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” you whisper, a few tears starting to spill down your cheeks. Angrily, you swipe them away. “All I’ve ever wanted from you was somewhere peaceful and safe.”

“There are people from my past who still haunt me, even all these years later,” Jango says, and his voice sounds so helpless it breaks your heart. “How can things be peaceful or safe when I know they’re out there? When I don’t have any answers?”

You swallow hard, over the aching lump in your throat. He turns toward the door, shaking his head.

“I need to do some damage control. Try and salvage this. They’ll be watching and waiting, but someone’s bound to slip up.” He shoves off the rest of his armor as he goes.

“I’d rather have you and Boba than answers.”

He freezes in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at you. Your lips thin, and you nod once, decisively.

“One of the first nights after I met Boba, I decided I’d be in for a long life. But it didn’t scare me. Because I had you to help me. Before you two, I’d been playing with a pretty shitty hand in life. And then I came here, and it was like I got a second chance.” He grimaces, and you step closer.

“Jango, it pisses me off that someone attacked me, and yeah, I’d love to know why, but you know what scares me the most? What really leaves me so angry I can’t breathe? The thought of losing this little family we’ve built.” His eyes close, pure pain written across his face, and he lets out a long sigh.

“I can’t just quit,” he says softly. “I… we’re in too deep now, Cyare.” You tiptoe over to him and cup his cheek.

“So we figure out how to get out. But let me help you, Jango. Trust me.” He leans into your touch, holding his hand over yours, even as he presses his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, breath brushing across your lips. And you know this time he apologizing not because he’s pushing you away, but because he didn’t trust you enough to let you in.

You kiss him, tasting salt and regret on your lips, feeling the way he moves with you, as if when he lets you go, you’ll disappear.

“Hey,” you say, edging back slightly and wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s okay. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. We’ve gotten through worse.” But the way Jango wraps his arms around you, tinging on just this side of desperate tells another story.

And that. That chills you to the bone.

~~~

In the end, it’s the waiting that’s the worst part.

Jango stays close to home, leaving only when he has to, and even Boba picks up on the tension, glancing between you two as if he can read what’s going on in your faces.

At night, Jango clutches you to his chest, mouth and hands moving over your skin at a near frantic pace, as if he expects to be torn away from you in the very next breath.

And yet, enough time passes that you begin to think it was all in Jango’s head. Perhaps you’ve gotten lucky, and life, like always, will carry on.

It’s a foolish, foolish dream.

The three of you have just finished dinner. Boba is in the main room, drawing — his latest habit — and you and Jango stand in your bedroom.

There’s a bag on the bed, and together, you’re making a grab-bag of sorts, pieces of you life that you can’t leave behind. Jango is cleaning his weapons, the blaster pieces spread across the little desk in the corner.

And the door beeps, signaling a visitor.

“I got it,” Boba yells. Jango is already on his feet.

“Boba, wait!” But it’s too late. You hear the door slide open, and one of the Kaminoans — Taun We, it sounds like — speaks.

“Boba, is your father here?” Jango freezes beside you, and you reach for his hand, squeezing tight. He squeezes back, getting grease from his blasters on your skin.

You don’t care. You cup his cheek with your other hand, pressing your forehead against his, offering as much support as you can.

“Stay in here,” he whispers. “Finish packing. Be ready to leave.” Your breath shudders, but you nod, holding on as long as you can before you absolutely have to let go.

Jango snags a spare cloth as he leaves, wiping the grease off his hands. You stay out of sight, pressing your back to the wall. He leaves the door open — an oversight — and you wince, seeing the armor still on the ground.

“Eh, Boba,” Jango says. You listen as he tells him to close the door. Boba’s eyes meet yours as he does, and you nod once, trying to tell him to be strong with just your eyes.

He sets his mouth in a grim line, but gives you a small nod.

Letting out another shuddering breath, you pack quicker, listening to Jango speak to your visitor. Your hands shake, and you flex your fingers.

“I’m just a simple man, trying to make my way through the universe,” Jango says. Even through the walls, you can hear the sarcasm in his voice, well-hidden to everyone except you and Boba.

The other person says something — probably a man, given the lower tone — and you listen as they move towards the door.

It beeps, signaling their departure, and you freeze.

Jango rushes in.

“Time to go,” he says. “We won’t have long. They’ll want him to take me too.” He’s hurrying, face grim as he puts the blasters back together.

“Boba,” he calls, “Pack your things. We’re leaving.” He slips on his flight suit, tugging on his gauntlets even as he zips it up.

You carry his greaves over, and he takes them from you, attaching them in a smooth, practiced motion.

“Jango.” He pauses, looking between you and the door.

“This is it?” You know the answer, of course, but you want him to tell you. Need him to.

Instead, he tugs you against him. His mouth finds yours, desperate, even as his arms tighten around your back, arching you against him. You cling to him, hands on either side of his face, as he pushes against you.

He nips your bottom lip, and you gasp, giving him the chance to slide his tongue along yours. Your hands slide to his hair, tugging, and he groans against your mouth.

You cheeks are wet, and you’re not sure if they’re your tears or his, but it doesn’t matter, because he’s pulling away, resting his forehead against yours.

“This is it.”

~~~

Leaving Kamino is a painful, chaotic blur. You see Jango truly in action for the first time in a long time, sitting beside Boba in the cockpit as Jango fights for his life.

Boba tries to help, getting off a few shots before the man — one of the Jedi — knocks Jango’s jet pack away and the two tumble over the side.

“No,” Boba breathes beside you, reaching for your hand, even as he readies the ship to fly.

“We can’t leave him,” you gasp and Boba nods, brow furrowed. From beside him, you can see the sheen of tears he’s desperately fighting. He sits farther up, the both of you straining to see over the side.

The rain pounds on the ship, lightening streaking across the sky, thunder vibrating in your bones. The top of Jango’s head peaks over the side, followed by the rest of him as he hauls himself up, the man nowhere to be seen.

“Come on,” you whisper, as he rushes towards the ship. Boba slips back into his seat, adjusting the controls. As soon as Jango boards, Boba punches a button, closing the ramp and demonstrating a skill with the ship that you didn’t know he possessed.

You slide out of Jango’s way as he takes his seat, snapping off his helmet and on his headset. Together, the two of them get the ship into the air. You glance back, at the Jedi, holding his lightsaber, then beyond him, to the place that’s been your home for so, so long.

The jump to hyperspace is silent, Jango still catching his breath.

“Where are we going?” Boba is the first to speak. Jango adjusts the controls, flicking a few buttons and switches.

“Geonosis,” he says. “We have allies there.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. You do?

“What about the Kaminoans?” you ask. He side-eyes you.

“I’ve done my job for them.” It’s vague, and you don’t like the way he straightens his shoulders, like he’s preparing for another battle.

“And then?” Boba adjusts his controls, mirroring Jango, who nods at him. Jango gives you his full attention, crooked smile gracing his lips.

“We’ll be safe.” Maybe it’s the way he nods as he says it, as if he’s convincing himself, or maybe it’s the way his hand tightens on Boba’s shoulder. It might even be the white-knuckle grip he has on the controls, the only indication that something’s amiss, while your recent argument floats through your head.

Whatever it is, his words don’t settle properly, leaving you more worried than you were.

[kill-the-feels]

I still need to read the new chapter, but I want to say your Jango series is one of my favorite! I reread it every couple of months and every time it just gets better. Your characterization, the build up of their relationship, Reader and Boba together, everything! I’m in love 💙

Hey Vee!! Always love to hear from you!!💜💜

Thank you so much for reading!! Any time I hear that people not only read — but REREAD — my stuff I’m floored like that’s the biggest compliment!!

(Those are happy tears btw ^)

I’m so glad you’re enjoying and thanks again for taking the time to read it!!💜

[kill-the-feels]

just finished the rough draft for the last chapter of fwwhtsam and i am Emotional™️

[kill-the-feels]

the feminine urge to just drop the final four chapters of fwwchtsam in one fell swoop

[kill-the-feels]

I spent my day slowly binging your Jango Fett works and I just gotta say, *damn*. I love how you write him so much. Absolutely 100% I am *smitten* with your characterization of this man that I was already unashamedly in love with.

Ahhh thank you!!! That’s so validating, you don’t even know omg!!💜💜

When I write for him, I always try and keep him in character (how I see him at least) but he has like a total of five minutes of screen time (no lie) so I rely a lot on the wiki page for him because I want to get it right/make him seem like the one on screen, but with some more emotions for Reader and Boba😅

[kill-the-feels]

Hello! I was just reading your Jango series and I LOVE IT! are you planning on adding more parts?????

Hi!! Thank you so much for reading!!💜

This ask is a little old, but the answer is yes!! I’ve got four more chapters (3 main ones + an epilogue) written and now they just need proofing/editing!!

[kill-the-feels]

You didn’t have to make me cry like that :,)

i’M SORRY :,)

(Worry not, the next part’s coming soon!)

[kill-the-feels]

Just out of curiosity are you still going to continue the story you were writing with boba fett ?👉🏻👈🏻

Hello!!

Yes I will!! Once fwwchtsam is all out, I’ll definitely be back to that one and I’ve got some big plans for it😊

[kill-the-feels]

naive

a/n: we’re back for more!! i wanted to post this after the season finale of mando because i needed some comfort after that pain. please enjoy everyone being soft!! (also i know in the last part, i had jango just up and leave, which was a slight goof on my part, so in this section, there’s a little bit more of what precedes him leaving. i’m sorry if the timeline seems a lil’ wonky!)

warnings: language, mentions/thoughts of slavery, some steamy(ish) thoughts

word count: 1.5k

If you weren’t at your wit’s end, you might laugh at how optimistic you were right after Fett left.

It started off well enough. Before Fett made his grand exit and in between telling you about emergency comms, he brought you over to the door, and you stared at him, confused and holding a wide-eyed Boba in your arms.

“Here,” Fett says, taking Boba from you. With one arm, he holds Boba, and with the other, he holds his hand up, fingers splayed out.

At first, you think he wants you to touch his hand, and face burning, you nearly do, until he reaches past you and presses a palm to the pad by the door.

“We need to add yours,” he says. “So you can get in and out without me.” You stare a hole in the ground, willing the flames to retreat from your face.

Mirroring Fett’s example, you splay out your fingers, and press your palm to the pad.

Fett puts his hand on top of yours, and you feel your lungs seize. His hand is warm, even through the gloves he’s wearing, and he pushes down just slightly. You squeeze your eyes shut.

Imagine that hold elsewhere. The thought drifts by, and you cringe just slightly. Your brain just loves to bring up the worst thoughts at the worst time. Fett says nothing, but he must feel the way you flinch.

 The pad beeps, and he tugs you hand off. For just a heartbeat, he’s holding your hand, and you stare down at the way his much-larger fingers practically envelop yours. And then he drops it, and gives Boba back to you, before promptly fucking off to who knows where.

But you and Boba will be fine. You’re sure of it.

Oh, how naïve and unsuspecting your hours-younger self is.

Easy, right?

Nope.

Soon after Fett leaves, Boba’s bottom lip wobbles and he breaks into a sob.

Which leads you to now. Boba has not stopped crying, and now, you’re close to crying too. He was fine, in the immediate aftermath of Fett leaving, but the second you tried to put him to bed in his crib, his eyes popped open, and he’s cried ever since.

And you’ve tried everything. Everything. Bouncing him gently in your arms, talking in a soothing voice like Fett did, pleading with him. Nothing has worked.

You’re really close to finding the emergency comm Fett mentioned, but that means holding a squalling Boba in your hands while digging through Fett’s stuff and you definitely don’t want to do that.

“We’re in for a long wait, little guy, if you keep that up,” you mutter to Boba, who has finally, mercifully, cried himself to sleep.

So it goes every time you try to put Boba down in his crib. He cries and cries, until you pick him up and let him nestle into your neck. Then, he settles into sleep.

“Going to be difficult then, are we?” You whisper to him, sitting carefully on the couch. You yourself are tired, and the only way you can think to sleep is to sit propped up, rubbing an errant hand over Boba’s tiny back.

It’s like he’s afraid you’re going to leave him.

“Don’t worry, little guy,” you say, words slurred with exhaustion. “I gotcha.”  

It’s only after the third day without Fett that you settle into some type of rhythm. Sleep with Boba on the couch, wake up and scrape together food, clean and change Boba (an experience you were not prepared for), then putter around the room, bouncing Boba as you go. Both of you are bored, but there’s little to do, and you don’t want to chance leaving the room for fear of encountering the long-necks.

Boba has taken to fisting his hand in Fett’s-turned-your shirt, and it’s taken you this long to realize it’s because it reminds him of Fett. Even after days of you wearing it, when you lift the collar to your nose and sniff, there’s a distinctly Fett scent.

The two of you have just settled in for a long night - Boba has been fussy all day and only quieted when you chanced a walk along the halls, watching the towering waves - when you hear the beep of the door lock.

You tense, afraid it’s a long-neck. Can they just walk in? Would they? You push yourself off the couch, tired limbs protesting, but needing to be ready to run.

Boba whimpers, sensing your tension.

“No, no, no. Shit,” you say, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Go back to sleep.” A good way to avoid conflict is remaining quiet and remaining in the background, something that can’t be done with a screaming baby. But it’s too late. He squeezes his eyes shut and screams for all he’s worth, sobs wracking his little body.

Unbidden, tears come to your own eyes. You’re just… so tired. And afraid, and you don’t know what’s wrong with him. You’ve tried everything to make him happy and comfortable, and he’s still crying.

Fett steps into the darkened room, silhouetted by the light from the hall, but identifiable enough with the distinct shape of his armor and helmet. He closes the door and the room falls dark again. Boba sobs and sobs.

Even as you register Fett being back, you’re already trying to soothe Boba, but none of you usual tricks are working.

Over the din Boba is making, you hear the clank of his helmet as Fett shucks it off. His footsteps get closer, and he stands above you, just a shadow in the dark.

He takes Boba from you, and even as worn out as you are, you resist a little, already extremely attached to him, despite Boba’s penchant for making himself heard.

“Is he sick?” Fett asks. You can hear the way his voice catches just a little at the end of his sentence, the fear there.

“No, I don’t think so,” you say, “He’s just gotten really good at using his lungs.” You collapse back onto the couch and follow Fett’s movement around the room by listening to Boba’s cries. There’s a quiet beep, and the light in the room comes on, a soft, comforting yellow.

Fett murmurs something to his son that you can’t hear from your position on the couch. You eyes won’t stay open anyway, and while the couch is more function than comfort, at this moment, it’s the softest thing you’ve felt.

Maybe a quick nap won’t hurt, while Fett has Boba, so you can watch him later while Fett sleeps.

Boba quiets, doing the shaky little whimpers you’ve noticed he always does when he’s almost done crying and settling in for sleep.

“Been a handful, have you?” Fett is talking to Boba again, using that full, warm voice that has you unconsciously clenching your thighs. He’s gotten closer to you, so his voice drifts, even as he keeps it soft.

“Got some strong lungs too, ad’ika. Good. Those’ll serve you well.” Boba coos softly, and you crack an eye open to watch the two of them, sleep momentarily forgotten.

Fett steps towards you, then leans down, shifting Boba as he does, preparing to put him down beside you on the couch.

“Don’t,” you whisper, but it comes out like a croak. “He’ll wake up.” Fett pauses, and you reach for Boba.

“I’ll hold him, so you can do what you need to. But he’s not going to sleep just laying there.” Boba sighs in his sleep, and his little face is twists into a frown. Fett smiles gently at him, the first real smile you’ve seen from him.

“My son is a stubborn one,” he says, pride evident in the way he says “son” and lingers on the word.

“I promise he hasn’t cried the whole time,” you say, gently lifting Boba from his arms and cradling him to your neck again. He fists his little hand in your shirt, and you smile. “He just gets bored. And… misses you.”

“That’s my last job for a bit,” Fett says. He takes a step towards the ‘fresher, then pauses.

“He’s out,” you assure him, which feels weird, seeing how hesitant you were before Fett left. But you and Boba have bonded in Fett’s absence. “I’ll keep an eye on him for a little longer.”

“I won’t be long,” he says. His eyes linger still, and you shift a little on the couch.

Calm down, you tell yourself. He’s watching his son. Not you. The ‘fresher door closes, and you breathe a little easier. When Fett’s in the room, it feels like all the air is being sucked out. Boba snuggles close to you, and you smile gently. It’s times like this you’re struck by how little he is.

Like Boba, you drift off to sleep, well-used to sleeping propped up by now. The ‘fresher runs in the background creating a pleasant, constant noise, and the room seems warmer with the soft, yellow lights.

For the first time in your life, you think you’re at peace.

[kill-the-feels]

Employee

a/n: We’re back with the next part for Jango!! Thanks to everyone for your interest! (Side note: I’ve tried my best to keep Jango as true to character as I can, but at the same time, my knowledge of his lore is admittedly lacking/based off what his wookiepedia page says, so if he’s a little ooc, I’m sorry about that!!) (part one)

warnings: mild language, mentions of slavery

word count: 1.5k

You must walk for hours. You have no way of knowing for sure, but based on the way the suns change, you must. Fett says not one word the whole time, so you resign yourself to suffering in silence.

And suffer you do.

Gardulla was not the most… generous employer with anything, including clothing. To say the least, you’re stuck in a rather revealing outfit that offers no protection from the suns and absolutely no shoes. Which is fine in the palace. But outside? You stopped feeling the burning in your feet after the first little bit of walking, which is either a good thing or a really bad thing. You’re not sure.

You stumble over a rough patch of sand and end up falling to your knees. Fett keeps going. The rough grit digs into your skin.

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to push yourself up. Fett must hear your lack of footsteps, because he stops and finally turns around, making his way back to you.

“What’s the issue?” he asks. His tone is even and doesn’t change at all. In fact, you realize you’ve never heard him so much as raise his voice, a monumental accomplishment coming from a place as loud and busy as Gardulla’s.

“Sorry,” you say, “I’ll be fine.” You still don’t quite know why he bought you, so you’re doing your best to remain as unobtrusive and invisible as possible, so as to not provoke his ire. Something else you learn quickly when learning how to survive.

“What’s wrong?” he repeats, extending a hand down to you when your legs just won’t work. The truth is, you’re tired. You’re not used to walking so much, your skin is hot to the touch, and your feet are numb with pain.

You decide to just pick one problem.

“It’s my feet,” you say, “the sand is really hot.” He says nothing for so long that you find yourself staring at the ground, wishing you’d never spoken. He must think you’re so weak.

And then he does something unexpected. He takes the cape he’s wearing and tugs on the end, tearing off a long strip.

“What are you doing?” The horror in your tone is evident in the way your voice squeaks and cracks as he kneels, lifting your right leg. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and your embarrassment is only multiplied when you feel the sudden onslaught of tears pricking at your eyes. Stop it, you chastise yourself. He’s not being nice. Just practical. You’re slowing him down, and you need shoes to speed it up.

You blink the tears back, watching as Fett wraps the strip around your foot, then tears another and wraps that one around the other foot. He stands back up to his full height, helmeted gaze scanning the horizon.

“The ship is about a klick in that direction. Do you think you can make it that far?” Walking even just a klick seems insurmountable, but you nod anyway, because what choice do you have?

The two of you start out again, but this time, Fett remains beside you, standing on the side facing the suns, giving you some relief in the partial shade of his shadows.

It’s surprisingly generous of him. So generous in fact, that you chance talking.

“If you don’t mind my asking, did you walk all this way to Gardulla’s?” Even though you keep your voice soft, it still sounds impossibly loud in the silence. He’s quiet for a beat, and once more, you wish you’d just kept your mouth closed.

Finally, he lets out what sounds like a snort.

“Not really.” He taps his back. “This thing lets me get around pretty quick.” You have no idea what this “thing” is, but it looks like some piece of tech that lets him fly. You’re not about to admit your ignorance, though, so you let it lapse back into silence.

The two of you crest a dune, and his ship comes into view. He presses a button on his arm brace, and it opens up. You wait for him to tell you where to go, but he just gestures for you to enter.

“Do… do you want me to stay down here in the cargo part?” you ask. He’s making his way forward, towards the cockpit, you assume.

“Don’t care,” he says, “Just get somewhere and stay put until we reach hyperspace. It can get bumpy.” And then he’s gone, and you think about following him. But also, this is the first time you’ve had a moment alone since, well, ever, so you stay put. You find a seat along the wall, listening to the faint beeps as he readies the ship, and you feel the way it vibrates when he turns it on, closing up the cargo hatch as he does.

What would the girls at Gardulla’s say, you wonder, if you told them how Fett has treated you so far? They wouldn’t believe you, probably. There’s a jolt, and you realize the ship has lifted off, carrying you up into the air. There’s a tiny part of you that’s excited. Having been born and raised on Tatooine, you haven’t ever been on a ship, much less gone into hyperspace. There’s a little pressure on your chest, and then it eases, and now you kind of wish you’d followed him up to the cockpit, so you could take it all in.

So tempting is the idea of seeing space for the first time, that you nearly go up there. But the cool, metal floor feels nice against your overheated skin and your eyes can’t seem to stay open, no matter how many times you shake yourself awake. Maybe you’ll just rest for a little bit.

Yeah, that sounds nice.

~~~

You don’t open your eyes until there’s a thud. In the darkness of the hull, it takes a moment for you to orient yourself. The events of the past few hours come flooding back, and you push yourself up as the lights come on and Fett steps down into the cargo hold.

“Home sweet home,” he says, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. Unsure what else to do, you follow him outside.

The temperature change is the first thing you notice, as a gust of cold, wet wind blows across your body, dragging your hair in front of your eyes. You snap it back off your face, then wish you could put it back, as fear roots your feet to the spot. Lightning flashes across the sky, followed almost immediately by a resounding boom of thunder. Through the rain and illuminated by the near-constant flashes of lightning, you see walls of water charging towards you. The platform Fett’s ship is resting on suddenly seems much too small, and you feel your legs tremble.

You’ve never seen this much water in your life.

A wave washes over the platform, nearly knocking your legs out from under you and stinging the bottoms of your raw feet under your rag-shoes. You sway slightly, widening your stance a little to compensate for the tug of the water rushing over your feet. Across the platform, a door whooshes open, and a tall, long-necked creature steps out, seemingly unaffected by this rain and water.

Maybe going back to Gardulla isn’t the worst choice.

“Jango,” the creature says in a light, feminine voice. “Welcome back. I see you’ve brought someone new. Did you clear this?” The rain is pelting down on your head, and you can’t stop shivering as this woman looks you over. Her eyes seem to see well past your exterior, and you find yourself sliding behind Fett just a bit, as if he’ll protect you. (Not likely, you realize.)

“I didn’t think I needed to,” he says, in that ever-even tone. “She’s my new employee. To watch over my son.” You try not to react to his statement. You really do. But the knowledge that Fett has a kriffin’ son is too planet-shattering, so you don’t fault yourself too much when you whip your gaze to his helmet-obscured face, as if you’ll be able to gauge his expression. He keeps his posture ramrod straight, not backing down from the long-neck’s eerie stare.

The long-neck’s mouth turns down slightly.

“We have plenty of nurse droids to choose from,” she says. Fett scoffs loud enough that you can hear it from your position behind him, even through the helmet.

“My son isn’t going to be raised by droids, not like the others. She’ll do the job when he’s not with me. Consider it part of our deal.” The long-neck studies the two of you long enough that you have to cross your arms over your chest to stop the full-body shudders that are currently wracking over you. Fett does not budge; the only sign that he’s not asleep in that armor the way his shoulders broaden under the long-neck’s gaze, up until you’re nearly hidden behind him.

She inclines her chin slightly, then extends an arm towards a door behind her.

“I trust you will be ready to deal with any consequences,” she says. He says nothing, choosing to stalk past the long-neck, and you, not wanting to be stuck on a tiny platform being pelted with rain and walls of water, follow him.

Inside, the walls are blinding, much in the same way the suns are when they beat off the Tatooine sand. But where the suns are a harsh yellow, everything in here is a shocking white that feels coldly impersonal and vaguely threatening. And it’s not just because of all the staring long-necks you pass as you follow Fett. There are bay windows that allow you to see down into various rooms and outside, where the occasional wave slaps the transparisteel with what feels like enough force to shatter it. He turns down a hallway, heading towards the center of the building, if you had to guess, and you follow, glad to be away from all the windows.

It’s quieter here too, quiet enough that you can hear your own teeth chattering.

You still haven’t stopped shivering, and your clothes might as well be nonexistent for all the coverage they’re providing you. Fett stops abruptly in front of a door, but he hesitates, glancing back at you. You shrink under his gaze, afraid you’ve done something wrong. Were you not supposed to follow him? Are you meant to be elsewhere? Is he trying to figure out how to explain your presence to his son? He presses his palm to a pad on the right. It beeps, then slides open soundlessly.

He gestures to the left without looking at you.

“‘Fresher’s there. You should use it. Warm up.” You nod, struck mute and frozen in place. He notices your hesitance, and when you say nothing, swivels to face you, adding:

“What?” You swallow hard.

“Nothing. Or, it’s just… you said you had… a son?” Fett turns back towards the rest of the room, rolling his shoulders as he does. Away from the prying eyes of everyone, he seems to deflate, shoulders slumping in a little, head tilting down instead of on a swivel.  

“Will have one. Any day now. Anything else?” Your mouth opens and closes. Yes, many things. Like, are you still his slave? Because he called you an employee out there. And, what exactly is he expecting from you? And does he have a wife? Or, at least, a mother to his son?

“Nothing else,” you finally say. “I’ll just… warm up now.” And then you escape into the ‘fresher, letting the door slide closed and trying to quiet the raging questions in your mind.

[kill-the-feels]

I was wondering if you were planning to put Hurt for Me and from what we cannot hold the stars are made on Ao3? They are both amazing by the way!!

Hello!!

Thank you so much!!

And to be honest, I hadn’t much considered it, but I definitely can!!

[kill-the-feels]

Question for the day!

I have two potential works I could post this evening (manifest me getting my work done on time🤞) and I want to know which y’all would prefer!

Option one: next chapter of fwwchtsam

Or….

Option two: new work (hint: it’s a Fett piece👀)

Let me know!

[kill-the-feels]

Hii if you’re still taking requests, can you write a story where the reader x jango and boba go on a little “family vacation” like to a beach or something. I know it’s out of character for jango but I just can’t help but imagine this fluffy scenario! Maybe he’s tense for a bit and it takes a while to get him to relax but he does and he sees reader playing with boba and realizes that boba loves reader and then he thinks he loves her too. Maybe some tension between reader x jango too?¿ thank youu

Hello!!

So, I set out fully intending to write this (because it is so CUTE and I’m soft🥺) buuut it also is low key the plot of the next chapter of fwwchtsam which I’m going to try and drop tonight, so I hope you’ll forgive me for that!💜

Instead, may i interest you in a sneak peak? (Which also happens to feature some family fluff and some ~tension~)

~~~~~

You’re glad for the Kaminoan sun as a gust of wind blows mist from the sea over you. Not that it matters — your shirt is all wet now, from the still-damp platform, but you aren’t letting it ruin anything for you. Boba splashes in a puddle and squeals, tugging himself to standing and using Jango’s arm for balance. He stomps the puddle, sending a spray of water across Jango. Jango makes a face, and you can’t help it. You laugh. Boba, seeing your amusement, does it again, splashing Jango more thoroughly this time.

“Boba,” he says, voice stern, but you can see the humor threatening to break through. Boba smiles, and he lifts his foot again, wobbling and holding tightly to Jango

“Don’t,” you say, trying to sound firm like Jango, but unable to keep a straight face.

Boba slams his foot down, and water flies in every direction. Jango snatches Boba up, who shrieks and looks at you for help.

“Sorry,” you say. “I tried to warn you.” Jango shakes his head, sending water droplets from his hair sprinkling down on Boba. The boy cries out, his face indignant at being splashed himself.

He wriggles against Jango, who finally sets him down so he can wipe the excess water off his face. Boba looks over at you. Your eyes widen.

“No,” you say. You’re not laughing any more. Jango watches the two of you, as Boba crawls towards you, aiming for the puddle of water at your feet.

You dodge out of the way, before he can splash you. You’re fine being a little wet, but you’re already cold and do not want to be soaked with a spray of puddle water.

“Ha. I’m not letting you get away with that again, little man.” Boba huffs, his little lip pouting. You incline your chin, triumphant at having won.

Arms wrap around you, dragging you back and pining you in place against a solid wall of something. Your eyes widen, and your slow brain can’t quite make the scene work. You try to twist around, to figure out what’s going on, and catch a glimpse of Jango’s face very close to your own face.

“C’mon,” he says to Boba. “Get her.” Jango’s face is close enough to your neck that his breath is hot on your skin. It sends pleasant tingles down your spine.

Uh-oh. Not good.

[kill-the-feels]

Hey I was just wondering if your fives fic on ao3 was planned to be continued past the first 2 chapters? I love it and honestly its the only good fives fic I've read on the site that I truly enjoy lol and I'd be so pumped if its going to continue past the 2 chapters already posted

Hello!! Thank you so much!!💜

And yes, it will be continued!! Eventually, it should have the same amount of chapters that get posted on tumblr same with my rex one

It takes me a little longer to get stuff posted to ao3 (see agin: rex story, fwwchtsam, hurt for me, etc) because of the formatting that goes into each chapter, but eventually, they’ll all be there.

Thanks again for reading!!💜