#jango x reader

[foxgirl95]

I’m just gonna put this here cause I feel like I never hear people talk about this and they should 😍

[vodika-vibes]

Just because I know how much you love, Jango.

Can I request a Jango and whatever you wish. Write away... love oo

Let Her Be Mine

Summary: When Jango Fett was 14 years old, his people were slaughtered and he was sold into slavery. His cell mate on the slave ship was a small girl, younger than him, though she had been a slave for much longer. Jango’s biggest regret is not acting before she was sold. And then he runs into her again...and this time he’s not letting go.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 4134

Warnings: Slavery

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: Okay, this is a labor of love that took me days to write. A big thanks to @daimyosprincess for helping me with a sentence that was far too wordy. And thank you for giving me such an open ended ask, lol. I kind of just ran with it.

Jango remembers the first time he met her with surprising clarity. He remembers the feel of chains around his wrists, the heavy slave collar wrapped around his neck, and the scent of unwashed people and fear all around him.

And he remembers her.

She was younger than him by a couple of years, though she looked much younger. The rags that she was wearing, designed for men much larger than her, hung on her small frame like a dress. And razor thin scars crisscrossed her body like some kind of twisted tattoo.

She didn’t have a name, she told him with a small smile. A peaceful smile, as though she had accepted her lot in life and was okay with it.

Jango named her Sen’ika.

A little bird in a little cage.

The slavers shoved him into the same cage as her, claiming that they were both so small that they could share. In truth, he didn’t mind. She deserved to be protected, and surely even he couldn’t kark that up.

His Sen’ika became his reason for surviving. He learned to bite his tongue when the slavers came through, learned to take the beatings from men who beat down on people smaller than them just to make themselves feel important. He learned the importance of listening, rather than just reacting.

And when things were so bad that he couldn’t handle it, his Sen’ika would take his hand and curl against his side, and tell him that tomorrow will be better because it couldn’t possibly be worse.

She was always right.

And on nights when the darkness of despair blotted out all the light, when even his Sen’ika struggled to cradle that fragile flower of hope, Jango would tell her what freedom tasted like.

He’d weave the most amazing stories of the planets that they’d visit and the people that they’d meet and the places that they’d see—

It helped. It gave him something to cling to, and it bolstered her waning spirits. And she would flash him the tiniest of smiles, and Jango would feel ten feet tall.

He couldn’t be that terrible of a person if someone as kind as his Sen’ika smiled at him like that.

And then the auction happened.

And then his Sen’ika was sold. Ripped from from his arms and clapped with heavy chains that weighed her down, as though she was a threat.

They clipped her wings so that she might never fly free.

And the last time he saw his Sen’ika, was when she was being forced into the back of a van with the other children that her new owner purchased.

Jango remained a slave for ten years. Ten long, dragging, years.

Ten years where he never stopped hoping that he might see his Sen’ika again.

Ten years where he clung to life just on the off chance that his Sen’ika might still be out there.

And when Jango escaped, he did so in the bloodiest way possible, slaughtering anyone who might have tried to stop him. And a part of him was glad that his Sen’ika wasn’t on board, because she deserved more than this.

It’s been several years since then, and Jango is now pushing thirty.

He’s a rather prolific Bounty Hunter, having elected to stay away from Mandalore in the hopes of finally tracking down his Sen’ika. If nothing else, all evidence points to her still being alive...even if he can’t find her.

And that’s when he’s approached by the Jedi.

Now, Jango Fett has no love for the Jedi, with very good reasons. Jedi and Mandalorians mix about as well as oil and water on a good day, and the last time Jango saw a Jedi he was leading the slaughter of the True Mandalorians.

So Jango is less than thrilled at the arrival of the Jedi.

Somehow he’s even less thrilled when the Jedi inform him that they are reaching out to him on behalf of the Senate. But his ship needs some work and credits are credits, so he agrees to listen to them while mentally tacking several additional zeros to the end of the number that he usually charges for a job.

“I am sure that you are aware of the uprising in the outer rim.” The Jedi begins, “The Senate has been trying to reach out to the person who is currently leading the Pirates, to come to an agreement.”

“And?” Jango asks, bored out of his mind.

“And the Jedi they sent to negotiate were told to leave and not come back.”

Jango chokes back a laugh with great difficulty, “I fail to see how this is my problem.”

“We would like you to go and speak with them on our behalf.” The Jedi replies, “We think that they might be more receptive to someone more like me.”

“You mean you think I might be able to make contact because I’m closer to pirate than I am to cop.” Jango says with a sharp smile.

“I...didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He’s quiet for a moment, “Yeah, alright. I’ll take the job. I want half my fee up front.” In truth, he was going to reach out to these pirates anyway, they’re known for freeing slaves, and he’s hoping that they’ll have a good clue as to finding his Sen’ika.

The Jedi inhales sharply, and Jango arches a brow. “Problem?”

“This is...quite a lot.” The Jedi replies calmly.

“I’m very good at what I do. But, if you’re not interested-”

“No! No! The fee is fine,” The long haired Jedi hastens to reassure, “And you’re quite sure that you’ll be able to get them to talk?”

“I’m sure I can get them to hear me out. Anything else is on them.”

“That will have to be good enough, I suppose.” The Jedi muses thoughtfully, “Oh. Where are my manners. My name is Qui-Gon Jinn. It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

Jango blinks once. Twice. A third time.

“I beg your kriffing pardon?”

“Oh yes, did I not mention? I will be joining you on this.”

“You did not.” Jango says through clenched teeth, “You did say that the Pirates kicked the last Jedi out.”

“Well, yes. They did.” He smiles politely and Jango wants to punch him in the face. “But you can’t speak for the Republic. So I need to be there.”

Jango grinds his teeth in annoyance, “Do you have a ship, Qui-Gon Jinn.”

“I do, in fact.” The other man says brightly. “I wouldn’t dream of trespassing on your ship, Mister Fett.”

Well, that’s something, at least.

“Fine. We’ll be leaving as soon as the credits are transferred to my account.” Jango says as he stands, “Pleasure doing business with the Republic.” And then he sweeps out of the dingy little bar to head back to his ship.

So much for him plans to search for his Sen’ika.

Whatever, the Jedi won’t be with him the whole time. Odds are he won’t even be allowed to land on Tatooine, which means he’ll be able to talk to them without being interrupted.

At least. He hopes so. If this Jedi ruins his one chance of getting usable data on where his Sen’ika is...Jango might actually kill him.

He makes the long trek back to his ship, he wasn’t kidding about leaving as soon as he got his payment. Though he fully expects the payment to take a few days. Since this is the government that he’s working with.

So, when he gets the initial credit transfer less than an hour later, Jango is genuinely surprised. Though, as he thinks more about it, he really shouldn’t be. The Republic is so eager to get ahead of this, that they’re willing to hire him, of all people, to help them deal with it.

“So,” He murmurs to the empty ship, “This is what a desperate Republic looks like.”

Three weeks later, Jango lands his ship in his assigned landing bay on Tatooine. He’s aware, vaguely, of the Jedi landing his ship only a few landing pads away, and he sighs.

He was kind of hoping that the Jedi would be barred from landing at all.

Jango pays the fee needed to keep his ship secured on this pad, and heads out of the spaceport, though he’s very quickly joined by the older man.

“Ah, Tatooine,” Qui-Gon says as he looks around at the city. “Have you ever been here before?”

“More than you, probably.” Jango replies, his eyes narrowing as people glance at them and whispers start spreading through the market. They’re not whispering about him, he’s been here many times and he’s never gotten this reaction before.

He glances at the man standing next to him.

The man clad in, obvious, Jedi robes.

And he sighs. So much for the more stealthy approach he was hoping for.

“Are you the representative from the Republic?” A woman, shorter than him and carrying an infant on her back, asks as she approaches the pair of men. She looks older than she actually is, if Jango had to guess.

“I am,” Qui-Gon said, “My name is Qui-Gon Ji-”

“I don’t care.” The woman interrupts, “You are a Jedi, yes? Your kind was told never to return to Tatooine.”

“This is true,” Qui-Gon flounders, “But my companion here is not authorized to speak for the Republic-”

“Then perhaps one of the Senators should have gotten out of their plush offices and come here themselves,” She interrupts again, and then she frowns, “Were it up to me, you’d be back on your ship and off my planet. But it isn’t.”

“You are to be our guide then?”

“I will guide you to the taxi stand and no further.” The woman says, “I have my own business I must attend to.”

The Jedi next to you, seeming unable to keep his mouth shut, just has to speak again. “Forgive me, but are you a slave for the new leader of Tatooine?”

The woman stiffens in offense, and Jango presses his hand against his helmet and shakes his head.

“Were you anyone else, and not a guest of our new Imperator-” She takes a deep breath and stalks away, “Follow, and stay close.”

The woman leads the men through the winding street of Mos Espa, until she stops by a taxi droid. She speaks to the droid and then stalks away, back to the market.

“Hm…” Jango sighs as Qui-Gon gazes after the woman thoughtfully, “Her child is very force sensitive.”

“If you think you can convince her to give him to you-” Jango says, sounding bored out of his mind.

“Ah...no. I think she might shoot me if I try.”

“Pity.”

“That she’d shoot me? Yes, I agree-”

“-that you won’t ask.” Jango interrupts, “Seeing you get shot would make this a slightly more interesting trip.”

Qui-Gon actually looks surprised at his words, hopefully it’ll keep him from talking overly much on the trip to the palace. Thought, Jango wouldn’t put money on it. The Jedi seems to like the sound of his own voice overly much.

And, true to his prediction, the older man started chatting with the Droid as soon as the speeder started moving. Not that the Droid was the chattiest of drivers. He’s a driver, not a tour guide after all.

Jabba the Hutt’s palace, ah no, it’s the Imperator’s palace now, looks just as it had the last time he was here. Worn down from age, with antenna sitting on the roof. The windows are open, though the heavy metal shutters are drawn low, to keep the twin suns from heating the building over much.

There are some difference too, though.

Jango’s fairly certain that those are solar panels attached on the sun facing side of the building. And it almost looks as though someone is trying to cultivate a cacti garden off to the side of the path.

That or the Imperator thinks that death by cacti is an appropriate punishment for interlopers.

Much to Jango’s surprise, they’re invited inside immediately, by a young twi’lek boy dressed much nicer than any twi’lek would have ever been allowed to dress while Jabba was in charge.

“You wait here.” The boy orders imperiously, before he turns and runs down the hall.

If the outside of the palace looks the same, the inside couldn’t be more different if they replaced the entire building. The formerly dimmed halls are well lit, and the walls, formerly covered in blood and other...unsavory...things, are now covered in tasteful tapestries.

Probably items that Jabba received as tribute over the years, Jango thinks with an amused smile as he steps away from the door and onto the new looking plush carpet that covers the hallway.

“I admit,” Qui-Gon murmurs, “This is not what I was expecting from someone called Imperator.”

“What, were you expecting slaves lining the halls or something?”

“...in a manner of speaking, yes.”

Jango takes a moment to remove his helmet, now that the twin suns aren’t beating down on him, “Are you karking stupid? These people free slaves. There aren’t any slaves on Tatooine anymore.”

“That...the reports the Jedi were given-” He’s cut off as a different child, this one a little Chiss girl, runs up. “Oh, hello.”

“The Imperator will see you in the throne room. He expects you both to keep your weapons sheathed while you are guests in our home.”

“Of course,” Jango agrees, “We wouldn’t dream of threatening the Lord of this place.”

The little girl nods, and focuses her attention on Qui-Gon, “This message is for you, Master Jedi.”

“I’m listening.”

“The Imperator is not happy that the Republic have ignored his wishes for no Jedi to trespass on his home, however, in the spirit of cooperation, he is willing to hear out what you have to say.”

“That is very magnanimous of the Imperator.”

“Yes,” The child agrees, “It is. Follow me please.”

The little girl leads them through the winding halls of the palace, and Jango takes the time to take in all of the changes. New coats of paint, flowers growing in pots, little mouse droids designed to travel the halls trailing perfume after them-

Jango much prefers this version, over the Jabba’s version of the same palace, which always smelled like blood and bile, even through his helmet.

The child stops in front of the throne room and pushes open the door, “Imperator, the Mando and the Jedi are here.” And then she moves to the side to let the two men into the room.

The Imperator is a Tholothian male, dressed in pirates armor. And, if Jango had to guess, he would easily be the same height as him, if not a little taller, though even with the armor, he’s much less broad and much more wiry.

Jango wouldn’t want to have to fight him hand to hand, that’s for sure. Which he knows that he’d win, it’d be a hard fought fight.

“Jango Fett,” The Imperator speaks with a crisp Coruscanti accent, which is rather jarring when compared to his more roguish appearance, “It’s always a pleasure to host a man of your caliber.”

Jango nods, once. Accepting the compliment for what it is.

“Master Jinn,” The Imperator’s voice goes cold, “Your presence is much less welcome in my home.”

“Yes, the Jedi apologizes for being unable to adhere to your request-”

“It was not a request, Master Jinn.” The Imperator interrupts, and the room descends into a, slightly awkward, silence before their host claps his hands together, “Now, I am willing to hear you out, however, not today.”

“Is there a reason that we can’t start negotiations today?” Qui-Gon asks.

“Yes. I don’t want to.”

And, well, that’s that.

“I have taken the liberty of preparing rooms for the both of you in my palace. Though, you will not be staying in the same part of the palace, I’m afraid.” The Imperator says, and he genuinely sounds grieved. Or he would if it wasn’t for the gleam in his eyes.

“You honor us,” Qui-Gon says politely.

“Indeed, I do. Master Jinn, you will be staying in the lower levels, it’s a bit cooler but also noisier. Jango, I have a room set up for you upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Jango replies.

The Imperator nods once, and there’s a look of mirth on his face before he waves his hand and the two children from earlier run into the room, “Please show our guests to their rooms.”

Jango falls into step behind the little twi’lek boy, who keeps glancing at him and giggling like he knows a secret. He’s not bothered, he remembers being a child, after all.

He’s also in a much better mood since he doesn’t have to spend anymore time with Qui-Gon Jinn.

“Have you heard a good joke, ad’ika?” Jango asks as the little boy glances at him and giggles again.

The child clamps his hands over his mouth and shakes his head, “We gotta surprise.” He whispers.

“A surprise? For me?”

“Uh-huh. But,” He leans in and lowers his voice, “It’s a secret! So-so...come on!”

The boy almost sprints up the stairs, though Jango follows at a more sedate pace, and he trails behind the boy until they stop in front of a door. There are plants sitting in planters on each side of the door.

“Here!” The boy presses a scrap of flimsy into his hand, “Here’s the door code!” And then he sprints off, giggling as he does so.

Well, Jango thinks to himself as he glances at the numbers on the scrap and starts keying them in, this is either the most obvious trap I’ve ever walked into, or it’s actually a surprise.

The door slides open and Jango steps into the room. And the first thing he notices is all of the green.

There are plants on every open surface. All sorts of plants from all over the galaxy.

The second thing he notices is that the vanity in the corner is covered in woman’s hair care products, and slowly his eyebrows raise. Surely the Imperator wouldn’t have given him a room that already belongs to someone, right.

Finally, he notices her. Dressed in loose, comfortable clothes, and kneeling next to a small table covered in succulents. And, at first he’s slightly bemused that he was shoved into another person’s room, and then he looks again.

And he realizes that he recognizes her.

He clears his throat, and she turns her head slightly, before she favors him with the warmest smile. “Jango.”

His helmet falls from his fingers, “Sen’ika.”

She stands, and she’s still so small and still so thin, and her skin is still covered in razor thin scars, “You remember me!”

“Of course. I never stopped looking for you.” Jango steps closer to her and reaches out, though he stops shy of actually touching her. Sen’ika doesn’t have any such qualms, as she takes his hand in both of hers and presses it against her cheek.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” She replies as she rubs her cheek against his gloved hand, “I knew that you’d find me eventually.”

Jango releases a shuddering breath and steps even closer into her space, before ripping his glove off and pressing his bare hand against her cheek, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“That’s okay. I forgive you.”

Jango takes a moment to tug off his other glove and presses his hand back against her cheek, “Just look at you,” He breathes out, “You’ve grown up.”

She presses her hands over his, and there are tears in her eyes, “So have you. You’re not that scrawny kid anymore.”

“Scrawny?” Jango asks with a laugh.

“Scrawny.” She agrees. Her smile doesn’t waver when she releases his hands and reaches out to cup his cheek, “How have you been?”

“Lonely.” Jango admits, “It’s been...a very lonely galaxy without you with me.” This is the first time he’s admitted it, though he could never lie to his Sen’ika. “How about you?”

She leans her head into his touch, “Lonely. The Imperator he’s...great. But he’s not really a friend. And his people don’t like me much.”

“How could they not like you?”

She shrugs, “They say I have stars in my eyes. That I’m not meant for…” She gestures vaguely to the room, “This.”

He laughs softly, “And what are you meant for, then?”

“Well,” She averts her gaze for a moment, “You once promised me that you’d show me the galaxy.”

Jango stares at her, surprised.

“If that offer is still open-” She adds, hesitantly.

“You’d leave this? To wander through the stars with me?”

“It sounds...romantic, when you put it like that.” She says softly, wistfully.

“You think so?”

Her smile is small, “Wandering through the stars with the man I’ve loved since he was a boy? Sounds like a fairy tale.”

“Love, huh?”

Her smile doesn’t waver, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. After all, I fell in love with a little girl who kept hope alive when I had none left.”

She looks surprised, “Oh. Really?”

“Really.” Slowly he leans in and presses his forehead against hers, “We don’t have to rush, we can take things slow. Especially since we’re going to be together from here on out.”

“Together, I like that.”

“Me too.” Jango closes his eyes and tries to draw her in closer, “As soon as I’m done with my job here, we can get you settled on my ship and then we can go wherever we want.”

“What’s your job here?” His Sen’ika asks as she lightly traces his face with gentle fingers.

“I was hired by the Republic to help open a Dialogue between them and the Imperator.” Jango replies.

“It won’t work.” Her answer is immediate.

“Yeah, I don’t think it will either. But credits are credits.”

She shakes her head, “The Imperator has a thing about the Republic and their weak stance on slavery.”

“I don’t blame him.”

She’s quiet for a very long moment, and then she sighs, “Jango. As soon as his army is large enough he intends to go to war with the Republic. You shouldn’t get involved.”

Jango pulls back and stares at her, “I see.” He scans her face for a moment, and then sighs, “Well, I did get half of the money up front, and there’s no love lost between me and the Republic.”

“Jango?”

“Pack what you need, Sen’ika. We’re leaving before we get any more involved in this.”

Her smile is almost blinding, “Give me a few minutes.”

He watches her dart around the room, shoving clothes and other items into her bag, and then she’s back by his side, “Okay, I’m ready. I’ll leave the plants to the kids.”

“Do we need to tell the Imperator that you’re leaving?”

“He knew that I would be going with you the moment you arrived on planet, Jango.” She says breathlessly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “No one is going to stop us.”

True to her words, not a single soul stopped them as they head through the palace and back to the taxi stand. And no one stopped them as they headed back to the spaceport. And no one stopped them when he started up his ship and flew through the pre-flight checks.

And no one stopped them as they left Tatooine’s atmosphere for greener pastures.

As they sit high in orbit over the desert planet, Jango watches his Sen’ika watch the stars around them, and a small smile crosses his lips. “So,” He starts, turning in his chair to allow her to sit on his lap, “Where do you want to go?”

“Um...someplace new.” Sen’ika replies as she lightly sits on his lap, her gaze locked on the open space outside his ship.

Jango chuckles, “Someplace new it is.” He lightly taps her chin, pulling her attention off of the openness of space and onto him. He flashes a small, mischievous, little smile and tugs her in to press his lips against hers in a quick, and very chaste kiss.

When he pulls away, she looks flustered and has her fingers pressed against her lips, “Was that okay?” He asks.

Shyly, she meets his gaze, and then she nods. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Good,” He wraps a secure arm around her waist, and then focuses his attention on his computer, “Someplace new….hm...I know. I have just the place.”

Six months later, The Imperator declares war on the Republic, aided by a growing number of formerly Republic Planets who were jaded by the inaction of the government they supported for so long.

But that’s a different story.

As for Jango Fett and his Sen’ika, they write themselves out of the story, content to wander the galaxy, so long as they can wander together.

[hetalianskywalker]

Day 28: The Sea Alor

Pairing: Sea Alor Mer Jango Fett x Harpy Reader

Summary: The in hiding king of the Mer feels bad for a caged Harpy.

Author’s Note: I hope this turns out alright.

Warnings: non- permanent main character death and reference to physical and mental trauma.

Word Count: 1646

Prompt: Well funded ships keep a harpy caged at the helm, for calling or dispersing winds when necessary. Mermaids and harpies are natural enemies. But still, I feel sorry for them.

Prompt 3236 by deepwatwrwritingprompts

Well funded ships keep a harpy caged at the helm, for calling or dispersing winds when necessary. Mermaids and harpies are natural enemies. But still, he feels sorry for them.

Jango occasionally found work on these ships. The captain believes him a storm summoner and in truth it’s what most of his employers believe. While he prefers to hunt for bounties across the high seas, these jobs weren’t a problem if they paid his fee. He often finds himself in the company of a caged and wing clipped harpy, but this is different.

Your eyes linger on him for long stretches of time and you look like you wish to speak with him. Usually Jango would just ignore the looks, but this did not feel like begging for help that would not come. It’s inquisitive and analytical; he wonders if you have figured out who he truly is. What he truly is.

Being the Sea Alor has many benefits, one being the siren song ability. He makes sure the crew will remain asleep before walking up to your cage. You are wide awake, waiting for him.

“Sea Alor.” You cut right to the chase and look him dead in the eyes through the t-face of his helmet. Well, that’s one question answered.

“Harpy.” Jango curtly responds as he crosses his arms. “What do you wish to say?”

You suddenly look very unsure. Your talons scratch at the metal bars and deck beneath you. “Have you taken the deal with Tyranus yet?”

“What?” He bites out in complete disbelief. There is no way you should be able to know that. You watch his whole body go absolutely still.

“I see…” Your voice trails off before taking a deep breath. “When your only recognized child is ten, you shall leave him an orphan.”

Both his hands reach in and snatch the collar of your shirt. You barely have enough time to grip the bars to stop your face from hitting them as he pulls you to him. His face is twisted in a terrifying snarl with his sharp Mer teeth coming out inches from your face. You feel choppy waves slam into the ship and see the stars vanish behind dark clouds. It’s terrifying to think this is but the tip of the iceberg of his destructive power.

“Tell me what you know, Harpy.” You summon all your anger and courage, feeling the wind fight back against him. It was first your ally, not his. You think of all you have seen of the future. How his longing for revenge against the Jedi helps almost doom the world, leads an army of Mer clones to suffer and die in vain, and one boy orphaned.

“My freedom first, Fett.” You hiss, snapping your own sharp teeth. You extend out one of your hands, knowing he has the magic to bind you two to an agreement. “Deal?”

Once the journey is done, Jango leaves the ship before swimming up in Mer form that very night. He breaks you out true to his word and you keep up your end of the bargain. You explain, like how Tarre Vizsla was both Mer and a Jedi, you are both a harpy and blessed with a wider range of magic. You get snippets of the future. You tell him how a 10 year old Boba gets to watch his father get decapitated by a Jedi.

While he believes you're being honest, he can’t have you spreading word around about Kamino island so he half drags you back with him. While that might be everything on his death, you obviously know far more about everything else than you're letting on. Especially with the amount of disdain you hold for him. Also, any more visions could give more context or details about his death in eight years.

At first, you are just the stranger next door to Jango’s apartment. The one off worlder that isn’t a trainer, but Jango is keeping here anyway. It gives you the freedom to move around the facilities, but interacting with the mer clones is far more difficult. But you are kind in little ways when the Kaminoans and the trainers aren’t looking.

Rex, Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Ponds, and Bly are the main ones. Unlike many of the others, you’ve stolen multiple hugs from Bly, Rex, and Cody and ruffled the hair of the other three. The amount of slowly grown trust in their bright brown eyes means the world to you.

You have seen them the most in your visions about the Mer clones, but you do your best with all of them. You try to keep track of the clones you’ve seen in visions, but it’s impossible to run into all of them all the time. Some you see maybe a couple of times in your entirety of time on Kamino like Delta Squad for example. Emerie and Omega are the only ones you never get to see.

While you have a few more visions of the coming war, there is nothing to help the Mer clones or how to stop Palpatine completely. Kark, just avoiding the sith’s attention was hard enough work.

However, something unexpected happens in your plans. You slowly become Boba’s other guardian. You have a soft spot for him from all the visions you’ve seen and you're more than happy to watch him for Jango. But about a year in, you find him calling you mom and Buir; it warms your heart more than you're willing to admit.

Jango, on the other hand, you continue to deeply despise. Does he have a valid reason for wanting the destruction of the Jedi? Yes, even if he is taking it too far and it needs to be stopped for everyone’s good. However, his treatment of the mer clones as cattle makes you want to scream. You tolerate him for the goal of changing the future.

When he begins to take interest in Cody, however, you panic. You had thought you had covered all your tracks. You apparently had for the Kaminoans, but not Jango.

“Is that one meant for glory?” He mutters under his breath as you walk away side by side.

“What do you care?” You hiss, too angry to look at him. “Go back to ignoring him; it’s less cruel that way.”

But the cruelest twist of fate is how behind closed apartment doors, when you can’t see the cold stare he gives the army made in his image, you grow to like his company. It takes five or so years to realize it, but you love the little family you, he, and Boba have made together. Longing stares and soft touches become nights shared and living with him and Boba in their apartment.

And you hate yourself for falling for him. This man was simultaneously filled with so much love and disdain. Who is just as capable of protecting family as he is abandoning it. Who is able to abandon his responsibilities as Sea Alor and yet still has a code of honor. He is a mess of contradictions. You want to hate him. It would be so much easier to just hate him.

Geonosis is a desert island and Boba is ten. Jango clearly recognizes all the details from your visions over the years. He goes in anyway. Knowing who he’s going to face, he thinks he can win.

He doesn’t. His fate comes for him anyway. You and Boba are left in heartbroken shock. But this… this isn’t the end. You refuse to stand there while fate takes its course. When the battle ends, you and Boba work fast to get him aboard Slave I. And you then start the ritual.

Jango doesn’t understand why he’s on Mandalore. Or how he’s on Mandalore. He’s dead; he died. His fingers trace along his neck and he finds a burn scar going all the way around. It was definitely real.

A thirteen year old Boba soon explains as best he can after a tearful reunion. While his son explains the insanity of the war, how your kindness had left channels open with multiple battalions, and with Boba’s growing magical strength as the next Sea Alor, they were able to unite the Mandalorian Sector, he conveniently circumvents how Jango was alive.

“What did she give, Boba?” His son goes deadly quiet. Boba looks so much older and it makes Jango want to be sick, thinking of all he’d missed. “You need to tell me.”

“She’s lived with it for three years already. It’s not…” Boba whispers the next part. “That bad.”

Jango has to switch into mer form to find you. You tucked yourself away in a quiet cove that’s hard to access by land. He pulls himself up to sit next to you on the sand. He watches the way the drowning sun’s light reflects off his silver scales.

“It all happened as you prophesied.” He states, unsure of how else to start. You were right about everything.

“Not completely.” You smile sadly. “I got to save a few more Mer clones and Jedi. I’ve sped up how fast they’ll be free from their mind control enchantment. And Mandalore won’t fall victim to the empire and it’s stable.”

“Besides, I have you, Boba, and so many of my other sons. I did quite a lot without magic since your death.” You look out at the setting sun. Jango analyzes you and hates to see that his son was right. The wind doesn’t react to you anymore.

“Cuyan…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was not worth your wings.” Your back itches when he says that. You had almost gone mad trapped in a human body at first, but Boba and the mer clones had helped keep you grounded.

“You are.” Jango gives you a truly genuine smile and leans his forehead against yours.

[yama-uba]

This morning I saw some art that made me wonder if there is a so-called Mandela effect created by the fanfiction community.

Guys, what color is Obi-Wan Kenobi's hair?

And how justified is this Don Juan's leading position in all pairings in AO3?

Prequel trilogy: Ewan McGregor - variations from dark blond to brown. No romantic interest.

Tartakovsky's cartoons: Base color - "brown ocher". No romantic interest.

Filoni's cartoons: Base color - "almond". One story arc about platonic love with a tragic ending.

Books: Siri Tachi - "school love" is platonic. They talked like adults and decided to remain friends. Cerasi - he didn't even realize he was in love because no one told him. She died tragically. Lina Kobral - nah. The color… Idk… most likely a cold shade of blonde.

SW Fan Community: OH, THAT'S DEFINITELY A FIRE-REDHAIR INCUBUS, HUNGRY FOR THE WARMTH OF SOMEONE ELSE'S BODY EVERY SECOND OF ITS EXISTENCE!!!

[ddejavvu]

I would let Jango Fett (and any clone, to be honest) call me up when he's planet side, fuck me, then leave without saying goodbye and I'm tired of pretending I wouldn't

🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️🧘‍♀️ mmmm i had to close my eyes and clench my thighs reading this. jango i think would be more callous and rough w it, whereas some of the clones might be more sincere. because i'm merely a series of holes for them to use I'll just talk about multiple. feel free to request others if i missed someone you'd like to hear about.

jango's rich and highly skilled at his job, notorious to those who know him and invisible to those who don't. it's not hard for him to get you in bed, nor is it hard for him to keep stringing you along, knocking roughly on your door, not because he couldn't get in by picking your lock, but because he wants you to hear that sound and know that it's a precursor to his own behavior: rough, fast, demanding. jango uses you for pleasure and not company, kissing at your mouth instead of letting you talk, smothering you with his broad shoulders and considerable muscle until all you're doing is wrapping your arms and legs around him, your actions solely reliant on his own. he loves pulling back to look at your flushed, sweaty face, your heaving chest as your lips perpetually part just to suck in air that he'd stolen from you with the heft of his body, your limbs weak and limp as he watches you. he's proud of the way he affects you, he's respected and feared in all endeavors he undertakes. he tortures you by never letting you know when he'll be on coruscant, and it means you wait eagerly in your apartment each night, longing for his gloved fist to pound on you door. you let him in every time, and you always will. he lets himself out every time, and he always will.

rex keeps in mostly good spirits with his team and his men, so when he shows up outside your door it's for companionship. He wants connection, he's mollified with claps on the shoulder from general skywalker but camaraderie can't replace intimacy. he nudges his face into yours, his nose bumping the space between yours and your cheek. he breathes your air, he presses himself to you like the space between you might kill him. he's proud to be in your bed, with you, kissing your skin and committing it to memory for late nights out in the cold vacuum of space. he holds you tenderly, his palms always pressed to your flesh to drink you in, and he lets you act as an outlet for his longing. being with you rejuvenates him, but watch out because if he's too happy the day after, his men are gonna know he got laid. general skywalker is all too proud to cover ahsoka's ears when he congratulates him for being in such good spirits

wolffe is so fucking stressed. truly he has to put up with so much bullshit and he's infinitely grateful for his general because if he had skywalker like rex he'd shoot himself. he knocks on your door to pin you to the bed and slam the headboard into the wall, he uses your cunt as a punching bag and he bites vivid, stinging marks into your neck and chest. He kisses them afterwards, letting his post-orgasm tenderness through, but he tires himself out before he ever croons at you. maybe it'd be different if you lived with him, but he's not on coruscant all the time, so frantic rough sex and an empty bed in the morning is what you'll get.

hunter bad batch finds it hard to get time away from his team because of their status as, uh, well, runaways. it's rare that he can let his guard down enough to spend a night in your bed, but that's why he leaves without saying goodbye. he slips out as soon as you're asleep, and departs coruscant before you even wake. you're his, 'be back in a few hours, i've got one last thing to do'. you're left wondering if he has go-tos on every planet, or if you're lucky. you're lucky, but he won't tell you that. he will, however, leave something to hold on to until the next time he sees you. probably a bandana, pardon the cliche, but it's the one he tied your wrists to the headboard with last night, so you keep it with you.

wrecker would genuinely feel terrible not saying goodbye i'm sorry. he might rock your shit and leave you numb but he'll always get all mushy when he's gotta go. he definitely tends to be one of the more romantic ones, he's a big softie and probably wouldn't treat you so callously even if combat was wearing on him. he prides himself for being in your life, and he'd assure you every time you got together that he wasn't just using you for pleasure. he'd comm you semi frequently if he was able.

fives is a little shit who might possibly fit into the scenario described. while i think he'd feel guilty for using you and treating you like he's using you, i can see it happening and just being a poor decision of his that he's not too proud of, but that he can't stop regardless. i can see him playing into a fuckboy persona and trying not to think about it too hard or else he might feel bad. he sweet talks you into letting him in every time and you can barely catch your breath before he's suiting up in his regulation blacks again and heading out the door. he doesn't do it because he's stressed, he doesn't do it because he's desperate to connect with someone, he does it because he's horny and wants a pussy to fuck. he wants to sink his aching dick into a warm body, and that warm body is you.

[my-sun-m00n-and-stars]

hottest men in star wars (in no particular order):

cad bane

darth maul

thrawn

hondo

no humans allowed over here!!

(maybe jango)

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“My Boys, My Warriors”

Clone Commanders x Reader (Platonic/Motherly) pt.1

Song: “Altamaha-Ha” – Olivier Devriviere & Stacey Subero

Setting: Kamino, pre-Clone Wars, training the clone commanders

A/N - I thought I would give the clones some motherly love because they absolutely deserve it.

⸻

Arrival

Kamino was a graveyard floating on water. Not one built from bones or tombstones, but of silence and steel, of sterile white walls and cloned futures.

You arrived at dawn—or what passed for dawn here, beneath an endless, thunderstruck sky. The rain hit your Beskar like a thousand tiny fists, relentless and cold. There was no welcome party. No ceremony. Just a hangar platform soaked in wind and spray, and one familiar silhouette waiting for you like a ghost from your past.

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Jango Fett said, arms crossed, armor dulled by salt and time.

“You asked,” you answered, stepping off the transport. “And Mandalorians don’t abandon their own.”

He gave a small, tired nod. “This place… it’s not what I wanted it to be.”

You followed him through the elevated corridors, your bootfalls echoing alongside his. You passed clone infants in incubation pods—unmoving, unaware—lined up like products, not people. Your throat tightened.

“Kaminoans see them as assets,” he muttered. “Nothing more.”

You scowled. “And you?”

Jango didn’t answer.

You didn’t need him to. That was why you were here.

⸻

Training the Future Commanders

They were just boys.

Tiny, sharp-eyed, disciplined—but boys nonetheless. They saluted when they saw you, confused by your armor, your presence, your refusal to speak in the Kaminoan-approved tone.

“Are you another handler?” one asked—Cody, maybe, even then with that skeptical glare.

“No,” you replied, removing your helmet, letting your war-worn face meet theirs. “I’m a warrior. And I’m here to make you warriors. The kind Kamino can’t mold. The kind no one can break.”

At first, they didn’t trust you. Fox flinched when you corrected his form. Bly mimicked your movements but refused eye contact. Rex tried to impress you too much, like a pup desperate to please.

But over time, that changed.

You didn’t teach them like the Kaminoans did. You taught them like they mattered. Every mistake was a lesson. Every success, a celebration. You learned their quirks—how Wolffe grumbled when he was nervous, how Cody chewed the inside of his cheek when strategizing, how Bly stared too long at the sky, longing for something even he couldn’t name.

They grew under your care. They grew into theirs.

And somewhere along the line, the title changed.

“Buir,” Rex said one day, barely a whisper.

You froze.

“Sorry,” he added quickly, flustered. “I didn’t mean—”

But you crouched and ruffled his hair, voice thick. “No. I like it.”

After that, the name stuck.

⸻

The Way You Loved Them

You taught them how to fight, yes. But also how to think, how to feel. You made them memorize the stars, not just coordinates. You forced them to sit in circles and talk when they lost a training sim—why they failed, what it meant.

“You are not cannon fodder,” you said once, your voice carrying through the sparring hall. “You are sons of Mandalore. You are mine. You will not die for a Republic that won’t mourn you. You will survive. Together.”

They believed you. And because they believed, they began to believe in themselves.

⸻

Singing in the Dark

Late at night, when the Kaminoans powered down the lights and the labs buzzed quiet, you slipped into the barracks. They were small again in those moments—curled under grey blankets, limbs tangled, some still holding training rifles in their sleep.

You never planned to sing. It started one night when Bly woke from a nightmare, gasping for air, tears clinging to his lashes. You held him, like a child—because he was one—and without thinking, you sang.

“Slumber, child, slumber, and dream, dream, dream

Let the river carry you back to me

Dream, my baby, 'cause

Mama will be there in the mornin'”

The melody, foreign and low, drifted over the bunks like a lullaby born from the sea itself. It wasn’t Mandalorian. It was older. From your mother, perhaps, or her mother before her. It didn’t matter.

Soon, the others began to stir at the sound—some sitting up, listening. Some quietly pretending to still be asleep.

You sang to them until the rain outside became less frightening. Until their eyes closed again.

And after that, you kept doing it.

⸻

The Warning

“Don’t get in their way,” Jango warned one night as you stood by the viewing glass, watching your boys spar in the simulator below. “The Kaminoans. They won’t like it.”

“They already don’t,” you muttered. “I’ve seen the way they talk about them. Subjects. Tests. Like they’re things.”

“They are things to them,” he said. “And if you make too much noise, you’ll be the next thing they discard.”

You turned to face him, cold fury in your chest. “Then let them try.”

He didn’t push further. Maybe because he knew—deep down—he couldn’t stop you either.

⸻

Kamino was all rain and repetition. It pounded the platform windows like war drums, never letting up, a constant rhythm that seeped into the bones. But inside the training complex, your boys—your commanders—were becoming weapons. And they were doing it with teeth bared.

You ran them hard. Harder than the Kaminoans would’ve allowed. You forced them to fight one-on-one until they bled, then patch each other up. You made them run drills in full gear until even Fox, the most stubborn of them, nearly passed out. But you also cooked for them when they succeeded. You gave them downtime when they earned it. You let them joke, laugh, fight like brothers.

And they were brothers. Every one of them.

“You hit like a Jawa,” Neyo grunted, dodging a blow from Bacara.

“At least I don’t look like one,” Bacara shot back, swinging his training staff with a grunt.

The others laughed from the sidelines. Cody leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking. Rex and Fox were trading bets in whispers.

“Credits on Neyo,” Bly muttered, grinning. “He’s wiry.”

“You’re all idiots,” Wolffe growled. “Bacara’s been waiting to punch him since last week.”

You let them have their moment. You sat on the edge of the platform, helmet off, watching them like a mother bird daring anyone to touch her nest.

The sparring match turned fast. Bacara landed a hit to Neyo’s ribs—but Neyo pivoted and brought his staff down hard across Bacara’s knee. There was a loud crack. Bacara cried out and dropped.

The laughter died.

You were at his side in an instant, shouting for a med droid even as you crouched beside him, checking his leg. His face was twisted in pain, jaw clenched to keep from crying out again.

“It’s just a fracture,” the Kaminoan tech said from above, indifferent. “He’ll heal.”

You glared up at them. “He’s not just a number. He’s a kid.”

“They are not—”

“He is mine,” you snapped, standing between Bacara and the tech. “And if I hear one more word from your sterile little mouth, I will see how fast you bleed.”

The Kaminoan backed away.

You turned back to Bacara, softer now. Your hand brushed the sweat from his brow.

“Deep breaths, cyar’ika. You’re alright.”

He tried to speak, teeth gritted. “I’m—fine.”

“No, you’re not,” you said gently, voice warm but firm. “And you don’t have to pretend for me.”

The other boys were quiet. They had seen broken bones, sure. But not softness like this. Not someone kneeling beside one of them with care in her eyes.

You stayed by Bacara’s side while the medics patched him up. You held his hand when they set the bone, and he let you.

Later, when he was tucked into his bunk with his leg in a brace, you sat beside him and hummed. Just softly. The rain tapping the window, your voice somewhere between a lullaby and a promise.

He didn’t cry. But he did sleep.

⸻

You didn’t just teach them how to fight. You taught them how to live—how to survive.

You made them argue tactical problems around a dinner table. You made them learn each other’s tells—so they could watch each other’s backs on the battlefield. You made them memorize where the Kaminoans kept the override chips, in case something ever went wrong.

You never said why, but they trusted you.

And sometimes, they’d tease one another just to make you laugh.

“You’re so slow, Wolffe,” Bly groaned, flopping onto the floor after a run. “It’s like watching a Star Destroyer try to jog.”

“You want to say that to my face?” Wolffe growled, looming.

“No thanks,” Bly wheezed. “My ribs still remember last week.”

Fox tossed him a ration bar. “Eat up, drama queen.”

Rex smirked. “You’re all mouth, Fox.”

“I will end you, rookie.”

“Boys,” you interrupted, raising a brow. “If you have enough energy to whine, I clearly didn’t run you hard enough.”

Groans. Laughter. Playful swearing.

“Ten more laps,” you added, smiling.

Cries of “Nooo, buir!” echoed down the corridor.

⸻

When You Sang

Sometimes they asked for it. Sometimes they didn’t need to.

The song came when things were too quiet—after a nightmare, after a long day, after they’d lost a spar or a brother.

You’d walk between their bunks, singing low as the rain hit the glass.

“Last night under bright strange stars

We left behind the men that caged you and me

Runnin' toward a promise land

Mama will be there in the mornin'”

They’d pretend not to be listening. But you’d see it—the way Rex’s fists unclenched, how Neyo’s brow relaxed, how Wolffe finally let himself close his eyes.

You knew, deep down, you were raising boys for slaughter.

But you’d be damned if they didn’t feel loved before they went.

⸻

The sterile corridors of Tipoca City echoed beneath your boots. Even when the halls were silent, you could feel the Kaminoans’ eyes—watchful, cold, and calculating. They didn’t like you here. Not anymore.

When you’d first arrived, brought in under Jango’s word and credentials, they’d accepted your presence as a utility—an expert warrior to train the Alpha batch. But lately? You were a complication. You cared too much.

And they didn’t like complications.

⸻

The Meeting

You stood at attention in front of Lama Su and Taun We. The pale lights above made your armor gleam. You didn’t bow. You didn’t smile.

“You were observed interfering with medical protocol,” Lama Su said, his voice devoid of emotion. “This is not within your designated parameters.”

“One of my boys was hurt,” you said flatly.

“He is a clone. Replaceable. As they all are.”

Your fists curled at your sides.

“Do not forget your role,” Lama Su continued. “Your methods are not standard. Excessive independence. Emotional entanglement. Your presence disrupts efficiency.”

You stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. “You want soldiers who’ll die for you. I’m giving you soldiers who’ll choose to fight. There’s a difference. One that matters.”

There was a pause, then:

“You were not created for this program,” Lama Su said with quiet disapproval. “Do not overestimate your position.”

You didn’t respond.

You simply turned and walked out.

⸻

He was waiting for you in the observation room overlooking Training Sector 3. The boys were down there—Cody and Fox were running scenario drills, Rex was lining up shots on a target range, Bly was tossing insults at Neyo while dodging training droids.

They didn’t see you. But watching them moved something fierce and dangerous in your chest.

Jango spoke without looking at you. “They’re getting strong.”

“They’re getting better,” you corrected.

He turned to face you, arms folded, helm clipped to his belt. “You’re making them soft.”

You scoffed. “You don’t believe that.”

A beat. “No,” he admitted. “But the Kaminoans do.”

You shrugged. “Let them.”

“You’re pissing them off.”

You turned your head, met his gaze with something sharp and sad in your eyes. “They treat these kids like hardware. Tools. Like you’re the only one who matters.”

“I am the template,” he said, with a ghost of a smile.

“They’re more than your copies,” you said. “They’re people.”

Jango studied you for a long moment. Then his voice dropped. “They’re going to start pushing back, ner vod. On you. Hard.”

You looked back down at the boys. Bacara was limping slightly—still healing—but still trying to prove himself.

You exhaled slowly, then said, “I’m not leaving.”

“They’ll make you.”

“Not until they’re ready.”

Jango shook his head. “That might never happen.”

You glanced at him. “Then I guess I’m staying forever.”

⸻

That night, you sang again.

You walked through the bunks, slow and steady. The boys were half-asleep—worn out from drills, bandaged, bruised, but safe. Their expressions softened when you passed by. Neyo, usually tense, had his arms thrown over his head in peaceful surrender. Bly was snoring into his pillow. Bacara’s fingers were still wrapped around the edge of his blanket, leg elevated, but his face was calm.

You stood at the center of the dorm, lowered your voice, and sang like the sea itself had whispered the melody to you.

“Trust nothin' and no one in this strange, strange land

Be a mouse and do not use your voice

River tore us apart, but I'm not too far 'cause

Mama will be there in thе mornin'”

Somewhere behind you, a voice murmured, “We’re glad you didn’t leave, buir.”

You didn’t turn to see who said it.

You just kept singing.

⸻

They didn’t even look you in the eye when they handed you the dismissal.

Lama Su’s voice was as flat and clinical as ever. “Your assignment to the training program is concluded, effective immediately. A transport will arrive within the hour.”

No discussion. No room for argument. Just sterile words and sterile reasoning.

“Why?” you asked, though you already knew.

Taun We’s expression didn’t change. “Your attachment to the clones is counterproductive. It encourages instability. Disobedience.”

You laughed bitterly. “Disobedience? They’d die for you, and you don’t even know their names.”

“You’ve served your purpose.”

You stepped forward. “No. I haven’t. They’re not ready.”

“They are sufficient for combat deployment.”

You stared at them, ice in your veins. “Sufficient,” you repeated. “You mean disposable.”

“You are dismissed.”

⸻

You packed slowly.

Your hands were steady, but your heart roared like it used to back on Mandalore, in the heart of battle. That same ache. That same helplessness, standing in front of something too big to fight, and realizing you still had to try.

You left behind your bunk, your wall of messy holos and scraps of training reports scrawled in shorthand. You left behind a half-written lullaby tucked under your cot. But you took your armor.

You always took your armor.

You were nearly done when a voice cut through the door.

“Can I come in?”

It was Cody.

You didn’t turn around. “Door’s open.”

He stepped in quietly, glancing around the room like it was sacred ground. You saw his hands twitch slightly—he never fidgeted. But tonight, he was restless.

“They told us you were leaving,” he said, almost like it wasn’t real until he said it out loud. “Why?”

“Because I care too much,” you said simply.

Cody sat down on your footlocker, elbows on his knees. His eyes were dark, searching.

“What happens to us now?”

You finally looked at him. Really looked. He was trying to hold it together. He always had to—he was the eldest in a way, the natural leader. But underneath it, you saw the boy. The child.

“Are we ready?” he asked.

You walked over and sat beside him, your shoulder brushing his.

“No,” you said. “You’re not.”

That hit him harder than comfort might have.

“But,” you added, “you’re as ready as you can be. You’ve got the training. The instincts. You’ve got each other.”

Cody was quiet for a long time. Then, softly: “I’m scared.”

You nodded. “Good. So was I. Every time I stepped onto a battlefield, I was scared.”

His eyes flicked to you in surprise.

You gave a soft huff of breath. “You think Mandalorians don’t feel fear? We feel it more. We just learn to carry it.”

He looked down. “What was your war like?”

You leaned back slightly, staring at the ceiling.

“I fought on the burning sands of Sundari’s borders, in the mines, the wastelands. I’ve lost friends to blade and blaster, to poison and betrayal. I’ve heard the war drums shake the skies and still gone forward, knowing I’d never see the next sunrise. And when it was over…” You paused, bitter. “The warriors were banished.”

Cody frowned. “Banished?”

You nodded. “The new regime—pacifists. Duchess Satine. She took the throne, and we were cast off. Sent to the moon. All the heroes of Mandalore… left behind like rusted armor.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” you agreed. “But that’s war. You don’t always get a homecoming.”

He was silent, digesting it.

Then you said, more gently, “But you do get to decide who you are in it. And after it. If there’s an after.”

Cody’s voice cracked just a little. “You were our home.”

You turned to him, and for the first time, let him see the tears brimming in your eyes. “You still are.”

You pulled him into a hug—tight, armor creaking, like the world might tear you both apart if you let go.

⸻

You walked through the training hall one last time. Your boys were all there, lined up, watching you.

Silent.

Even the Kaminoans didn’t stop you from speaking.

You met each pair of eyes—Wolffe, Fox, Rex, Bacara, Neyo, Bly, Cody.

“My warriors,” you said softly, “you were never mine to keep. But you were mine to love. And you still are.”

You stepped forward, placed your hand on Cody’s shoulder, then moved down the line, touching each one like a prayer.

“Be strong. Be smart. Be good to each other. And remember: no matter what anyone says… you are not property. You are brothers.”

You left without turning back.

Because if you did—you wouldn’t have left at all.

Part 2

[merlincmgirl]

Jealousy - Jango Fett x FReader - NSFW

Summary: When Jango catches his clones looking at you and flirting with you, he decides to remind them that you belong to him. Prime is the one who gets nice things.

Characters: Jango, Fox, Cody, Clone Cadets

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 5,898

Warnings: biting, marking, oral (male receiving), thigh riding, fingering, spanking, PinV sex, dom Jango, possessive!Jango, mentions of breeding, dirty talk, derogatory terms, Jango does not respect his clones

Author's Note: This was the first fic of this collection that I started writing, and it holds a special place in my heart. It feels so nice to end this with the one and only. He's a bit of an asshole in this, but after everything that Jango has gone through in his life, he's allowed to have some issues.

Translations:

Manda - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit

ner mesh'la riddur - my beautiful spouse

riddur - spouse

Jango wasn’t blind. He was very aware of his clones and how they seemed to revolve around you wherever you went. A part of him was amused as he watched his carbon copies fawn over you. His love for you must be engrained into his DNA, a part of him just like his limbs or his sense of manda. He had loved you for years, way before he had been offered this role by Tyrannus, and he was pleased that you had accepted his offer to follow him to Kamino to build an army of clones for the Republic.

Another part of him hated it. It caused something dark and ugly to curl underneath his breast bone every time one of his clones looked at you in a way that you only received from him. Their eyes followed you when you walked by, they offered you help even when you were doing nothing. He had even seen one of his copies blush heavily at making you laugh and had to be caught by his batch mates when you had left. Jango had made sure that the clone was doing suicide runs around the whole of the Kamino base. Twice.

No. If he had his way, you wouldn’t interact with them at all. He’d keep you well away from their leering looks and pathetic flirtation attempts. Keep you in your private quarters, round with child and being doted on by him. But he was powerless to say no to you, especially when you complained of being bored whenever Boba was sent to his classes and he was training the clones along with the Cuy’val Dar. So he had agreed to allow you to help, mostly becoming an ambassador between himself and the long necks. He hated dealing with them, and you normally had the grace and patience to do so in his stead.

So as he watched his clones – from one of the Commander batches he was sure – speak with you in the hangar, he couldn’t help but clench his fist and feel a tight, burning feeling in his chest. You were smiling at whatever Kote and Fox were saying, and they were returning your kindness in full force. He was sure that Fox was leaning in closer to you.

“CC-2224, CC-1010, why are you not in your classes? I didn’t realise that Alpha-17 allowed his men to slack off whenever they felt like it” Jango’s voice boomed in the hangar. The two clones in front of you stiffened and quickly fell into attention and saluted to him. Guilt swirled in you, not wanting the troopers to get into trouble because of something you did.

“Jango, I was just asking them to help carry the deliveries I received to our rooms. It’s my fault they were running late” you excused, smiling softly at your riddur.

Jango didn’t say anything, but kept his eyes trained on his clones in front of him. Neither had relaxed their position, their obedience engrained and trained into them. Their eyes were fixed at a point over his shoulder as he stepped closer towards you. Even after all these years with you, he still savoured the way you relaxed into him as soon as he was close enough to do so. It was like you found safety only in his arms. Resting a hand on your lower stomach, he tugged you slightly against his front. Your ass pressed into the curve of his hip.

Letting out a little gasp, you couldn’t help but blush at Jango’s touch. He was normally quite reserved when you two were in company, preferring to not highlight his weakness to others. Wanting to keep you away from any harm or danger. Your noise didn’t go unheard, because you could see both troopers cheeks start turning red.

“Then what are you still doing here, troopers? You have your orders” Jango demanded, hard gaze boring into them.

“Yes, Prime, Sir!” they both chorused, refusing to look at either you or Jango. Instantly the two troopers in front of your snapped into movement, it was like they had suddenly been released from something that had kept them frozen and paralysed to the spot. Straight away they began to move to the crates that held your supplies and deliveries that had been imported from around the galaxy.

Sighing at your husband’s heavy and stern touch with the troopers, you shook your head and stepped away from him. “Kote, Fox, thank you for helping me with them. It’s very much appreciated, I’ll be sure to inform Alpha-17 of how helpful his men are and why they were late” I said, sending them a small thankful smile.

“Of course ma’am” Kote nodded, before almost shoving his brother and his crate out of the door in front of him.

“You don’t have to be soft with them” Jango stated, hooking a finger into your belt and dragging you back towards him.

Stumbling slightly as you landed against his front, you turned in his arms, sliding your hands over his chest plate and around his neck, your fingers instantly becoming entwined into the small curls at the back of his neck. “And you don’t have to be so hard on them, my love” you reminded, heart aching at the training that the clones had to go through. Seeing his mouth open to defend the training and cloning process once more, you placed your hand over his mouth, sighing softly. “I know, they’re trained soldiers meant for the Republic. I don’t want to argue with you about this again” you said softly, resting your forehead against his.

Jango slid his arms around your waist, tugging you even closer to him as you shared a Kedable kiss with him, sharing your breaths with him, the life that flowed through you and into him. He couldn’t help but want to bring you even closer, to feel your skin pressed against his, to hear your moans and gasps echo in his ears as he took such good care of you. Running a hand up the span of your back, he allowed himself to feel your warmth as he nuzzled his nose into yours. Reaching it’s target destination, his hand gripped the back of your neck, tilting your head up to meet his in a soft, barely there teasing kiss.

“You know, riddur, those clones see you as their savoir. You’re the one that they turn and watch whenever you walk by. The one that they all clamber to get even a moment of your attention” Jango whispered, laying gentle kisses from the corner of your lips, across your jaw and to the sensitive spot just underneath your ear. He enjoyed the way you shivered at the feel of his hot breath against you, sending goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“It’s because I’m one of the only women of their species on this planet” you rolled your eyes, dismissing his words. The clones had never interacted with a woman outside of their trainers, it was only natural they would want to speak with you and be close to you.

He hummed out a negative, shaking his head slightly, causing your jaw to tingle at the feel of his stubble brushing against you. “Because you’re part of me, loving you is written into my DNA” he breathed, amused at the shiver that ran through you at the feel of his warm breath caressing your ear.

You were momentarily stunned by his words, surprised at their softness. Your breath caught in your throat and you felt your heart pound a little harder as you gripped onto his chest plate tighter, not wanting to let go.

“But you’re mine, they don’t get to have you” he claimed, the hand on the back of your neck tightening once more as his other came up to cup your throat. Jango didn’t squeeze, just rested it there as he guided your face up to his, looking in your eyes as they dilated slightly with the desire he was building inside of you.

Mouth suddenly going dry at his words, you could only nod and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. It wasn’t a secret that Jango was mostly indifferent to his clones, if not actively thought of them as canon fodder, but he had never been outright jealous of them before. You had only been talking with Kote and Fox briefly, what had brought this on?

“What do they call me, riddur?” he purred against your neck, laying kisses along the delicate skin as he kept the pressure light.

He was teasing you, drawing this out longer than he normally would. You knew that he was going to make you beg for him, he seemed in that kind of mood today. What had happened between this morning where he had kissed you and Boba goodbye at breakfast to now? The thought quickly fled your brain as you felt a warning squeeze around your throat. Oh, he wanted an answer.

“Prime, they call you Prime” you murmured, voice shaking slightly as you tried to find the words he wanted.

“That’s right, I’m Prime. The original, the first one, the most important” he confirmed, teeth beginning to graze against the hollow of your throat.

“Jango, you have nothing to prove – to anyone – least of all me” you reminded, tilting your head back slightly to give him more room. He was starting to become firmer in his kisses, working marks and bruises on your neck that you would display with pride. Carding a hand through his curls to try and soothe the agitation in him, you gasped as he nipped at your skin.

“Oh ner mesh’la riddur, I’m not proving anything, just giving them a little reminder” he smirked, pulling back to admire the bruises that was already starting to blossom on your neck.

The intoxicating atmosphere between you two was cut short however, as the door pinged, signalling it was opening. Stiffening, you went to step away from Jango, to a more respectable distance before his arms gripped tightly to your waist, keeping you pinned against his front. There was no hope of breaking his hold, it felt like durasteel was wrapped around you.

Blushing heavily at being caught in a compromising position, you risked a glance up to see who had disturbed you. It was Kote and Fox. No doubt coming back to collect the rest of the crates that was in the hangar. They stopped, eyes widening as they spotted you and Jango.

“2224, 1010, you will stand outside and keep watch” Jango ordered sharply, eyes catching the slight tinge of rouge on their cheeks at his words and the implications of them. Satisfied that this would no doubt spread through the ranks of the clones once he was finished with you, he dismissed them with a nod to the door.

You however, had never felt so exposed, like all your nerve endings were on fire at what Jango wanted to do. Embarrassment warred with the want to also have him fuck you for everyone to see and hear. You weren’t a stranger to the looks that Jango accumulated when he walked around the base from some in the Cuy’val Dar. This would no doubt spread like wild fire among everyone. You felt pride curl up in your chest at the thought that everyone would know just how much Jango adored you and wanted you, enough to not even wait to get back to your quarters it would seem.

As the door shut behind them, Jango scooped you up into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you over to the crate nearest said doors. You groaned at the feel of his codpiece pressing into the apex of your thighs, rubbing against you with every step that he took. He settled you back on your feet and you couldn’t help but raise a judgemental eyebrow at him. Did he think he was bring subtle? Bringing you close to the door so everyone could hear.

“Strip, I don’t think you’d want me to rip your pretty clothes when the time comes to walk back to our rooms” he instructed, tugging on the neckline of your shirt.

“Didn’t think you would mind, riddur. I half expected you to want to carry me through the halls naked” you scoffed, shaking your head at him affectionately as you began to pull your shirt up over your head. As you threw it off, a hand snapped up to grip your jaw firmly, pressure making your lips part and a small whine to escape at the rough hold. Heat raced through you at that, and you weren’t surprised to feel your cheeks redden a little more.

“If I wanted everyone to see what you looked like, I would have told them to stay and watch as you screamed on my cock. But only I get to see that. Not those lab rats” he spat out, eyes heated as he stared down into your own.

Taking in a shaky breath, you nodded your understanding as heat flooded through you. Clenching your thighs to ease the pressure that was building behind your clit, your hands began to reach for your flight pants and shove them down over your hips until they pooled on the floor at your feet. Stepping out of them and your boots, you flicked them away from you, not bothering to look as you kept your eyes on your riddur.

“Good girl, you look so beautiful, my perfect riddur” he praised, hand coming up to your back to undo the chest band that kept your breasts hidden from view.

Instantly the cold air in the hangar hit your form, your nipples already pebbling and hardening under the cool and windy weather of Kamino. Stifling a moan at the feel of them hardening, you bit your lip and widened your legs a little.

Jango’s hand came up to tweak at your nipple, enjoying the pained gasp that you let out at his touch. He couldn’t get enough of your breasts, could imagine them swelling up and filling with milk when you decided to give him another child. The thought had him hardening even further in his compression suit and his codpiece was becoming even more uncomfortable.

“Go on, mesh’la, get me nice and ready to fuck your needy little hole” he ordered, hands coming to your shoulder to push you onto your knees in front of him.

Unable to help the moan that escaped you as you were trapped between his broad, strong body and the crate at your back, you spread your thighs as you got down onto your knees in front of him. With a lot of practice, you deftly undid the codpiece, dropping it to the side of you with a quiet thud of metal against metal.

You could see the bulge pressing against his compression suit and couldn’t help yourself as you pressed a soft kiss against the straining fabric.

“Fuck! Sweetheart! You’re going to kill me” he groaned, fingers trailing up from your shoulders to your neck.

Giggling softly at the tickling sensation, you worked to undo his pants, pushing them down off his hips enough for his cock to spring up. His cock was fully hard, already leaking pre-cum from the tip. He was a nice size and thick, you knew you would be feeling him tomorrow.

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly and letting out a muffled moan. “Open up, sweetheart” he instructed, hooking his thumb into your mouth to guide it open. Your hands clenched on your thighs, as you felt your pussy clench around nothing. God you couldn’t wait to take him into your mouth, to taste him as he pushed in with every roll of his hips.

Keeping your teeth out of the way, and your tongue out, Jango tapped the head of his cock onto your tongue before pushing into your mouth. The musky, salty taste of him had you moaning, legs spreading just a bit wider as he pushed himself even further into your mouth. You breathed through your nose, keeping your breathing calm as you lathed the underside of his cock with your tongue.

“Good girl, your mouth feels so good. So perfect around my cock” he grunted, hand coming to slide into your hair and tugging slightly on the strands.

As you got used to the feel of him once more pressed inside of you, resting in your mouth, you gave his thigh two taps with your fingers. The sign between you that he could continue.

“Stay there” he muttered, fingers carding through your hair before he tightened his grip on them. You nodded, knowing what he wanted and relaxing your throat muscles even further. He kept a reassuring hand on your cheek as he pushed even further into your mouth until your nose was pressed to the wiry, course hair at the bottom of his cock. “Ohh, good girl, taking all of me in your throat. Just relax, I’ll let you breathe in a second” he groaned, feeling the muscles spasm around his cock for a moment before you relaxed, breathing through your nose and sending fluttering tingles around his base.

Your hands gripped onto his sturdy thighs, eyes watering as you kept him in your mouth and waited for him to move. He was heavy in your mouth, leaving you no room to move or do anything but accept him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you whined as you fought against the urge to push him away or move.

Finally, he pulled out, just enough for you to suck air into your lungs before he thrust back in sharply, keeping that tight grip on your hair. He began fucking your face in earnest, the soft, gagging sounds as he hit the back of your throat rung in the empty room. You dug your nails into the back of his thighs, pulling him even closer to you. You wanted as much as him in your mouth as he possibly could.

“Fuck, what a little whore you are, mesh’la. Even with my whole cock in your mouth, it’s still not enough, you still need more” he taunted, brushing a tear off your cheek as he looked down at your flushed face. He took in how your mouth was stretched around his thick cock, how your cheeks were red from your tears and the lust flowing through you. Your eyes were all glazed and glassy as he fucked every thought out of your head.

You tried to moan your agreement but all it came out as was muffled and hidden behind the rough slap of his balls against your chin. You wanted to cry at the feel of arousal that slid from your clenching opening. Unable to resist, you slipped your hand between your thighs and into your panties.

However, it seemed like he had a sixth sense when it came to you, Jango knew exactly what you were trying to do because he flicked your hand away with a low growl; stepping even further into your spread legs and nudging them even wider so that you got no relief from the pressure that was building in your core.

“You only cum on my fingers, on my cock. What a little slut you are, getting wet and desperate just from your riddur fucking your mouth” he snapped, tugging harshly on your hair and making you cry out around his cock. He gave a few more rough rolls of his hips before he was dragging you off his cock, leaving you gasping and trying to work as much air into your lungs as possible. Thick lines of saliva connected your mouth to his cock before Jango broke them.

Hands lifted you up and settled you against him. He brushed your sweaty, strands of hair away from your face and wiped away your tears. “Shh, you did so well for me mesh’la. Taking my cock into your wonderful mouth” he cooed, shushing your unsteady breaths and kissing your cheeks. “But I’m not finished with you yet” he smirked, twisting you both around until he was sitting down on the edge of the crate behind you.

You moaned loudly as he dragged your form up his thigh plate, the ridged metal was cool against your heated skin and pressed just right between your folds and against your clit. “Jango!” you pleaded, closing your eyes as you rested against his chest.

“I know, I know riddur. I want you to ride my thigh, want you to cum on it so that everyone can see your release dripping down the metal” he chuckled mockingly, cupping your cheeks to bring you in for a passionate kiss. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your cries as you began to rock your hips against his thigh plate. He took over all of your senses as you blossomed under his touch and kisses, letting him stoke the fire that was already building inside of you.

The groove of his thigh plate pressed perfectly against your folds, but the smoothness of the metal restricted what friction you could get from it. It was maddening, each movement of your hips enough to build you up to your peak but never threw you over it.

From the smirk on his face as he watched you ride his thigh, Jango knew. The bastard!

“Come on, mesh’la, want to see you cum for me and then I promise I’ll fuck you so good, everyone on this planet will know you’re mine” he swore, sliding his fingers up your thighs and teasingly reaching the apex of your thighs before pulling away. He chuckled at your growl of frustration.

“Jango! Please!” you whined, uncaring about how loud you were being now, or the clones outside the door. You just wanted to cum, feel the pleasure rush through you as Jango kept touching you.

“My poor riddur, is this not enough? Do you need more?” he murmured mockingly sweet, laying kisses along your collarbone, his stubble scratching deliciously against you. He grazed his teeth against the thin skin before sinking his teeth into you, making sure to leave a mark that others would see later.

“Yes! Please Jango! You know I do, please!” you cried, rolling your hips against the groove, anything to provide you some kind of stimulation to send you over the edge.

He sighed heavily, seemingly put out that you weren’t following his demands. “Very well, mesh’la, I suppose I could help you” he smirked, hands coming to land on your hips and raising you up. He shushed your tired whines before gathering the slick that was covering your thighs and his cuisse plate. “You’re soaking, riddur. All this from just sucking cock and riding my thigh. What a sweet little whore you are for me. I think you deserve a reward” he purred filthily into your ear.

You shivered from the warm breath that caressed your sensitive skin and the way he was pressed against you. Before you could reply however, Jango had pushed in two of his thick fingers into your dripping cunt. Finally being filled and stretched around him had you clenching down around his fingers, hips rocking forward as you let out a loud moan.

That was exactly what you needed as you began to ride his fingers, desperate to get to the edge of completion that he had you teetering on moments ago. As he curled them just right, searching for that spot inside of you that made your brain short circuit, you raised your hips higher, slamming them down on his hand with a loud squelching noise. Any other time you’d be embarrassed about how wet you were for this man, but the way Jango was playing you and your body had you crying out for more.

The coil in your stomach was tightening as you felt your cunt clench even tighter around the fingers inside of you.

“Good girl, can feel you cyar’ika… so tight. Gonna be a good girl for me and cum?” he groaned, thumb beginning to circle your swollen bud of nerves, pushing you closer and closer to your peak. You nodded, squeezing and digging your nails into his shoulders.

“Then cum for me!”

You shattered around him, a loud cry of his name echoing around the hangar as you shook, collapsing against his chest as you both panted heavily. You could feel his hard length press against your stomach as you tried to find words to assure him you would take care of him just as soon as you regained the use of your limbs.

“Perfect for me, ner mesh’la riddur” he whispered in Mando’a, affection laced in his voice. He ran a soothing hand up and down your back, waiting for you to settle once more.

He pulled his fingers out, kissing your cheeks as he did so. When you pulled back to look at him, he kept his gaze on yours before slipping his fingers into his mouth. The moan he let out had you clenching your thighs around his, mouth falling open at just how hot he looked in this moment. Bronzed skin shiny with a light layer of sweat, dark curls beginning to stick to his temples as he sucked your release off his fingers. He ran his tongue through the gap, making sure to put on a show for you, showing just how much he loved the taste of you.

Chuckling, he lifted you up off him and turned you both around until he had you bent over the crate that you two had been leaning on. He let out an appreciative noise as he viewed your ass, squeezing your cheeks and pulling them apart.

You whimpered, feeling even more heat rush to your face at the thought of being so on display for him. Jango had seen every part of you, tasted and touched every inch of you but it still embarrassed you at how much he enjoyed taking you in.

“As delicious as you are, riddur. I can’t wait to fuck you. Want everyone to know just how well I can fuck you. They might be my clones but only I get to have you” he growled, leaning forward to press kisses up your spine before sucking a bruise onto the back of your neck. When he was satisfied at how you writhed beneath him, he pulled back but not before giving you a hard spank that landed solidly against your cheek.

The flare of pain only heightened your pleasure as you groaned, pushing your hips back to seek his.

“When I get you back to our rooms, I’m going to eat you out for hours. Gonna make you cum so many times on my face, I won’t ever forget the taste of you” he promised, running his fingers through your folds before spreading your arousal onto his cock.

“Jango, come on! Need you inside me, please” you urged him, wiggling your hips to try and entice him to fuck you.

But Jango was a stubborn bastard and all he did was chuckle, holding his cock and pushing the tip through your folds and against your clit. “You can beg sweeter than that” he murmured, hearing you groan in frustration at that.

And yes, Jango may know how to tease you and work you up into madness, but you knew all his tricks as well. And you weren’t against using them against him.

“Please riddur, my strong, brave husband. Let everyone know that I’m yours” you pleaded, biting your lip as you pushed back enough to feel him nudge against your clit once more. “Please… want you to fuck me” you whimpered, feeling the flare of heat flood through you at that.

Jango let out a loud primal snarl before he was thrusting into you in one smooth motion, holding you still as you let out a loud cry, fingers digging into the crate beneath you.

“That what you wanted? Huh, mesh’la? Want to feel me inside you, stretching out this sweet little cunt?” he hissed, gritting his teeth at the feel of your hot, tight walls squeezing and spasming around him as you got used to his cock. His hands landed on your hips, keeping you both still until you were both ready for him to move.

“Fuck! Can feel you in my throat!” you gasped, widening your legs slightly before moaning as he sunk deeper into you. “Jango!” you shouted, reaching back to cover his hand with your own. He entwined your fingers, rubbing small circles with the other one into your hip. Nodding, you tapped out your signal to go and that was all it took for Jango to fuck the life out of you.

He pulled back, cock dragging along your walls before slamming back into you, forcing the air out of your lungs as you scrambled to keep hold of the crate. His sharp thrust sent you further along the rough surface, his animalistic grunts filling the room along with the wet noise as your cunt welcomed him back in with every thrust.

Thoughts of keeping quiet fled your brain, all you could think about was Jango and how good he felt as he pinned you down and fucked you.

It felt like he was carving a place for himself inside of you, stretching and filling you in ways that you didn’t think you would ever become used to. Slick flooded around him, and you buried your face into the crook of your arm, unable to stop the loud moans and cries falling from your lips.

“So good, you’re gushing mesh’la. Is this what you needed? A nice, hard fuck to remind you that you’re mine. That you’re my riddur, my love” he chuckled filthily, hand travelling up your spine and to the nape of your neck. He squeezed it slightly, keeping you bent over for him as he railed into you.

He loved you like this, able to see your ass bounce around his cock. The sounds you let out was driving him closer to his own completion, the soft cries and moans of his name enough to have his balls tightening. He groaned against your back leaving a deceptively soft kiss to your shoulder compared to the harsh thrusts of his cock inside of you.

“That’s it, mesh’la. This little cunt was made for me. Who else could fuck you like this, huh?” he snarled, snapping his hips into yours. He didn’t give you a chance to reply, pulling you off the crate and to the floor. Arranging you on your knees, he tugged your hips back and slammed back into you, sending you wailing into the air as you threw your head back. His cock sinking deeper into you with this new position, balls hitting your clit as he fucked you into the floor.

A loud smack filled the air as he spanked your ass.

“I asked you a question!”

“You! Only you! Oh!”

“That’s right, riddur. Only me, only I can see you like this, only I can make you feel this good” he growled, reaching around your front to rub at your clit.

Unable to help it, your legs shook from the waves of pleasure that was washing over you, body quivering as Jango tilted his hips slightly to hit you at a different angle. Just as you were about to shatter around him, pushed over the edge, he pulled his fingers away from your bundle of nerves.

“Nooo! Jango, please! Please!” you begged, almost sobbing as he denied you your release.

“You’re mine!” he snarled out, squeezing your hips so hard you were sure they would be bruised tomorrow.

You nodded, words getting caught in your throat as he thrust harder into you. It felt like he was staking his claim over you, not allowing you or anyone close by to forget that.

It seemed your silence wasn’t what he wanted though, as he tangled his hand in your hair and pulled up sharply, arching your back and making you cry out, hips pushed even more into his rolling ones.

“Say it riddur!” he ordered, pinching your nipple, “say it and then you can cum.”

“I’m yours” you screamed out, not caring about who heard just as long as you could cum.

“Good girl, my good, sweet girl” he praised, hand coming down to rub at your clit.

You couldn’t stop the cry of his name as you came around his cock, clenching and squeezing him as you were forced over the edge, pleasure wracking through your trembling body. Jango couldn’t stop as his hips stuttered, thrusting two, three more times before he released his load inside of you, your name tumbling loudly from his lips.

Jango tried not to collapse on top of you, instead angling his body to the side and pulling you into his arms. The cold durasteel floor wasn’t comfortable, and he tugged you onto his chest so that you were a bit warmer and cosier against him.

Once your breaths had calmed down, and you were nuzzled into the crook of Jango’s neck, you let out a little giggle. “You didn’t even undress” you reminded him, smiling into the sweaty skin beneath you.

“Sorry, mesh’la. I promise you can undress me as much as you want when we get back to our rooms” he chuckled, wrapping his arms even tighter around you.

“Good, but I think I need a shower. I’m starting to feel sticky” you grimaced, feeling his softened cock slip out of you and his release trickle down. You pushed yourself up from his chest, taking a look at the beautiful man beneath your hands. However, Jango couldn’t hide the smug look from you. Whacking his chest you glared playfully at him. “You’re not the one that’s going to be dripping all the way back” you grouched, shaking your head at him.

“Oh mesh’la, don’t talk like that, you’ll make me want to start round 2” he smirked, tugging you back down to his chest.

“No way! You’re going to carry me back to our rooms. I don’t think my legs are going to work after that” you told him, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his lips.

“Of course, riddur” he agreed readily, eager to have you in his arms.

Frowning, you cupped his cheek, looking down into his beautiful chestnut eyes. “You know you’re the only man for me, right? No matter if these men share your face, they never will be you” you reminded him softly, wanting to reassure him after all this.

“I know love, I know. I’ve never doubted you” he assured, cupping your face and bringing your foreheads together. He took in a few deep breaths, committing you to his memory once more before pulling away with a small smile. “Now, lets get you dressed. I believe we should have the next hour or so to ourselves” he grinned, pinching your side and laughing at your squeal of surprise.

“Good! Now go and dismiss those troopers! I want my riddur all to myself” you ordered, reaching for your discarded clothes. His laughter warmed the cool room as he went to do what he was told.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Ok, this is so fun! Congrats again!

I'll pick...Hunter (shocked, I'm sure.)

How about: "I don't think I've ever seen you smile" and "Oh, don't be cute"/"Wait, did you just say that I'm cute?"

Thanks!!

Carol (@clonethirstingisreal)

Thank you @clonethirstingisreal - I hope you love this Carol, it actually brought a smile to my face as I was writing it.

Enjoy, love oo.

One Meal

Warnings: knife flipping, allusions to loss, slight angst, fluff. I think that's it, if I miss any please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Hunter flicked his knife back and forth in between his fingers, as he contemplated the next mission. Things were … different, since you joined. Not good or bad … just different. It been about six months, and yes, the Marauder was cleaner and didn’t have that lingering smell anymore, and yes, the meals had gotten better too, because you refused to just eat the ration bars the GAR provided. And … okay, it was nice to see your smiling face in the morning, compared to the miserable faces of his brothers. 

Yet, he still felt awkward around you. He wanted to laugh with you, like you could so easily with Wrecker, to have deep discussion, like you could with Tech, even philosophical discussions like you did with Echo. Hell, he’d be happy if he could just do target practice with you, like you did with Crosshair, but … every time he opened his mouth, he was curt, short tempered, and on edge. 

It wasn’t even your fault, it was just him. 

He stood from his seat, heading down the ramp and taking in a breath of fresh air. You were cooking dinner, doing your best to teach Wrecker that just because salt tasted good, didn’t mean he had to put in a whole table spoon full. 

It made him laugh a little as you tried to explain in your most patient voice possible, that you’d fix the dinner and Wrecker could go help Tech or Crosshair with something else. It was your polite way of saying ‘go away.’

Hunter tried but he couldn’t stop the smile on his lips, as he walked over to you.

"I don't think I've ever seen you smile" you pointed out as he walked up to you. “What’s got you so happy?”

“Oh, I just saw how you were very tactful with Wrecker. It was funny.”

You shrugged trying to fight back your own laughter as you tried to fix the stew, by adding more water, “He tried. I’m grateful he’s willing to learn.”

“Need help? I’m not completely inept when it comes to cooking.”

You looked a little surprised when he asked, not that his offering to help was a real shock, it was the fact you realized this was the first time you two had a proper conversation. “Um … yeah, if you don’t mind using your handy dandy knife there, that you like flipping around so much, to cut up some of these veggies so I can add them, that’d be great.”

Hunter chuckled at your description, as he nodded, taking a seat and getting to work, “Where did you learn to cook?” He asked, hoping to get to know you a little better.

“My mom and grandmother. They were adamant that I learn how to feed an army if I ever needed to …” you chuckled, “I had a big family, back home. Usually there would be around twenty of us for dinner.”

“Twenty? Did you have a lot of siblings?”

“No. It was just me. But I had uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, neighbours, anyone and everyone who needed a meal could always come to our place for dinner. We never turned away anyone in need of a good meal.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was …” a sadness passed your face, as you thought back to what had once been your home, until the Separatist droid army showed up, and destroyed everything you had held so dear. 

Hunter saw your smile slip, it pained him to see that you had been through so much, although he hadn’t heard about it directly from you, he did overhear what had happened when you were talking with Tech. “Well we appreciate all your efforts, especially when you’re trying to teach us neanderthals how to cook.”

You giggled a little, pushing away the sad thoughts that had encapsulated your mind for a split second, “You’re not neanderthals.”

“We’re not exactly proper either. Couldn’t say, we’re exactly suited for a posh dinner.”

You shook your head as you laughed, “You don’t need to be suited for a posh dinner, you just need to show up to eat.” You smiled as you turned to look at him, smirking as you saw how perfectly he cut each vegetable.

You walked over and grabbed the tray of veggies, and dropped them into the stew, “Thanks for your help.”

“Of course. Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure”

“Why do you take care of us? I mean granted the Marauder smells a lot better, and the meals you cook are much better than the GAR rations, but … why do you do it?”

You stirred the stew as you contemplated the question, “I guess … because you feel like family to me.” You turned to look at him, truthfully, he was the only one that you didn’t think of as family, you wanted something more with him, something special, but seeing as this was the first time you two actually talked, it might be a bit far-fetched to imagine that could possibly happen. “And, I love seeing how my food makes you guys happy. Wrecker, has the biggest smile on his face, whenever he eats when I cook. Tech has this adorable blush, although he’ll never admit how much he enjoys my cooking. And Crosshair … well he always comes back for seconds; and frankly, between you and me, he needs to eat more. He’s too skinny. I could break off his collarbone if I needed.”

“I enjoy it too,” Hunter clarified as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I might not say it, but I always look forward to your cooking.” He blushed and turned his head away, not wanting you to see how much of an effect you had on him, and not just because of your cooking. 

You laughed at his reaction, "Oh, don't be cute” you teased, “I might have to walk over there and pinch your cheeks.”

Hunter started to laugh, when he realized what you said, “Wait, did you just say that I'm cute?"

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

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[ceapa-mica]

Me, if my favorite Mandalorian bounty hunter was hunting me down.

[blxkstar]

I made a Star Wars bounty hunters playlist! This was inspired by the western style the bounty hunters are portrayed in. Please check it out! 🤠🤠🪐🪐🔫🔫

I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.

[yandere-wishes]

My Star Wars prequels analysis

Ep 1 .... Qui-Gon Jinn is actually so daddy coded, I might die😍😍 Like sir let me be your bbg!!....And he's dead...

Ep2 Jango Fett is totlly daddy matrial. Like he's literally a dilf!!😍...And he's dead too...

Ep3 Count Dooku kinda grows on you. He's like an honary daddy!...Oh,he's dead...

In conclusion Star Wars has a thing aginst dilfs.😤😤

[vodika-vibes]

The Flower of Mandalore pt. I

Summary: As the only child of the Mand’alor, Jango has to do a lot of things that he’s rather not. An arranged marriage to the daughter of the Kryze clan is just another unpleasant task on the list. But when his bride is nearly killed due to her connection to him, his relationship with her takes a turn.

Pairing: Jango Fett x F!Reader

Word Count: 1740

Warnings: Reader is severely injured, and I did the bare basics of research about her injuries

A/N: So this is part of the idea that I mentioned yesterday, I miss writing about Jango which is why I wrote this.

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Jango sighs heavily as he pushes his hand through his curls. For a moment, his gaze remains on the paperwork spread on the desk in front of him, but then, without his permission, his gaze flickers out the window to focus on the guest house across the garden.

The house where his wife lives.

All of the curtains are still closed, and the speeder in front of the building is clearly marked as belonging to the local hospital.

Another heavy sigh falls from Jango’s lips.

Sure, he had no fondness for the arrogant and vicious daughter of Clan Kryze. And sure, in the privacy of his own mind, he wished that she would vanish so their marriage could end before a child blessed their union.

But he never wanted her injured.

He grimaces at the memory of the day after their wedding.

After the wedding here, the plan had been to travel to Sundari to have the second marriage ceremony with her people. She was going first with a few handmaidens, so she could get a dress and everything that she needed, and Jango was set to follow a few days later.

She never made it to Sundari.

The transport was attacked by Death Watch Mercenaries, and everyone was killed. It’s only through sheer luck that his riddur didn’t succumb to her injuries over the two days it took for word to arrive to Keldabe that the caravan never arrived in Sundari and for them to start looking for her.

She had been on the verge of death when his father’s Commandos found her. She had been shot several times, and was covered in burns from the transport exploding.

And yet, she still lived.

Alive, but comatose.

Her doctor says that it’s for the best. It means that she can’t feel her injuries.

But Jango is no fool. He knows that the longer she remains comatose the less likely it is for her to heal.

And she’s been in a coma for a month.

He ripped out of his thought at the sound of the comm ringing on his desk. He shakes his head with a sigh and hits the button to answer the call, “This is Jango—”

Jango isn’t able to say anything else as he’s cut off by the woman calling, “This is Latia, the Head Maid of the Steel House,” The Steel House is the official name of the guest house, “Her Ladyship has woken up. The Doctor is summoning you.”

“I’ll be there shortly.”

The comm disconnects as soon as he says that, though Jango isn’t all that surprised. Latia had taken the loss of the young woman who had been under her wing hard, and had taken the near-death state of his riddur personally.

A wry smile crosses his face. He feels for the woman. His riddur likely won’t care that Latia has been worried sick about her. In fact, she’s the type of woman to use her month long incapacitation to get all of the maids who had been tending to her fired.

She really is an awful person.

But, she’s still his riddur, so he makes the short trek across the garden to the guest house.

As soon as he steps into the foyer, Jango has to pause. The maids and butlers who had been assigned to the Steel House, seem to be filled with a frantic energy. Frantic enough, in fact, that they don’t even notice him as they zoom around.

He feels a twinge of concern. Even his riddur isn’t this particular about cleanliness. Sure, she’s a neat freak, but this is...extreme.

Jango takes the stairs two at a time, and traverses the long hallway at a slow jog, slowing to a walk as he approaches his riduur’s room. The doctor, head maid, and head butler are all standing outside the room, and the butler seems to be bleeding.

“What happened?”

The three older adults jump, and turn to look at him. “Oh, Jango,” The doctor adjusts her glasses, “You’re here. Good.”

“Is that a bite mark?”

“Her ladyship bit me,” The butler admits with a bowed head, though he’s quick to reassure Jango, “It’s my own fault, I frightened her something awful.”

“You...frightened her? What did you pop out from behind the curtain?”

“No. No. Nothing like that.” He says quickly, before he glances at the Doctor, “Perhaps you should explain?”

“She has amnesia.” The doctor says bluntly, “And I’m not talking about the cutesy type of amnesia shown in movies and the like.” The woman frowns and rubs her lower lip, “She doesn’t even seem to remember Mando’a, and her understanding of Basic was rough.”

“How rough?”

“Mm...she has the language comprehension skills of, say, the average 6 year old?” The Doctor offers, “Though, as I understand it, Basic was her first language, so that will probably come back faster than Mando’a.”

Jango sighs and rubs his forehead, “Okay, so how is she other than that?”

“Understandably terrified.” Latia says as she dabs a tear off her cheek, “Poor thing doesn’t know who she is, where she is, or who we are. And she’s not fully recovered yet, so she’s also in pain. Ka’ra knows what she must be thinking right now.”

“She probably thinks that we’re here to hurt her,” The butler says tiredly, “Which is why you shouldn’t be too cross about the bite, sir. Her actions are completely understandable.”

“I wasn’t going to yell at her,” Jango replies, dryly, “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“Oh, right. Of course, sir.”

“This isn’t important.” The Doctor interrupts with a scowl, “How is your Basic, Jango?”

“I’m fluent.”

“Good, then you need to go talk to her and explain what’s going on.” She continues, “I can’t because I’m not fluent in Basic. And because she already thinks we’re here to hurt her.”

“Super.”

“She’s your wife, you’re supposed to support her.” Latia says chidingly.

“Just be gentle with her, she’s still fragile.” The Doctor adds, “Good luck.”

The three older adults back away, and Jango sighs again, before he knocks on the door. There’s no answer, but then she might not be able to answer, “I’m coming in.” He warns through the door, and then he pushes the door open.

His riddur is sitting in bed, her eyes are wide and she seems to have scrunched herself into the corner of the bed farthest from the door. Not to mention, she’s holding a pillow in front of her like a shield.

Terrified might very well be an understatement.

He stops at the doorway, no need to frighten her anymore than she already is after all, and takes a moment to just look at her.

Before the attack, his Riddur had been called the Flower of Mandalore by other people in high society, solely for her looks. Men and women alike had flocked to her, wanting just a moment of her attention, even if she treated them like they were nothing.

Looking at her now, Jango can’t help but feel a surge of pity. The Flower of Mandalore seems to have wilted away. Her hair, which had once been a point of pride for her, has been cropped so short that it’s shaved in some places, and her skin is still raw in places where the burns haven’t fully healed.

She must be in so much pain.

Poor thing.

“My name is Jango Fett,” He speaks slowly, and taps his chest when he says his name, “Do you remember me?”

Slowly she shakes her head, though the movement makes her hiss and wince.

“That’s alright.” Jango takes a step towards her, though pauses when she curls up a little more on the bed, “It’s okay. You are safe here.”

“...safe…” Her voice sounds hoarse, and he wonders if she inhaled fire or something. Though there’s no way she’ll be able to answer that.

“That’s right. Safe. I promise.”

He watches her think on his words, though the anxiety on her face doesn’t fade. Well, he doesn’t blame her. In her shoes, he’d be just as afraid.

“Why don’t you move back to the center of the bed, so you don’t fall off.” Jango offers, his voice as light as he can make it.

She doesn’t move for a moment, and then, slowly, she slides towards the center of the bed. Jango releases a silent sigh of relief. The last thing he wants is for her to get more hurt.

Jango watches as she slowly sets the pillow on the bed next to her, carefully adjusting it so she can lay on it if she wants to, and then she focuses back on him.

Her nightgown is little more than a low-cut slip, and Jango finds his gaze flickering to the starburst scar he can see just below her collarbone. A muscle works in his jaw as he swallows his rage.

Jango quickly smooths his face when she shifts nervously, “I’m going to get the doctor and your maid, alright? They’re here to help you.”

“...maid?” She mumbles, seemingly bewildered.

Jango ignores her comment and opens the door to let the two older women into the room, “My Lady!” Latia nearly rushes to the side of the bed, though she refrains from touching the injured woman, “Oh, I’m so glad you’re awake, you have no idea!”

Jango smothers at laugh as his riddur leans away from Latia, before turning her wide, bewildered eyes on him. “It’s okay. I promise.”

“Thank you, Jango,” The Doctor says, “Now I should be able to get her what she needs for today. Though, I think you should spend more time with her later today.”

Jango’s eyes flicker over to his riddur, who is now watching Latia with increasing bewilderment, as the older woman takes both of her hands and nearly weeps over them. And a tiny smile lifts his lips, “Yeah. I’ll be back later.”

“Ooh,”

“I didn’t know she could do cute,” Jango admits.

The doctor grins at him, “Have a nice day, Jango.”

And Jango, knowing a dismissal when he hears one, just huffs out a laugh and backs out of the room. He steals one last look at his riddur, sitting in the middle of her bed, highlighted by the golden sun behind her, and he thinks, for the first time since meeting her, that maybe she deserves to be called the Flower of Mandalore after all.

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[imarvelatstars]

Hāmate Masterlist

i. i'm a waking hell and the gods grow tired ii. reset my patient violence along both lines of a pathway higher (coming soon) iii. grow back my sharpest teeth, you know my desire (coming soon)

Pairing: Jango Fett x f!Reader

Content: headless horseman au, historical sleepy hollow, māori jango, use of reo māori, reincarnation, soulmates, canon typical violence, eventual smut

[ao3 link]

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Promises and Pastry

Rating: T / SFW (whaaaaat?!)

Pairing: Jango Fett x Baker Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.3k

Summary: On your way to work, you stumble upon an adorable two-year-old Boba Fett, who wandered away from the bounty hunter Jango entrusted with his care. Wholesome, tooth-rotting fluff ensues. Feat. Jango Fett being a sexy single dad.

A/N: I wrote this for Father's Day. This is the last AO3 work that I needed to migrate to Tumblr, so DJ's Great Fic Migration is now complete 🖤

Warnings: fluff; canon-typical violence

Suggested listening:

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Boba Fett sits in a rundown cantina, waiting for his contact to show. The place is an absolute dive, but not even close to the worst he’s seen. The jukebox is playing an old, old song—some sentimental Arcadian jazz ditty about a lost love. The music is incongruous with the dingy setting, but something about the melody tugs at his subconsciousness. It makes him think of warm, soft arms; a gentle voice; the mouthwatering scent of freshly baked bread. Is it a memory or a dream? He can’t tell.

He finishes his drink and pushes the intrusive thoughts away, then orders another round as he waits for his new employer.

The air is crisp in the predawn hours, and only the dim glow of street lamps illuminates your path as you walk to work. Your mind is caught up with the tasks ahead of you: baking the para rolls, ryshcates, and buttersweet puffs that you assembled the previous day; mixing up tomorrow’s batches of dough; topping up the caf supplies before your barista arrives—and all of this needs to happen before you even open the shop for the day. The bakery has always been your dream, and it’s worth the early mornings to finally have a place of your own.

You are almost to the shop when you hear a strange sound. A small, distressing whimper that echoes clearly through the early-morning silence. You scan the area. Bar’leth is a Core World: a safer planet than some, but your bakery is located near one of the seedier areas. It’s an unfortunate tradeoff for the low cost of rent. You don’t see any obvious threats, but you clutch your satchel a little closer to your body, just in case. The cry comes again, and you increase your pace, eyes darting up and down the street. And then you see the source.

A tiny, weeping child huddles on the walkway. He can’t be more than two or three years old. 

“Oh, my stars,” you whisper as you hurry over to him. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

He looks up at you, wet tears clinging to his eyelashes. An adorable mop of dark curls tumbles around his face, and his tragic, golden eyes break your heart. He holds his hands up to you, and without a second thought, you scoop him up.

“Where are your parents, darling?” you ask, looking around the deserted street.

He wails something incoherent and buries his face in your shoulder. There is no sign of another living being anywhere. You rub his back consolingly and whisper gentle reassurances. Your heart has already made the decision before your mind can catch up: you can’t leave him out here. Settling him more securely in your arms, you hurry the last couple of blocks to your bakery and let yourself inside, locking the door behind you.

You flip on the lights in the kitchen, and the child ceases his wailing and takes a few shuddering gulps. You check him for injuries and find none; it seems he was merely, understandably, frightened. He peers around the bakery curiously.

“Are you thirsty?” you ask.

He nods, so you pour him a glass of water. He gulps it down while you turn on the oven, watching you with fascinated, intelligent eyes. He sloshes a bit of water on you, and you wonder how you are going to manage your workload with one hand occupied holding him. Just then, he spots a tray of day-old pastries.

“I’m hungry,” he says.

You’re relieved that he speaks Basic. Hopefully that means he can tell you where to find his parents. Your commercial kitchen is not exactly a welcoming environment for a toddler, but you set him down on a footstool and bring him a scone—the plainest one you can find, without too much sugar. Force knows the last thing you need is a toddler on a sugar high bouncing around your kitchen while you try to work.

You introduce yourself and ask, “What’s your name?”

“Boba,” he replies around a mouthful of scone. He has crumbs all over his face already; it’s impressive how quickly he made the mess.

“Boba, do you know where your parents are?”

“Dada went to work.”

“Where does your dad work?” you ask as you tie on your apron.

He shakes his head, and tears well in his eyes again. You feel something tug in your chest, and you blink back tears of your own. You’ve always been a sympathetic cryer, but your heart would have to be made of stone to not be moved by Boba’s woeful expression.

“It’s all right,” you soothe him, crouching down to brush those long curls out of his eyes. “You can stay here with me. We’ll find your dad, I promise.”

He nods with a sniffle, and then dives forward into your arms. You squeeze him tightly to you, then settle him onto your hip and get to work. Luckily, the trays are small enough that you can manage them with only one hand, but eventually, you need both hands to work. You start to shift Boba, and you realize he’s fallen asleep against you. It is far from ideal, so you retrieve a large cushion from the front of the house and set it up out of the way in the kitchen. You lay the boy gently down and get to work, amazed that he can sleep through your racket, but then again, it’s only four o’clock in the morning.

He sleeps for hours, and once you’ve finished prepping the next day’s goods, you change out of your utilitarian apron into the pretty, frilly one you wear when you’re running the register. You hear the back door open, and you turn to see your barista, Siero, staring at the sleeping child.

“What. is. that?” she asks.

“And good morning to you, too,” you say.

“Did you steal that child?” she asks suspiciously.

You roll your eyes. “No, I didn’t steal him. He was wandering alone outside the bakery. I brought him inside so he’d be safe until I can find his parents.”

“Have you checked the Holonet to see if anyone has reported him missing?” Siero asks, ever practical.

“Not yet,” you admit. “I’ve been busy getting ready to open.”

Siero pulls out her datapad and runs a quick search. “Nothing so far,” she says with a frown. “I hope you don’t expect me to watch him.”

“Of course not,” you say. “I’ll take care of him. Maybe his parents will come in. If they don’t, I’ll get in touch with the Children’s Wellness Department after we close up for the day.”

Siero shrugs and pulls on her apron. “Well, I always said you could run this place blindfolded with your hands tied. Looks like I’m about to find out.”

Boba continues to sleep as the first wave of customers makes its way through the shop. Fortunately, there’s a lull by the time he wakes up, and you’re able to take a break and sit with him at one of the tables as he eats a pedunkee mufkin and drinks a cup of hot chocolate that Siero makes for him. After that, you work the register with one hand while you carry him on your opposite hip. 

He’s a sweet boy, polite and well-mannered, and your customers are enchanted with him. They are not the only ones; you can feel yourself growing attached, even as you remind yourself how utterly foolish it is to do so. He starts to echo you every time you thank a customer for their business.

“Thank you, come back soon,” he calls, beaming a delighted grin when you laugh.

All too soon, it’s time to close up for the day. Siero heads home, and you flip the Open sign over to Closed as you begin cleaning the bakery. You turn on your favorite old-timey Arcadian jazz music and set Boba down as you sweep the floors, wipe down the tables, and clear out the display case. He follows behind you, eager to help, and you end up swooping him up and dancing with him to the music as he shrieks and giggles with joy. 

Ten hours earlier

Jango Fett limps onto the Slave I, lugging a gory bag containing the severed head of his bounty. It had been a brutal hunt—far more difficult than he’d anticipated. He should never have brought Boba with him this time. But by the time he had tracked his target to Bar’leth, it was too late to return the boy to the safety of Kamino. Instead, he’d entrusted him to the care of his not-quite-friend, sometimes-hunting-partner, Mado Kena. The Rodian had not exactly been delighted to be stuck with babysitting duty, and Jango wasn’t thrilled at the idea of leaving Boba in his care, either, but he hadn’t had much choice.

He’d tracked the bounty for hours and finally cornered him in a gambling den. It hadn’t gone well. The man fought back viciously, and Jango took a blaster bolt to his leg. Ultimately, he had killed the bastard. The bounty is lower for his corpse, but still worth enough to cover expenses. 

He can’t wait to get off this rock. He hisses with pain as he climbs the ramp to his ship and tosses the bag into the conservator.

“Mado, I’m back,” he calls. 

There is no response. The kriffer is probably holed up in his bunk. Jango pounds on the door.

“Mado, wake up, it’s time to go.”

There is no sound from the Rodian. With an exasperated sigh, Jango hits the control panel, and the door slides open. The bunk is empty. Jango stares at it for a moment, then whirls to check his own bunk. It is also empty. Cursing, he runs through the ship, checking every cubby and nook large enough to hold a toddler.

“Boba! Boba, where are you?” he calls, his voice ragged and urgent.

He comms Mado, but there is no response. Gritting his teeth, he calibrates his vambrace to track the comlink. Mado hasn’t gone far, and Jango immediately sets out to find him. His leg screams with agony, but there is no time to stop and apply bacta. He pushes through the pain, and soon tracks Mado to a squalid cantina. The hunter is passed out on one of the tables, and there is no sign of Boba.

Jango seizes Mado by his shirt and drags him to his feet. The hunter startles awake and thrashes in Jango’s grasp. The acrid scent of cheap whiskey oozes from his green skin.

“Where is my son?” Jango growls.

“Wha—what?” Mado stutters, blinking his star-flecked eyes with confusion.

“Where is Boba?” Jango’s voice is hoarse with rage and fear.

“He was just here,” Mado says as he claws at Jango’s fists to try to break his grip. “I got thirsty, so I came over for a drink. I brought him with me, I swear!”

Jango shoves the hunter back down into his seat and whirls to face the bartender. “Have you seen a little boy? He’s only two. Dark hair, brown skin.”

The bartender shrugs. “Sorry, bud, that Rodian was here when I started my shift. Didn’t see a kid with him.”

“Karabast,” Jango spits, rounding on Mado. “If any harm has come to him, there will be no place in this galaxy where you can hide.”

The Rodian cowers, and Jango strides out of the cantina, tracking the most important target of his life.

Not many things frighten Jango Fett, but as he chases through the night, his heart pounds, his stomach churns, his gloves grow damp with sweat. The darkness gives way to dawn, and then to the harsh light of morning, and still he hunts. He searches endlessly, desperately, sweeping the seedy district and working his methodical way outward into the fringes of respectable neighborhoods. There is no sign of his son, and panic claws at his throat. 

By the time the sun is high overhead, Jango is near despair. He stops to rest his throbbing leg, leaning against a building as he gasps with pain. A flash of movement in his peripheral vision catches his attention, and he turns. Across the street is a quaint little shop with a cheerful sign that reads BAKERY, and through the large windows, he sees a woman twirling with a young child. Jango stiffens.

Boba.

He launches away from the wall and storms across the street, slamming the bakery door open with a shout. “Boba!”

You scream and cower away, shielding the boy with your body. Jango stalks toward you, a huge and intimidating figure in Mandalorian armor.

“Please don’t hurt us!” you cry. “I haven’t cleared the till yet. You can take all the credits, just please, please don’t hurt him.”

Jango skids to a halt. “Hurt him?”

“He’s just a child,” you beg. “Please.”

Jango raises his hands slowly, telegraphing that he’s not a threat. Currently. He breaks the seal on his helmet and removes it, setting it on the table next to him.

“My name is Jango Fett. Boba is my son,” he says.

Your terrified gaze darts to his face. Your hand is cupping Boba’s head protectively, but the boy twists in your arms when he hears his father’s voice.

“Dada!” Boba shrieks, pushing away from you.

You set the boy down with obvious reluctance, and he runs to Jango, who scoops him up into a tight embrace. He clutches Boba to his chest as he examines him for injuries.

“How did he come to be wandering the streets alone in the middle of the night?” you ask, more than a hint of judgment in your tone.

“My friend was supposed to be watching him while I was at work,” Jango replied. “Former friend, I reckon. I’ve been searching for him for hours.”

Boba is babbling happily. You can only understand about half of what he says, but Jango listens gravely to the boy.

“Is that so?” he asks. He shifts his attention to you, and you swallow nervously under the intensity of his scrutiny. “He says you gave him hot chocolate.”

You feel a hot flush wash over you at the disapproval you infer from his words. “Well, it was either that or caf, and I didn’t want to see what would happen if we gave a toddler a double shot of espresso.”

“Thank you for taking care of him,” he says, and his voice is filled with so much relief that you soften instantly. 

“I’m glad you found him. He’s a sweet boy.” After a moment’s hesitation, you speak again. “Would you like something to eat? I’ve just closed up for the day, but we have a few things left.”

Jango looks surprised at your offer, but he accepts gladly. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

You pull together an assortment of savory and sweet pastries: a vagnerian canapé, a water-chicken meat pie, a tal-toori, and dameapple turnover. Then you brew a large cup of caf and set it all on the table for him. He has collapsed into one of your big, comfortable armchairs, and Boba is resting against his armored chest. Without his helmet, you can see that he is remarkably handsome, and you smile at the way he rests his cheek on his son’s riotous curls. He looks exhausted; deep circles carved under his eyes—eyes that are exactly the same beautiful, rich brown as Boba’s—and there is a shadow of stubble on his jaw. The Arcadian jazz continues to play, and you pick up your broom to continue cleaning as Jango eats. Boba calls out your name and reaches for you.

“No, Boba,” Jango chides. “Leave the pretty lady alone. She has work to do.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, holding out your arms to Boba. 

Jango shrugs and hands his son back to you so he can attack his plate in earnest. You dance as you work, much to Boba’s delight. Jango watches you, admiring the way your body sways to the music. He isn’t blind; he can see that you are a beautiful woman, and he takes a moment to appreciate the way a few strands of hair have worked themselves free from your simple bun to curl in a halo around your face. He realizes that he’s been holding a pastry halfway to his mouth as he watches you twirl and play with his son. He crams the rest hastily into his mouth and takes a long drink of caf to wash it down. 

The food is good. Delicious, actually. He’s been eating ration bars for weeks, and he’s almost forgotten what real food tastes like. The warm light of the early afternoon spills into the bakery and bathes the room in a tranquil golden haze. He notices now that there are cheerful vases of fresh flowers on each table, and a low shelf full of books against one wall. 

Kriff, he’s so tired. He stretches his legs out gingerly, feeling the ache of his blaster wound. He leans back in the soft chair, just for a moment. Just to rest his leg before making the long walk back to the Slave I.

You finish cleaning the bakery and get everything staged for the next morning, and when you and Boba return to the front of house, you find Jango asleep in your armchair. You finally get a good look at him without feeling quite so awkward and intimidated. He looks younger; his guarded expression relaxes into softness. His head is tilted back, leaving the thick, brown column of his throat exposed. His shoulders are impressively broad, and while some of that bulk is clearly due to his armor, you suspect that most of it is just Jango.

With a tiny smile, you retrieve a picture book from your shelf and settle into another armchair with Boba on your lap. The boy snacks on the leftover scraps from his father’s plate, even though you offer to get him a plate of his own. You read to him until he falls asleep, cuddled safely in your arms.

Jango lurches awake, staring wildly around him, his body tensed for violence. He’s disoriented for a moment, but then he sees you, curled up in an armchair across from him, Boba nestled securely against you. Both of you are fast asleep. He stands, flexing his leg experimentally. He’s not sure how long he was out, but judging by the angle of the sun, it’s been a few hours. He crosses to your armchair and gazes down at you and Boba. Something like tenderness is in his eyes as he smooths your hair out of your face.

Your eyes flutter open at his touch, and you smile up at him drowsily.

“I need to get going,” he says quietly, careful not to wake his son.

You nod your understanding and rise to your feet. He takes Boba and settles him against his shoulder. You help him put on his helmet, and he presses his free fist to his chest in a gesture of respect, careful not to jostle the boy.

“Thank you again,” he says sincerely. “For everything.”

“Of course,” you say. “Tell Boba to come visit me again sometime.”

“He’d like that,” Jango says. 

You walk him to the door and watch as he and Boba disappear down the streets of Bar’leth, and as you stand alone in your bakery, the music continues to play.

“Boba Fett?” a man asks. He is wearing civilian clothes, but the stick up his ass has Boba willing to bet a thousand credits that he’s Imperial military.

Boba nods his head.

“The very man I was hoping to find," the man says. His clipped, affected Coruscanti accent grates on Boba's temper."The Empire requires your service. I’m to deliver you personally to Lord Vader’s ship.”

Boba finishes his drink and wordlessly follows the man, and the song plays on in the empty cantina.

---

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This fic has artwork!

[ddejavvu]

m.list - misc. star wars characters

satine kryze:

eating satine out

maul opress:

sitting in maul's lap on the throne

savage opress:

aftercare with savage

size kink with savage

captain rex:

being rex's barrack bunny

one night stands with rex

meeting rex at 79's

misc. clones:

one night stands with the clones