#mando!soap

[angelcqre]

Mando!141 AU HCs Before I Start Writing

> crossposted from @charliemwrites ‘ lovely server

Soap is your typical mando. Fully customized kit, wanton usage of explosives, constantly cursing up a storm. Frequently on fire. His kit has been modified to allow for more motion with a flex breastplate and braces on the vambraces to allow for him to elbow a bitch. Armor colors are orange and green - a lust for life and duty. His beskar is inherited from a long line of ancestors, and he takes exceptionally good care of it. Concord Dawn prior to glassing.

Gaz is a bit more 'passing' as non-mando. Wears the breastplate, gauntlets, boots, typically tends to have his bucket off but whether that's because he can win more people over with his smile than his blaster is his own little secret. Coruscanti accent, quick with his blaster but can also wield vibroblades pretty adequately. BIG on the jetpacks. blue and green armor - reliability and duty. Got his kit from his great uncle when he retired and Gaz was, like, 14.

Ghost doesn't take his bucket off. Ever. At some point manages to get the darksaber - does not hold on to it. Dry, pops jokes every so often but otherwise kind of looms, speaks almost entirely in mando'a to his vod and it sounds real intimidating but if u understand what he's saying it's just like. the fucking tank joke. black and white armor - justice and fresh starts to commemorate his new life serving as a bounty hunter maybe? Full kit akin to ARC troopers in the clone wars with a big dark cloak thrown over top because he's dramatic. Has cobbled together the beskar over the years, didn't start out with a full kit but quickly earned it beating the shit out of scumbag mandos.

Price tends to have his bucket off about as much as he has it on - 50/50 split, mostly because it's easier to pretend he's not exasperated when he has his bucket on and his vocoder going. Green, light green and brown - duty, a desire for peace, and valor. Earned his beskar piece by piece. Directs his vod in mando'a because not a lot of people speak it which gives them a tactical advantage, but won't do it when they're not in the field like Soap or Ghost will because he considers it kind of rude.

[vozart]

PUT THAT BACK ON WHAT ARE YUOU DOING?!?!? - mando!ghost

@27potatochips for sharing the same braincell as me <3

[yawnderu]

Thinking about big strong men crumbling down and becoming a pathetic putty mess for the woman they're in love with for the 100th this week hmm

[duncans-idahoe]

COD Star Wars Rebels!Au

The Rebel Ghost Squadron Featuring:

Mando! Ghost- Traditional Mando, NEVER takes the helmet off (Din Djarin coded). Empire and or Death Watch killed his clan

Mando! Soap- non traditional mando

Former Republic Admiral! Price- he was a non Jedi military leader during the clone wars who left when the empire came into power

Jedi! Gaz- Jedi knight during Clone Wars, survived order 66 with help from Price

[plzu]

why does my goofy ass continually fall for stoic fictional men

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2024: October 15th

Day 15: Hair Pulling // Glory Hole // Teasing

Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: Glory hole, anonymous pleasure, idiots, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, Mando being impatient, deep throating, cum swallowing

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Needing to be alone in that ship is a luxury neither one of you have. The sleeping shifts in the little bunk aren’t working. He can’t even take his helmet off without inhaling the scent of whatever soap or perfume you use. Filling his nostrils and making his cock ache in the darkness. He can’t even take himself in hand to relieve the problem. Too wary of you hearing his grunts and groans as he fucks his hand, you seem to hear every sound he makes as it echoes through the metal hull of the Razor Crest. 

Finally, he’s ready to return to Nevarro. To dump off the bounties that you’ve collected and gather more pucks. His rifle is left behind this time, not needed for where he will go after his meeting with Karga and he doesn’t want to have to store it somewhere else. The little storefront he will visit doesn’t allow rifles, just regular blasters. 

Running through the sandy alleys of Nevarro, you tread a familiar path. One that you slip off the ship and escape to every time you are here. Mando never asks any questions, never tells you where he goes for hours at a time. Both of you have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy about your time spent on this planet and you are happy for that. 

You had found this place by accident. Looking for a store that sold display arrays that you could modify to fit the Crest, you had walked into The Hole. Karga had mentioned it once, chuckling and telling Mando about the wondrous treasures that could be found within its hallowed walls. The wall of metal beside you had practically shoved you from the booth and told you that you were leaving, your questions about what kind of place it was left unanswered. 

You had assumed it was a junk store. A place where people deposit their junk that is treasures to someone else. You had gone looking for it when you were bored and discovered why the Bounty Hunter’s Guild leader chuckle was so dirty when he mentioned it. It was a Glory Hole. 

You love going. The woman’s side is alright, but after one experience with a Twi’lek’s fangs, you had decided to stick with giving rather than receiving. So you come here and sit behind the wall to suck a stranger’s cock, fingering yourself while you do it. 

The Sullustan that runs this place doesn’t mind it at all. He doesn’t pay you and he gets to have a paying customer pleased. For him, it’s a boon when you walk in the door and he makes sure that he always assigns you the first customer to come when you are in your little booth. 

Mando stalks down the street, his head turned straight as he walks with a purpose. He will just slip inside The Hole and lay down a few credits. Get some relief that is sorely needed to make another trip with you on his ship. The payment from Karga was generous, but half belongs to you. The pucks on his belt will be dealt with soon enough, after he’s lightened his load in the anonymity of the glory hole and finds you again. 

He doesn’t know who is on the other side, but he always imagines you. Takes fragments of expressions you’ve given him over the months together as he closes his eyes behind his helmet and lets the mouth around him suck him off. Already hard beneath the flight suit, he steps inside the door and finds the proprietor to give him the required credits. 

Waiting never takes long. You’re already slick with arousal, fingers rolling over your clit teasingly and lightly dipping inside your cunt as you kneel in front of the hole. The cushion for your knees is a lovely little boon to your aching bones from kneeling on the metal grate floor of the Crest when you are working behind some mech panel. You hear shuffling, cunt clenching in anticipation for the cock that will be fed through the hole and presented to your hungry mouth. 

The booth is private. Something that Mando appreciates, even if he doesn’t do more than pull his cock out of his flight suit. He can relax, enjoy the pleasure without worrying about an attack from behind. Shuffling inside and closing the door behind him, he works on pulling his stiff length out with a quiet groan. 

You freeze. Aware of that groan, that sound. You know who makes it and yet you can’t fucking believe it. Mando couldn’t have come here. There is no way he would do this. You break your own rule and crouch down, peeking through the hole and choke when the familiar flash of orange tipped gloves can be seen. 

Pulling back, you don’t know what to do. You should say something, stop him. You know that he doesn’t want you, he’s never made any move on you. Never given you any clue that he finds you to be anything more than adequate help and an annoyance. 

Before you can find your voice, the thick heft of his cock slides through the hole and into sight. It’s fucking gorgeous. Making your mouth water at the girth, the length. He’s more than a mouthful and you want to taste him. You swallow, still unsure of what to do. 

Mando looks down, his cock is in the hole and yet there isn't a mouth around him. Pulling his hips back slightly and pushing forward again, wondering if the worker isn’t paying attention. He’s already aching, the head of his cock nearly purple with repressed need and his voice is slightly impatient. “Suck it.” 

You shiver, the growl coming from the other side of the wall shoots straight to your core and you can imagine that impassive visor looking down on you mercilessly. This is your fucking dream come true and he doesn’t even know it’s you. 

The small drop of liquid built on the tip calls to you and leaning forward, you lap at the tip, eliciting a dark, deep groan from Mando on the other side. Tasting his very essence and enjoying the salty drip on your taste buds before you start to lick down the length of him. 

His head tips back, visor pointed up at the ceiling as the wet heat drags up and down his cock. He needs this. Perhaps needing a pussy more, he will take this blow job and imagine you on your knees in front of him. Taking his cock down your throat and looking up at him with those pretty big eyes of yours. “Fuck.” He hisses. 

Your cunt quivers, fingers slipping in the slick that is now pouring out of your needy hole and you take the head of his cock into your mouth right as you bury your fingers down to the knuckles in your pussy. 

His fist curls tight, resting against the wall as he feels the mouth take him deeper. Eyes rolling back in his head as he groans again. Letting the pleasure of this wet heat surround him. “Take it all.” He growls. 

Fuck. You whimper around his cock because the man will be the death of you. He gives dirty talk a first class name through that modulator. Doing as he ordered immediately and taking him deeper into your mouth, you hum around him and push your fingers in and out of your soaked cunt. 

He gets lost in the sensation. The soft sucking and the hollowed cheeks when the pull on his shaft is a bit stronger. The fluttering of the tongue around him and driving him crazy when that mouth pulls back and that tongue presses against the slit. Whoever it is has some talent and he still imagines that it’s you pleasuring him. 

You put everything you hand into this blow job. Your hand that isn’t buried in your pants is wrapped around the base of his cock, wanting to keep as much of him on this side of the wall and give him as much pleasure as you can. The fact that your fingers barely fit around the base makes you moan around him, trying to stuff a third finger inside your aching cunt while you bob your head. 

“That’s it.” He growls, his body tensing under the pressure of that mouth on the other side of the hole. “I’m gonna cum, cyar'ika.” He hisses. “And you’re gonna drink every drop.” 

You whine, wanting that more than anything as you plunge your fingers in and out, rolling your hips down onto your hand to ride it while you suck his cock. You want every drop, you want to drink him down and make him limp with pleasure. 

Your own pleasure is so closely linked with this moment that you feel your body starting to prime to cum when his cock starts to pulse. 

It takes just a moment, from the pulling of his balls against his body to the stream of cum that bursts onto your tongue with a low groan of praise that you can’t even hear because your blood is rushing in your ears as you start to swallow down great, greedy gulps of him while your cunt spasms around your fingers. Moaning Mando’s name around his length inaudibly, rolling your eyes at how much you love that this has happened. How you want it again already. 

Your name is poised on his lips, barely being able to hold it back. Riding out his orgasm with slow rocks of his hips as the mouth moans and whimpers around him. He’s never had such an active blow job before and he’s already wondering how fast he can capture those bounties so he can come back to The Hole to seek it out again.  

[beefros-sin-bin]

Welcome to the SinBin! @beefrobeefcal's FicRec side blog.

Omegaverse fic recs:

PPCU fics:

Honey, Stomach, Mine by @netherfeildren (alpha!Joel Miller x f!reader)

of rage and ruin by @corazondebeskar (werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader)

Kinktober 2022: A/B/O - Frankie Morales by @absurdthirst (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Not an Alpha by @absurdthirst (Dieter Bravo x f!reader)

Alpha by @oliveksmoked (Triple Frontier x f!alpha!reader)

Unexpectedly Mated by @absurdthirst (alpha!Mando x f!omega!reader)

The Devil's Backbone by ezrasbirdie (alpha!Frankie Morales x f!omega!reader)

Stay with Me by miss_anthr0pe (alpha!Dave York x omega!f!reader)

Alone and Forsaken by @emisprocrastinatingbywriting (alpha!Joel Miller x omega!f!reader)

Non-PPCU fics:

highway don't care (but i do, i do) by spacelabrathor (alpha!Thor x f!omega!reader - MCU)

Misery I Need by mwestbell (James 'Bucky' Barnes x Steve Rogers - MCU)

Be it Fahrenheit or Centigrade by twelves_pastels (Erik Lehnsherr x Charles Xavier - X-Men: First Class)

All You Ever Needed to Know About Knotting by orphan_account (Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski - Teen Wolf)

Mix and Match by Jerakeen (Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski - Teen Wolf)

I Know You're a Mistake I Won't Regret by LunaCanisLupus_22 (Steve McGarrett x Danny 'Danno' Williams - Hawaii Five-0)

Wage Your War by Della19 (Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter - Hannibal)

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood by @soaps-mohawk (TF141 x omega!reader - COD)

Have a fic you want to recommend in this AU? Let me know!

[b1rds3ye]

I really love your masked reader headcannons!! Especially the LED mask ones. I think it’s such a fun concept and the way all the boys react/ accommodate the reader and their preferences is so sweet!

So idk what your familiarity to Star Wars is but there’s a people (Mandalorians) who traditionally wear armor that covers their faces and bodies pretty much all the time. As such there’s something called a kelblade kiss and what that is is when two mandos press their helmeted foreheads together as a way to show affection when they’re all armored up. I was thinking about this and how the 141 would react if the masked reader leaned their forehead against them in lieu of kissing their cheek in a moment where they wanted to be affectionate but leave the mask on? If you have thoughts I would love to know! <3

OMG THIS IS SO CUTE!! I was raised on the og Star Wars trilogy, even the prequel 3 by George Lucas but I've completely fallen off since Disney's taken the reigns 😭😭 BUT YES I know Mandalorian I didn't know they had the little kiss thing though IT'S SO SWEET TO IMAGINE

Any physical contact with Price is generally rare when he's on duty, it comes with him just being busy and the natural commanding presence as captain. But when you first press your forehead against his, John's initial confusion gives him a respite from the stress of the military now that his entire focus is on you. It seems he needed the affection more than you did. Now your little forehead taps are his lifeline. Your mask always gets his bucket hat tilting off angle, the front rim a little crumpled when you pull away, but it always leaves him wearing a fond grin that is for you and you alone.

It's a little awkward trying to do it with Ghost, not only is Simon inconveniently tall but his own hard mask makes such a gesture of affection have the tact of a kid shoving the faces of two plastic dolls together. Simon is solid and immovable, and is far too entertained by you nearly self-concussing as you tap your forehead against his, stumbling back in a slight daze. Still, the intentions aren't lost on him and they're very much appreciated. He doesn't do them back, but in more serious moments, he lets you stay, forehead against his. He can't see your eyes but he makes sure you can see the emotions swimming in his.

Soap absolutely adores them! It's your own little form of affection and he loves the little quirks that come with your mask. But for whatever reason, he's taking your little forehead touch as a competition. "Did nae feel a thing!" Johnny would complain, taunting you to go harder next time. At this rate he's just asking to be clobbered across the head but he believes that if it's from you, that's a damn blessing and whatever bruise that comes from it he'll wear with pride. He always reciprocates in kind. It's more of a headbutt with his over-enthusiasm but he must have a forehead of steel or something because he always pulls away beaming.

Your little forehead taps always leave Gaz giggling and bashful. It's been a little harder as of late since he now wears a cap with a hard brim, for a while Kyle thought your lack of recent "mask kisses" was because the two of you had unfortunately drifted apart. He now foregoes the cap whenever you're around. When you enter the room he gives an exaggerated bow down to you, jerking his head up to signal to his forehead and he won't move an inch until you greet him with a forehead tap (this also happens if you ever have to leave the conversation). He tried to give a forehead tap back once but he was a little too enthusiastic and needed frozen peas to the head for the rest of the day.

Call of Duty Masterlist Masked Reader Masterlist

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

[fandom-blackhole]

Tonight!!!! Starting around 8pm central time! Characters in the tags, so start sending angst now!!! <3

🍷Wine an' Cry 💦

Welcome one and all to fandom-blackhole's angst with wine(?) event! You send me an ansty thought, HC, AU, ect. and I may or may not drink wine and make everyone cry over the angst! (You're also welcome to ask about any angsty stuff I have brewing bc you know I always have angst ready)

Come hang and have fun :))

(Fandoms/characters i will be doing listed in the tags!)

[angelcqre]

Ti Te Ka'Ra

Mandalorian!141/Jedi!Reader / 55 BBY / Eventual GhostxReader

The first night is spent meditating, projecting calm into the force and trying to ignore how loud these men are. You can hear every step, every sharp bark of laughter, every word of murmured mando’a. You can feel their intent. There’s a grim sort of camaraderie that permeates the ship.

It feels like family - like belonging, similar but not quite the same to the temple’s home-sense. Stubborn, more possessive, but that lingering home-sense is thick and heady. You wonder how long they've been a team. From the feeling of it, years. Echoes of them remain in the force, lingering like a blown-out candle, stuck to the walls and ceiling and vents.

If the captain - Price, he tells you, narrows his eyes and puffs it around his cigarra - thinks anything about the fact just you haven’t moved from the stool in the past ten hours, he doesn’t say anything. Merely mutters something about shabu'jetii and drops a mug of tea down in front of you.

You take it appreciatively. Offer him a smile and gesture for him to sit in one of the stools beside you, the baby in your other hand. He does with a groan.

“Swear to the stars, they get more uncomfortable each time I sit.” He mutters, lips pressing thin when his gaze flits back to you and realizes what you’re doing. Admittedly, it’s a superfluous use of the force to float your mug up to your mouth, but you’ve got your hands full of exhausted youngling and tea only stays good when it’s hot. Maybe you should stop. You don’t.

“Have you had the ship for long?”

It’s a polite question - you know he’s had it for years, the pervading home-sense is indication enough of that, but you’re eager to divert his attention away from disapproval and discomfort. You’re here. You’re a Jedi. You’re going to use the force, whether he personally approves of it or not.

“Almost ten years,” He grumbles, chewing on his cigarra, setting warm eyes beyond you. “Been flying her longer than I’ve been in the current mand'alor's service.”

Your brows quirk, hum softly.

“Rare for a mandalorian to be running missions for the republic.” You say, a question but not. Give him space to decide whether he wants to answer or not. The force in the ship is strange - thick with tension, edged with copper and spice and life that feels so alien compared to the serene blanket of the temple. It feels too rich, too vibrant, almost spicy.

You drink your tea. Let the flavors soak your tongue sharp and acrid, pull you out before you sink back into the meditative state.

"Rare for the child of a senator to end up on the battlefield of a civil war," He counters, brow quirking in what feels like another accusation. "Millions of parsecs from coruscant. That not curious to you, jed’ika?"

Of course it’s curious to you. There are countless bad actors that could be attributed to the kidnapping of a force sensitive baby, countless bad actors that could be attributed to the child of a senator, but together? It’s implausible. Strange. Something out of a shab holonovel, not reality.

You don’t voice that.

“You don’t think it’s your…” You trail off, pinch your brows. Search for the word that he’s said before and fail to grasp it, the shapes of mando’a not quite familiar enough to hold.

“Kyr’tsad. Death Watch. No. S'not Kyr'tsad. Would've killed her."

Your eyes go wide at how casually he says it, at the ease of it, and instinctively, you grasp the child closer, brows pinching. You've seen your fair share of suffering - as a watchman, you go where the force feels you're needed, and you're often needed where people are suffering, but..

But the way he says it is too settled. Like he's seen worse. Like he doesn't have any faith in the enemy, like he's seen things firsthand. He probably has. You fight the urge to soothe the stress away in the force, instead wrapping yourself and the child up in a blanket of calm, weave it nice and warm and watertight against the sluice of dread that fills the air.

"Could be one've your dar'jetii," Quips a voice as the handsome one - Gaz, his name is Gaz - approaches, dropping heavily into the space beside Price, loosely clutching a cup of caf in his hand. Once again, his bucket is off, and his face is schooled into neutrality, "No reason to think it's one of ours."

"It's not."

"How d'you know?" Gaz leans forwards, eyebrow quirked, takes a sip of his caf and narrows his eyes.

"Because it's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible, love." Price this time, his gaze still glued to the baby. The anxiety that twists your stomach at his implication is displeasing, and you begin to thumb at the baby's swaddle, realizing there's embroidery across it.

"This is," You say, voice flat, unamused, thumb running over the letters, the aurebesh crisp and fresh, trying to figure it out from touch alone. Mikha, maybe - mern-isk-kreath-aurek - though that doesn't feel right. "We would know if it was the sith. We'd feel it. It's not possible."

Mikha doesn't feel accurate. Micha (mern-isk-cherek-aurek) or Mika (mern-isk-krill-aurek) or something like it. The third letter is strange, the cursive aurebesh almost too vague for you to gauge on touch alone. You ignore the anxiety that tightens your core at the idea of the sith.

You'd know. You'd know.

"You'd feel it?"

You try not to bristle at the incredulity, tell yourself it's not meant to offend, that mandalorians are intense and passionate and unschooled, that they're not held to the same culture of passivity and serenity that you are, but it's difficult when the captain looks at you with pity and condescension. Like you're some child, hopeful and pitiful and naive.

Like you're a fool.

You are definitively not a fool. There's nothing naive about the knowledge that you'd know if the sith were still around - they're all but extinct now, a child's tale to keep crechelings from misbehaving. Kark it, you're a jedi, for force's sake. Clever and encompassing and wise beyond your years.

And yet, the men before you look at you with that same doubt, and you're the first to break the staring contest, glancing down.

Mira. Mern-isk-resk-aurek. A sweet name for a sweet baby.

"I'd know," You tell her. "I would."

[sofasoap]

Sofasoap's Call of Duty Fic Rec

Always wanted to make a list of my very subjective CoD fic rec list, and also I promised my good buddy @groguspicklejar ( famous author of Beloved series) a list of fic recs, let me list some of my beautiful mutual's and some amazing writers and artists so they can go binge read.

Edit : I'll keep adding artist/writers on as I go. When my brain cells is functioning.

@saltofmercury -Let's start off with the mother of my Mini MacTavish. The one who made me fell in love and hit the nail in the coffin for CoD fandom.

If you are into König, her " Break-in" series is a must read. check out her Soap fics too :) Masterlist

@floral-force - My bestie! delicious Simon/Ghost fics.

American Hospitality is my favourite. Or honeypot is guarantee making you crave for more :)

Check out their Mando fics too :)

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world - You want slow burn? check out lovely Bear's "The Roommate Series". Wonderful progression of relationship between Simon and his room mate. Your Friendly Neighbor Soap and Shy reader, OH SO CUTE.

@deadbranch - Spy and Cold war style fics? You are in the right place. The killing moon and Dying sun series. Gut wrenching.

or check out the light hearted None Taken ( personal favourite!), threesome fics? Goth style Reader? Check out their MASTERLIST for full list of goodies.

@brewed-pangolin The president of "Soap Squad" club.

Fireside Whiskey - personal favourite. Soft and thoughtful Soap is just heaven. Kati's page is full of wonderful Soap deliciousness. check it out if you want some Soap fun.

@writeforfandoms  - Jen jen jen jen jen. Multifandom talent. AU Prodigy. But let's focus on the CoD here, Puppy Love - Price and puppy? can't go wrong with that. Born for Greatness and Howlin' For You Shifter!AU is my latest obsession here.

@random-thot-generator - Kris, The princess of Thotland and Thotlandia. Their latest work: A Patient Man - had me all hot and bothered. Sweet sweet Rudy. OH how can you be so sexy.

@jynxmirage, Jynx!!!! the one I blame for falling into Top Gun fandom. but that's not the point :P

Communication is Key - my current obsession :) Soft caring Price, oh give me this Captain price any day...

@as-is-above-so-below  - Oh Gezez, Simon X OC ( Freya ) fic The Captain is utterly brilliant. Angst, suspension, Thirst, smut... you name it, you get it.

@roosterr - my Fellow Nikolai fanatic, check out her "guardian angel"

series, action action action and of course, love story :)

@siilvan - another one of my fellow Nikolai fanatic, Aqua Regia

series , Nikolai the flirt, sexy flirt , complete with smut * smirk *

@homicidal-slvt - How can I forget the spark to my Lastochka series?

and one of my biggest supporter.

Check out their creative CoD Headcanons and full list of CoD works that will guarantee satisfaction.

@nrdmssgs - to round off my Nikolai fanatic club , and also brilliant artist, A heart full of pity series is one of my latest obsession featuring good old Nikolai.

@captainpriceslover - my crack fic inspo buddy ( miss you a lot!!!). the one gifted me ideas of Soap dispensers lol.

aiaigasa (相合傘) - featuring our TF141 sweet boy, Gaz, had my heart melting.

@starstruckmiraclekitty  - You want H/C and scenarios? * falling out of the bag * here is the place to go. :)

@random0lover - you want soft fluffy Soap? Hot Chocolate & Hoodies, you want angsty type of story? Open Wounds and War Paint

you get all with Kat!!!

@lethalchiralium , how can I forget Keri! ( I knew I forgot someone.. argh )

The Happiness series, don’t let the title fool ya (well it does bring you happiness reading such talented writing) this story is like washing machine, throws your emotions all over the place, let you grip onto your chair, wanting more.

@mistydeyes so many awesome stories to choose from! My current favourite is "choose your flowers, carefully" Good old Gaz x reader story, and one of my favourite trope - childhood to lovers 🥺 please go check it out!

Now , Some brilliant artists:

@shkretart - This utterly utterly talented person, Price and Nikolai and Simon, will have your nose bleeding within 0.1 seconds.

@ave661 - out of this world 3Drenders always have my eyes popping out of the socket.

@nrdmssgs - mentioned once, should mention again, beautiful art :)

@wombywoo - TF141 boys in their dress uniform? YES PLEASE.

@namedlunagoddess - another 3Drender goddess. OH CHECK OUT HER Sowa Team fic if you are into Gromsko, its HOT SMUTTY DELICIOUS FIC.

@hffhifjou - You want rugby boys? You get rugby boys :) and football. and all sort of deliciousness :)

I am sorry If I miss out anyone. after 13+ hours at work I am exhausted.

[sideysvault]

⋆✴︎˚ Sweet Vacuum ⋆✴︎˚ (PT.1)

Per Diem

pairing. The Mandalorian x fem!reader

wc. 1315k

tags. Slow burn, fluff, angst, drama, smut, co-parenting, friends to lovers, lighthearted, hurt-comfort.

full series masterlist. Read p.2 (c. soon)

────────

It took some time for her to get accustomed to it all. The constant, seemingly imperceptible buzz of the ship had been the reason for her insomnia. The hellish gray color of the walls plagued her vision with mockery, even if she tried to cover it with any trinket, colorful sheet or painting she could afford to buy. In the very first weeks, the woman would be so afraid of being out in the open space, held safe only by a piece of junk put together by mere faith and luck, that she would have to duck inside her bunk bed and close her eyes until the tears stopped, and her breath regulated on its own. The classic symptoms of her easily agitated disposition haunted her. Sour stomach, wretched nerves, clock inching tediously slow. 

She thought of calling out for help, of course. But she was too embarrassed to ask Mando for any. 

The woman was of mainland by birth, and as she had recently discovered, by nature. Being out in space was too challenging of a concept for her simple, primitive mind to attend to. So she imagined herself to be on a bullet train, a cruise, a submarine, anything, anything but a flying ship surrounded by nothing but a void of matter.

Oh, yes. The first months had been rather excruciating. Her only company was The Mandalorian, who seemed to constantly remind her of her inadequacy. The man was skillful, Stoic, and smart. And he generally acted as if the person who he lived with did not exist. For someone as energetic, talkative and flirty as her, being alone with him on that ship was comparable to a cage. She was safe and all her needs were met, and yes, she would be endlessly indebted to him. But this way of life wasn’t for her.

At first, the woman acted in eggshells around him. But once she realized that The Mandalorian truly meant no harm to his allies and that he was a fundamentally good man, she learned to loosen up. She was often guilty of projecting all of her boredom on him, playfully flirting and fighting as one would do on a soap opera. But what could she do, given the lonely circumstances. He never took a break. They never stayed long in one place, and he rarely let her tag alone on his missions. Being polite enough to talk about security and protection, when in reality, he just did not want to have her around. 

But It all changed when she met that little green guy. 

Despite all of his interminable silences, his traditional ways, and the annoying enigma, the woman had to give it to him; He was a genuinely kind soul. 

Kinder than she could ever be. 

The truth was that she would have gotten scared of the commitment and dropped Grogu off at whatever orphanage had the best reputation. But not Mando. He had taken him in, promised the child the closest thing to a family, while he helped him find his genuine kin.

The kid changed everything. She had always secretly wished for a child, but the woman thought she would not be any good as a mother figure. Grogu, however, brightened her days, made the endless possibilities of travelling something fun again, and it gave her someone to be brave for. It gave her a purpose. Beyond mindless jobs, bounties and metal parts.

She knew the cruelty of her thoughts, but on some days, when she watched the kid crawling around, happily giggling, she could not help but wish for him to stay with them forever. 

“Hey, captain-”

Mando physically flinched every time she called him that, but she couldn't help it. Sir was too dreadful of a word, not to mention that they were roughly the same age, —at least, that was what she thought to be true— and her parents were military. 

Some of that had stuck around, even after all her efforts to get rid of her old ways. At some point, she just stopped fighting it, mainly because It made her feel like she was still back home. Family still alive. If she closed her eyes, she could still hear her brother calling their mom “Lieut” only for him to be playfully smacked by her mom, showing off that big smile of hers.

But she had no smile anymore. And all she had left now was Mando and the kid. 

Technically, he wasn't her captain. The Mandalorian functioned as a pilot too, -and an occasional, disastrous mechanic- but she still called him so, and the woman could practically see his rolling eyes behind the helmet. That was the best part of it. 

“Remember, don’t go to overly crowded spots-” The woman absently nodded at his rambles while picking up the kids toys, she probably wouldn't “Come to the ship before noon-” Time was known to fly in beautiful places like this, so she couldn't promise that, either. 

“And Stars, don't let him eat any frogs” 

Mando’s last request, though, made her turn around in offended disbelieve. The woman dropped the toys she was picking up, exaggeratedly gasped, and hugged the child as she stuck her tongue out to him. Dear Gods, What type of nanny did he thought she was? Of course, she wouldn't.

“Yes, Yes” he came closer to lovingly tap the child's head as she continued to ramble on. The woman found this shows of preoccupation endearing at first, but they could drag forever. “Captain, here we are. Lovely. Fine. Thank you so much -beautiful landing, real smooth — but oh well, noodle-oh, fuck off, yes, bye-” While she planned to slam the door shut, finally being able to dance her way out of the Mandalorian’s concerns and towards the door, she suddenly heard his modulated breath behind her. It was so close, that she could hear the robotic vibration. A shiver ran through her spine as she felt his big right palm slowly searching her waist. The woman had forgotten about it once. Just once. And ever since, he always padded her down to make sure that she was carrying a weapon. She didn't know if it was the isolation, but the combination of the shame it made her feel, and his slow, steady hands on her waist were too much to bear. With an uncontrollable warmth rising through her neck, she turned around and gave him a quick peck on the part of his helmet that hided his cheek, and promptly walked away with the kid, trying to ignore whatever primal instincts Mando aroused, focusing on what a happy occasion was to touch the soil with her feet again. 

The Mandalorian watched the woman twirl around with the kid. Her walk? Almost as childish as she was. They were heading towards the south, where the downtown area was. 

As their figures were getting smaller, Mando noticed the tight fist his hand had turned into, and sighed. He would never get used to her offhanded affection. Even if he knew that he would never feel the touch of her lips on his actual skin, even if he knew that she was nearly touching the metal barrier that protected his identity, he still wasn't able to convince his nervous system  to stop shutting down at her smallest touch. Mando smiled to himself. The seclusion was really getting to him. As much as he tried, he was still humane. 

After a while, he sighed and shook his head, trying to get rid of the sting of guilt that always washed over him when he saw her being happy in the mainland. She didn’t belong locked up in a ship. Especially not with someone like him. 

Before finally making his way out, the Mandalorian silently checked if he was carrying all the necessary gear, and quickly cleaned the woman's lipstick off the Beskar.

────────

Notes. OMG I think my very first ao3 searches were of Mando, Javier Peña and Steve Grant. Full circle moment lol.

[slyvester101]

Haven’t made a post about cod in a while but I had this idea for a Mandalorian au and I feel the need to share

Ghost would be like Din in a lot of ways, both were foundlings that were saved by the mandalorians when their village was attacked, both lost their clans in the Siege of Mandalore, both are terrifying hunters with a heart of gold.

Ghost was nabbed by the empire while he was seeking revenge for his fallen brothers, betrayed and stripped of his armor and experimented on for a couple years until Price and his merry group of pirates break him out (despite being stripped of all his armor and weapons, Ghost has murdered multiple troopers and empirical scientists. Their bodies are rotting in his cell with him).

Ghost joins Price’s pirate company, dubbed the 1-4-1 as an honorific for Price’s old rebel squad that got obliterated by the empire. While not rebels themselves, the 1-4-1 do have a bias towards taking down and raiding empire ships as most of the crew have personal vendettas against them.

On one of these raids, Ghost meets Soap, a fellow mandalorian that works as a bounty hunter to provide for his clan. Ghost, not having seen another mandalorian in years is naturally curious about this brightly colored mando that sweeps a whole level of a star destroyer by blowing it to hell.

Soap is also excited to see another mandalorian out and about in the galaxy and very enthusiastically starts speaking mando’a at him. Ghost only understands every other word since he hasn’t spoken a word of mando’a since his previous capture.

They become allies and help each other when they’re in the area, sometimes teaming up on bounties and scaring the shit out of unsuspecting prey because holy shit there’s two of them now.

Maybe Soap’s clan gets kidnapped or killed and they go on a revenge quest, maybe they end up reuniting mandalore again, maybe they end up on tatooine because people always end up on tatooine, maybe they get married and live out their bounty hunter dreams happily ever after style, I don’t know I haven’t thought that far ahead

[joanthangroff]

Hartley content! What are your thoughts on Barry/Hartley? Would you ever pair Hartley with Leonard Snart, say for example in a Rogues safe house situation where they’re enemies-with-benefits (not that I would ever give away my trope preferences, perish the thought). Finally, what are gcau Hartley and Cisco doing RIGHT NOW

(Or, you know, just one of those)

Oh my God, thank you so much for all of them!!!

I have read and enjoyed a few Barry/Hartley fics and I do think they’d be fun!! They do have a lot of potential due to the manipulation through Eowells alone, I think that gives them a lot of reason to bond and confide in each other, plus, you know, Hartley has a thing for the Flash suit, how could he stay professional (bonus points for the universe of the original Flash pilot script where they suit was originally Hartley‘s work. I think something about him having meant his (now ex-)boyfriend to have worn this would have some deeper meaning in a way :))

I am still mad canon never let us have Hartley and Snart interact. I fear they’d have run out of snark if they put those two in the same room, tbh. So yes ABSOLUTELY. I particularly like Hartley and Lisa being besties and as you all know, if you’re gay and your bestie has a sibling, it is your duty to hit on the sibling as much as possible. And I think Snart would be annoyed and say something about jailbait etc etc and once Hartley ever witnesses how Snart looks at Barry he’d be like HEY SO. THAT WAS A FAKE REASON HUH. But I also like the idea of enemies-with-benefits. My mind is too attached to canon to really envision in which way they’d be enemies, but hatesex is always worth it <3

AS TO GCAU HARTMON! I think the most accurate answer is that they’re being inappropriate in the groupchat rn LMAO but also. They’re currently writing up an application for Armando to an acting agency. Because Cisco‘s abuelo has died a few months ago and ever since then Mando has obviously been feeling down and lost his footing (and purpose) and Cisco remembered that Once Upon A Time Mando wanted to become an actor and Hart is like. Gosh dammit yes he’s way too pretty to NOT star in a damn soap opera. It will be his personal mission during his next stay in San Jose (where he is frequently for work nowadays, if you recall) to have Mando go to auditions. Meanwhile the groupchat is discussing the morality of them basically forcing Mando into this. Caitlin and Oliver are very concerned. Linda is cheering them on. Iris and Len have started a betting pool on whether this will explode in their faces. It’s brilliant.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 10

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, Din speaks Mando'a, cozy family vibes, fluff, falling in love

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

By the last dredges of light of the setting sun, Din Djarin navigated the Razor Crest into a landing pattern, aiming for the bustling port on the outskirts of Trevi City. The air in his helmet was moist and close, his hair still damp from the shower and dripping into his cowl, down his neck. He could already feel the sensation beginning to aggravate him, but it was a price he was willing to pay. He couldn’t afford the time it would take for it to dry completely before putting his helmet back on. He needed to get off the ship, needed to get back to the hunt. Now.

He didn’t trust what he might do if he did not.

In the past, Din had assisted in the weapons training of countless Mandalorian apprentices, both when he still resided on Concordia as well as during his time with the Nevarro covert. When you had first agreed to some basic combat education, he had foolishly presumed that the experience would be no different from the many he had had before. He was confident in his methods; he knew he could make a decent marksman out of anyone willing to learn. However, he had failed to take one very important factor into account: he would have to touch you.

And touch you he did. He had felt the tension of your shoulders, the strength of your hands, the softness of your stomach. He had felt the way your breath had come short in your chest, how it had hitched under his hands, and he knew then that his touch excited you. He had even been close enough to smell you – the warmth and spice of his own soap, the salt of your sweat – clinging to your skin, your hair. It felt vital, primal, the draw he had felt to you. It had taken every ounce of discipline at his disposal to keep his concentration and to keep his touch perfunctory, professional.

And when you had finally made the shot? The way your eyes lit up, the way you beamed at him, pride spilling from you in waves. You had glowed under his praise, your skin glistening in the unrelenting sun, delicate tendrils of hair clinging to your forehead and neck. Were your cheeks darkened with the heat? Or with his attention?

After, Din had been helpless to the rush of relief that washed over him when you excused yourself to the bunk. He had barely managed to get the Razor Crest back in the air and on course before he had retreated to the refresher for some much-needed privacy, leaving Grogu to nap alone in the cockpit.

How many years had it been since he had touched himself to the thought of another person? Someone warm and real, not a risqué holovid, not some creation of his imagination?

Perhaps that explained why he had come so hard. His knees had nearly given out beneath him, leaving him weak and panting against the shower wall.

In the wake of such pleasure, there was only one thing he knew for certain. He needed to get off the Crest before he opened the bunk blast doors and showed you precisely how deeply you had come to affect him.

As the ship settled gently back onto the surface, Din powered down the engines, set the environmental controls to ambient, and scooped a still-drowsy Grogu into his arms.

“Time for me to go, ad’ika,” he murmured, cradling the boy close to his chest. The child squirmed and cooed in response, his wide, sleepy eyes half-closed as he patted Din’s helmet on the cheek. “I’ll be safe, vaabir naasad baatir ni. Nuhoyir jii.”

He continued to murmur soft reassurances into the top of the boy’s head as he descended the ladder. By the time they reached the cargo hold, Grogu’s eyes had drifted shut once more, and he had begun gently snoring.

Din took a few moments then to punch in the code for his weapons locker, restocking his various holsters and the bandolier across his chest with one hand. He clipped a set of binder cuffs to his belt, added a few ration packs and macro bars from the cooler locker to his satchel for good measure, and just as he was starting to debate waking you before departing, the bunk doors slid open, and you slipped out.

Something in the Mandalorian’s chest softened at the sight of you, clearly fresh from sleep. Your cheek was marked with creases from the pillow, your jumpsuit impossibly rumpled. Your bright eyes were bleary, unfocused, and you were starting to push strands of unbound hair out of your face when your eyes landed on him. For a moment, you simply held his gaze, a flush rising up your neck that he could feel mirrored under his flight suit.

As you opened your mouth to speak, however, he raised a single finger to his helmet in a silent, shushing gesture. You obeyed, saying nothing, but quirked an eyebrow at him in response. Din turned slightly, allowing you to see Grogu’s sleeping form supported with one arm, nestled snuggly into his breastplate, and a tender smile bloomed across your face. The softness in his chest warmed at the sight, at the plain evidence of your fondness for his foundling.

Tossing your disheveled locks over your shoulder, you whispered, almost too soft to hear, “Want me to take him? Looks like you’re heading out.”

He nodded. “Please.” He watched as you gently slipped your hands around the boy’s body, one under his rump and one around the back of his head, and lifted him out of the crook of Din’s arm. You clutched the little bundle of brown robes to your chest so naturally, Grogu melted so easily against the now-familiar comfort of your body, and that warm softness became an almost physical ache behind the bounty hunter’s ribs. Unbidden, words he had not considered in decades echoed in the back of his mind.

Mhi ba’juri verde.

The final vow of the Mandalorian marriage pledge. We will raise warriors.

Something like panic rose in his throat at the realization, and Din took a step back, breaking your gaze. He couldn’t possibly begin to unpack such a thought, not when his blood was still up from earlier, not when you looked so soft, so sweet. There was a hunt he had been neglecting for the better part of two days in favor of spending time with you. He couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone this time?” you murmured, pulling him out of his racing thoughts and back into the present.

Din shook his head and busied himself with closing the weapons locker, refusing to meet your eyes. “Depends if the quarry is still in the city. The fob says he’s close, but I’ll need to investigate further. They aren’t always the most…precise,” he replied, keeping his voice as soft as he could while still registering on his vocoder.

He watched you nod at the edge of his peripheral vision, your mouth turning down a bit at the corners. “Okay. Um…if it’s all right with you, I might spend some time while you’re gone working on the hull?” Your soft voice quirked up at the end, phrasing it like a question rather than a statement.

“Of course. This spaceport is fairly well guarded, and there are plenty of maintenance crews around, so no one should bother you while you’re outside.” He paused, taking a moment to rummage around in his satchel as though looking for something, then added, “Just…don’t go into the city, and keep the ground defense systems on just in case.”

“I will,” you agreed earnestly. “And Mando?”

Din’s gaze snapped to yours before he could think better of it, the single utterance of his moniker from your mouth stronger than any unease he currently felt about the…evolving state of your relationship. You offered him a hesitant smile, and there was something warm but somehow also uncertain in the tightness around your eyes. It was an expression that looked rather out of place on you. It had been weeks since you had spoken to him with anything other than confidence and ease, and it made him want to smooth his fingers over your brow.

“Yes?”

The Mandalorian watched as your throat worked around an anxious swallow. “You…you be safe, too. Okay?” you whispered.

He could have sworn he felt his heart swell in his chest at that. Maker, you were so good. Too good for him. Voice thick and rough with emotion, he replied, “I’ll do my best, gotabor’ika.”

He could tell from how you quirked your eyebrow at him that you weren’t particularly satisfied with that response, but you didn’t push it. You simply nodded once and offered him a little wave with the fingers currently cradling the back of Grogu’s wispy-haired head. However, when Din raised his hand to do the same, a flash of white out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Glancing down at the source, his gaze landed on a scrap of creamy, floral-patterned fabric now poking out of the top of his satchel, and recognition shot through him at the sight. Apparently, he had unearthed it from the bottom of the bag when he had been rooting through it, trying desperately not to look you in the eye, lest somehow you sense the hunger in his heart. It was the scarf he had bought for you at the bazaar. He had yet to give it to you.

He pulled it from the bag, running the pad of his thumb across the delicately embroidered vines and flowers dancing along the edge. Before he could allow himself to second-guess the gesture, he beckoned you forward with a flex of his fingers. You obeyed instantly, trustingly, and with his pulse racing, blood roaring in his ears, Din gently draped the scarf over your shoulder, near where the collar of your jumpsuit gave way to the smoothness of your neck. The heel of his palm caught on the soft curve of your jaw as he withdrew his hand, and he knew he couldn’t have imagined the way your eyes drifted shut at the contact or the way your cheek darkened under his glove.

There was a question in your eyes when you opened them, but before you could ask, he murmured, “For your hair, to protect it from your welding helmet. Thought you might be in need of a new one.” He permitted himself the briefest moment to touch you again, caressing the very end of a strand of your hair just as he had the scarf. “The pattern…it looked like something you would like.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, your bright eyes glossy and burning with emotion as you seemed to struggle with a response. “It’s perfect, Mando,” you eventually whispered. Your fingers fidgeted on Grogu’s back, on his head, as though itching to reach for the cloth now nestled against your neck. “I love it. Thank you.”

Din inclined his helmet at you, the soft smile stretching across his face completely hidden by its beskar façade. “I’ll let you know when I’m on my way back. Ret’urcye mhi, gotabor’ika.”

The smile you offered him that time was full and genuine, and with the image of it still burned into his mind, the Mandalorian slipped as quietly as he could out of the Razor Crest and into the black night beyond.

___

The next few days proved to be an exercise in keeping your mind and body occupied. After so many months on the Razor Crest, stretches of time spent with no one but the child for company were commonplace. When Mando was on a hunt, your work typically kept you busy enough, and Grogu was a delightful companion – good-humored, inquisitive, mischievous but in a way you usually found endearing rather than aggravating. This time, however, you struggled.

You had never felt Mando’s absence so keenly before.

The ship felt hollow, too silent and too empty without the sound of his heavy boots on the deck plating, the gleaming breadth of his pauldrons peaking around the edges of the pilot’s chair. You missed the warm gruffness of his vocal modulator as he asked you questions about your projects or demonstrated how to read an astrometric chart to Grogu. You missed dodging him in the ‘fresher or outside the bunk, constantly dancing around him as you each tried to care for your own basic needs without imposing on the other. And unlike in the past, no amount of ship maintenance work you manufactured for yourself seemed to be enough to keep the thoughts at bay.

Concern for his safety. Longing for his presence. Nothing short of hunger for his touch, a burning need for the weight of his hands on your body. It all made the simplest tasks into a challenge, and by the third day of incessant distraction, even your little, green friend began to grow visibly annoyed at your absent-mindedness.

In an attempt to get yourself back on track (and to hopefully provide some entertainment for the stir-crazy Grogu), you decided you would take him up with you onto the top of the Crest for your next repair. You had never worked on that part of the hull before, but your latest structural integrity diagnostic had revealed a handful of weak spots clustered along the base of the port wing. Perhaps the boy would appreciate the change in scenery. And perhaps it would be enough novelty to keep you focused for more than a handful of minutes. Gathering a few scrap sheets of durasteel, your fusion welder, and a cannister of epoxy armor into a bag and strapping Grogu to your back in his leather carrier, you climbed up and out of the unused astromech socket and emerged onto the roof.

The sun in Trevi City was scorching and bright, steadily baking the reflective metal surface beneath your feet until waves of blurry heat were visible to the naked eye. It would be nearly unbearable to touch, you realized, but you never started on a project without the appropriate protective gear. Unclipping the carrier, you swung the child around to the front of your body and settled him, still inside it, in a secure little nook made by two curved sections of hull plating. The thick, padded leather would keep his skin from touching the surface, and he would be better situated to watch you work from the ground anyway. Pulling a pair of heat resistant gloves out of your back pocket, you tugged them over your hands and unrolled your sleeves from around your elbows until they covered your forearms.

Your hair, of course, was already taken care of; you had hardly removed the scarf Mando had gifted you since the night he left.

Once you were geared up and certain of Grogu’s safety, you settled into your work – identifying the stress spots, mapping out the most efficient size and placement for the reinforcements, and beginning to cut the sheets of durasteel, narrating as you went. At first, it seemed that your plan was working perfectly. The boy seemed to be enjoying himself – he cooed and grunted and babbled endlessly, his big ears wiggling in interest as he followed the sparks of your fusion welder – and you were able to immerse yourself in your task in a way that felt like a relief after days of nothing but distracted pining.

Your peace, however, was not to last.

After what felt like about an hour, you rose from your crouch against the wing and flipped up the shield of your welding helmet.

“Want to take a break, kiddo?” you asked, rolling your head side to side on your shoulders, feeling your cramped neck muscles pull and stretch. Grogu seemed to nod at that, and one of his little, clawed hands came up to drag across his wrinkled forehead, as though wiping away sweat. You smiled wryly at the gesture. “You’re not kidding. It’s hotter than a Jawa’s armpit up here, huh?” You could feel your own perspiration dripping down your face, gathering in the fabric at your collar. “Let’s go back inside for a bit and get some water. We can finish this later this afternoon.”

You took a step forward, your arms extended in front of you in anticipation of picking him up. However, your foot never made contact with the roof.

It all happened quickly after that. The heel of your boot glancing off the cylindrical cannister of epoxy armor laying at your feet. Your foot flying forward, your balance completely thrown. The lurch and stumble backward as you attempted to catch yourself, the sharp decline of the forward half of the wing buckling your opposite ankle in the struggle. The dull impact of the durasteel rushing up to meet you, the cloudless blue sky and the sun in your eyes as you began to rapidly slide down the angled surface on your back.

You were falling off of the roof, the slick, scalding surface unforgiving beneath your scrabbling hands.

Your eyes slammed shut on instinct, you heard a scream, and you wondered if it had come from your own throat. You couldn’t tell. Perhaps it had been you, perhaps a bystander in the port, but it hardly mattered. There was nothing now, nothing but the sickening sensation of dropping, and then –

– floating.

So unexpected was this sudden change that you wrenched your eyes open, and the yelp that erupted from your mouth at what you saw was entirely involuntary.

You were hovering in mid-air, suspended halfway between the Razor Crest’s wing and the harsh pavement below as though by a rope around your ribcage. Your head, shoulders, and arms hung limp, as did your legs, but you could feel an invisible…something supporting your torso, holding you there. It wasn’t painful, not how it would be if you truly had been hanging with your full body weight on a rope or a harness, but it was disorienting. You felt your stomach roll, immediately unsettled by the complete lack of gravity. However, before the adrenaline or the nausea could even begin to subside, you felt the softest, gentlest tug, and just like that, you were rising back up through the air toward the roof of the ship.

Every panicked, primal instinct in your body urged you to fight the sensation, to wiggle and kick and try to pull away – this was bizarre, unnatural, wrong – but as you crested the edge of the wing, your eyes met Grogu’s, and you felt all of the unease melt from your muscles only to be replaced with an overwhelming sense of awe.

Gone was his typically pleasant, curious expression. Instead, the boy’s wrinkled brow was furrowed, his dark, beetle-like eyes hard with concentration. Still strapped into his carrier, he had both of his tiny hands extended out in front of him, his fingers curved and tense. As he stared intently at you, you felt that gentle but inexorable force around your torso pull you toward the center of the ship’s roof, far from the edge of the wing where you had fallen, but closer to him.

Your eyes widened at the sight, any breath you may have had left in your lungs swiftly leaving.

“G-Grogu?” Your voice sounded like little more than a hoarse whisper to your ears. Was he…

Was he doing this?

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. That invisible force brought you back down out of the air and settled you almost tenderly onto the hull’s surface, rattled and a bit ill but somehow, miraculously, unharmed.

The moment your back made contact with durasteel, that sensation around your torso disappeared, and you watched as the child’s hands dropped helplessly at his sides, his wide, round eyes fluttering.

“Grogu!” you cried, struggling to your feet. You swayed precariously, having not yet regained any real sense of equilibrium, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. This boy – this sweet, precious boy – your boy – may have just saved your life, and now he looked to be on the verge of losing consciousness.

Clutching onto the leather of his carrier with weak, shaking fingers, you tugged him toward you. “Hey!” You released the buckles as quickly as you could manage and swept him into your grasp, leaving the carrier crumpled and forgotten at your feet. He looked pale, exhausted. His eyes were closing. “Nononono, Grogu, come on. Come on, buddy, it’s okay, I’m right here. Everything’s going to be okay.” You were babbling now, but you hardly noticed. If something happened to him in your care…if something happened because of you…

You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.

Grogu went limp your arms, and you fought the sting of tears and the overwhelming weight of dread as you brought a hand up to rest on his little chest, feeling for a pulse, a breath. “Come on, sweetie,” you murmured, peeling back the bulky layers of his robes. “Please be breathing, please be breathing.” The palm of your hand settled on his sternum, warm and impossibly small beneath his threadbare undershirt, and after an endless moment, you felt it – the flutter of his heartbeat and a deep, wide expansion of his lungs.

A wave of relief so strong it buckled your knees swept over you, and you heard yourself hiccup a sob. He was alive.

___

The comm link felt heavy and cold in your hand as you paced the cargo hold, gnawing your bottom lip in distress. Never once, in all the months that you had been traveling with Mando, had you been tempted to call him while he was on a hunt. You hated the idea of disturbing him, of being the reason why he got caught stalking a quarry or distracted from his mission. Any questions you had, you figured out the answer on your own. Any time you felt unsafe, you enhanced the range and sensitivity of the Crest’s ground defense systems and battened down the hatches. Any time Grogu had a meltdown, you resolved it with songs and stories and perhaps a few snacks. However, you wondered if perhaps this time, you had bitten off more than you could chew.

You had managed to get Grogu’s unconscious body back inside the Razor Crest and settled in his hammock strung above the bunk mattress, but that had been hours ago, and since then, you had run out of things to occupy yourself with as you waited for him to wake up. You had gone back up to the roof and collected your repair supplies, made notes in your datapad of where you had left off so you could pick back up another time, reconstituted and then failed to eat a loaf of polystarch bread for dinner, and now the sun was setting, and still, the child hadn’t stirred.

The relief and the gratitude you had felt when you realized he was still alive had long since faded, and the longer he remained unresponsive, the more you considered that perhaps it would be more irresponsible to leave Mando uninformed than it would be to simply wait around for Grogu to recover.

“Oh, kriff it,” you muttered under your breath. Swallowing thickly against the lump in your throat, you brought the comm link up to your mouth and pressed the sending button. “M-Mando. Come in, Mando.”

Silence greeted you. You paused your pacing, checked the volume controls on the device in your palm, but still the silence persisted.

“This is the Razor Crest, come in, Mando,” you repeated. Your voice had begun to tremble. You weren’t even certain what you were planning to say if he did eventually respond. Mando, please come home? Your foot-tall surrogate son who is somehow ancient and also a toddler used some kind of magic wizard powers to save my stupid ass from falling off the top of your ship, and now he’s been unconscious for hours, and I’m scared he’s not going to wake up?

It did not escape your notice that you had started thinking of the Crest as “home,” but you determined quickly that you would unpack that thought another time. One crisis as a time was about all you could manage.

After nearly a full minute had passed with no response, you brought the comm link to your lips one last time. “Mando, this is the Razor Crest. Come in.” You sighed, closing your eyes in silent supplication. “Please.”

Another beat of silence, then two, and just as you were about to tuck the comm link back into your pocket, the thing crackled to life with a wave of static and a gruff, modulated voice. “I read you, Razor Crest.”

You sagged against the stack of cargo bins, your heartrate slowly coming back down out of the stratosphere with relief. His words were slow, deliberate, his voice breathless. The man was clearly exhausted, and you wondered whether you had startled him awake, if he had found a place to make camp for the evening and you had interrupted his rest. A pang of guilt echoed in your chest at the thought. Perhaps you ought to have waited until morning…

Before you could formulate an apology, the comm link popped with interference once more, and you heard, “Razor Crest? What’s your situation?” He sounded more awake now, his tone tight with concern. “Everything okay?”

You startled and immediately hit the sending button once more. “Yeah, yeah, sorry, umm… I-I think everything is okay? But I’m not…sure?” Your voice quirked up at the end like you were asking a question, and you felt your cheeks heat at how ridiculous you must sound. Hurriedly, you continued, “It’s-it’s the kid. He did something…crazy today, something I didn’t even think was possible, and now, I think…I think something’s wrong with him. Mando, I…” You trailed off, sighing into the communicator as you rested it on your forehead, as though steadying yourself with it, drawing strength from it. Your lower lip trembled. “I don’t know what to do.”

A long pause stretched between you at that, and you were certain you could feel it, yawning through subspace, connecting the two of you across however many miles he had traveled on his hunt, taut with the significance of what you had just revealed. Was he even still in the city, you wondered? If this strangeness with Grogu really was a problem, how long would it take for him to make it back? Had you waited too long to contact him? What if –

The sound of a gravelly sigh emanated from the comm link, interrupting your spiraling anxiety. “Is he unconscious?” Mando asked after a moment. “Breathing but unresponsive?”

You could feel your jaw drop of its own accord. “Y-Yes. Yes, that’s it exactly.”

“How long has he been out for?”

“Four, maybe five hours?” you replied.

There was another pause, and then, “He could be out for a few more yet. It depends how much…energy he used.”

“But…he’s okay? He’s going to be all right?”

This time, his response was almost immediate. “Yes, he’s fine.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Mando knew what this was. He had seen it before. And, miraculously, you hadn’t irreparably injured his son. “Thank the Maker,” you muttered.

“I’m…sorry if that frightened you. Are you all right?” the bounty hunter asked after a moment. You felt a small, fond smile tug at the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah. Now that I know he’s okay…” you trailed off with a shake of your head. “I’ll tell you more about what happened when you get back. But I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Something close to a chuckle filtered its way through the comm link. “I always worry about you, gotabor’ika.”

You scoffed into the receiver, suddenly thankful for the relative anonymity of this form of communication. You weren’t certain what this new nickname was, but you knew that every time he used it on you, it made your cheeks burn .

And now that the worry and the urgency surrounding Grogu had eased, the longing had reared its head once again, and the distance between you felt wider than it ever had.

“H-How’s the hunt? Are you…getting close?” you asked haltingly. You knew you shouldn’t be continuing to bother him, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to let him go just yet. You wanted to listen to his voice just a few moments longer.

“Yes. I think I’ve located where the quarry’s hiding out. Assuming I’ve estimated his defense capabilities correctly, I should have him in custody by the end of the day tomorrow.” You permitted yourself a real smile at that, the sharpness of the yearning in your chest eased somewhat by the promise of his return. However, before you could piece together a reply that didn’t make you sound too relieved, he added, “I…owe you an explanation. When I get back to the ship. I’ll explain as much as I can, about what happened today with the kid. I’ve kept you in the dark for too long. You…deserve better.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth. You had only heard Mando’s voice take that tone once before, so gentle and earnest – when he had offered you the job on the Crest, after he had freed you. It never failed to soften your heart, to melt you from the inside out. “I…I think I’d like that,” you admitted. “Today’s been…a lot.”

“I understand. You did well, gotabor’ika. Thank you for calling me. For caring for him.”

The ache in your heart surged, the affection you felt for both him and his child nearly overwhelming. Had the bounty hunter been in the room with you, you might have been unable to resist throwing your arms around him and burying your face in his chest. “You don’t need to thank me for that.”

A lull in the conversation passed between you, the both of you content to simply exist on either end of the comm line from each other, until he murmured, “Get some rest. Stay safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “You, too, Mando,” you murmured. Almost unconsciously, you pressed the mesh panel of the comm link receiver to your lips as you spoke, as though he might feel them through on the other side of subspace. “Come home safe.”

The comm link fell silent in your hand then, and you let your head drop back to rest on the bulkhead behind you. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, and you groaned aloud into the empty cargo hold.

You were falling in love with the Mandalorian.

___

Mando'a Translations:

Vaabir naasad baatir ni. - Don't worry about me. Nuhoyir jii. - Sleep now. Mhi ba’juri verde. - We will raise warriors. Ret’urcye mhi. - Good-bye (literally, maybe we'll meet again)