#point guard i/o modules

[asteamtechnosolutions]

Rockwell Automation POINT Guard I/O Modules

Allen Bradley POINT Guard I/O modules are safety-rated I/O modules designed to fit into the standard POINT I/O system, offering automation and safety functionality in a maximum density I/O solution. POINT Guard I/O communicates by using the CIP safety protocol over EtherNet/IP for GuardLogix controllers or DeviceNet for SmartGuard 600 controllers.

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[cerastes]

When Schwarz was new did people complain about her being too overpowered?

See, I've had this ask for two days, and I wanted to have a good chance to sit down and answer it properly, because it's a good springboard into something I find interesting, the zeitgeist back then and how it has evolved into current, modern Arknights. Let's do a little retrospective.

No, that didn't happen. As to why it didn't happen, well, there's a few factors, the first of which being Schwarz is not overpowered, she's a character with very evident flaws and very evident strengths, and these were, depending on the player, immediately understood or not really considered in depth.

See, Schwarz was the fourth 6* released after launch -- After Skadi, Ch'en, and Magallan, in that order -- and the absurd powerhouses back then were all launch Operators and arguably Ch'en: SilverAsh, Eyja, and Exusiai were the most popular back then, with Ch'en being a conditional potent burst damage dealer (her S2M3 was her main selling point, being an instant helidrop burst of damage that also hit air units). Schwarz was in a place similar to Ch'en in that she was conditional in how she blasted things; she has superior firepower but poor, strict range for a Sniper (back then, we had no such thing as categorized archetypes, so we just came up with nicknames, like "duelists" for what are now Dreadnoughts, "Schwarz-types" for Heavyshooters, "Enmity Guard" for Musha, and many others), and if you wanted to use her big killer skill, S3, she was only going to have a straight line worth of range to hit things.

See, the thing is, being strong wasn't an 'issue' back then. We wanted more and stronger units so we could break the monotony of SilverAsh swish swish, Eyja Volcano Hour, and Warfarin's Apple Pie Combo. A monotony that wasn't a monopoly, mind you, because it definitely wasn't the sole end way to deal monstrous amounts of damage and tackle hard content -- I myself was a dedicated Specter, Saria, and Angelina user -- but it was what practically all guide makers and tier lists suggested. Either way, the demand for Cool Strong New Units was definitely healthy back then, ESPECIALLY by the time of Schwarz' release, since Skadi and Magallan had been rather disappointing for 6*s; Skadi was the sole Abyssal Hunter buff that existed back then (Guard Specter had no Module, thus, no AH Buff), and without Modules or other AH buffs, all she could do was basically S2 Helidrop to kill something or use her S3 probably once per stage to become a raid boss and then sort of just stand there, offering nothing that other units couldn't since things back then were patently not strong enough to need her, as her 3* equivalent, Melantha, was pretty much enough to deal with anything that required a Dreadnought specifically, and you had other, stronger options that did more than JUST deal with strong enemies if a bomb of Skadi's caliber was needed, while Magallan suffered the unfortunate fate of being an early Summoner in a game where super instant DPS came free with your Xbox, leading to the vast majority of people to not really want to learn to play around her expensive Deployment Slot costs and dynamic gameplay, which also necessitated Mastery investment to put out numbers, investment that was not easy to make back then, as Masteries were something you REALLY rationed.

Another very important part as to why Schwarz didn't have to deal with this was because she was the only one of her type. She was a new way to play back then, so no one felt their favorite was threatened; Schwarz and Exusiai filled very different roles, with Exusiai being able to wreck high HP low DEF enemies with ease (which was basically 95% of enemies back then, notably All Bosses Except Big Bob, who has a DEF of 800) while Schwarz had HUGE chunky single hits that were meant to squash enemies even if their DEF was huge, but who ultimately would have less DPS than Exusiai in most cases. What's more, you would use Schwarz in plenty of set-ups anyways because she brought DEF Shred with her kit. People celebrated Schwarz back then because not only was she a cool new unit type, she could bring value to pretty much all sorts of parties with Physical damage, in a way that another unit I've omitted so far could for Arts damage, the support powerhouse of the early, mid, and modern game, throughout the years: Saria.

I make the specific comparison with Exusiai because eventually, the zeitgeist would change: Ash, from the R6S collab, made waves because she was strong, but also because it seemed like she'd steal away Exusiai's place as the Fast Shooter DPS Wrecker Supreme. Time would go on to prove that, no, she would not do that, because Ash is more of a Burst damage unit compared to Exusiai, with immense damage tied to a shorter window and the Stun condition, while Exusiai's DPS window isn't contingent on anything except "Does she do real damage or chip damage". But that was an early sign of things to come: Upstaging.

The initial fears of very strong units had more to do with "this unit is powercreeping an older unit" more than anything. Powercreep is inevitable, doubly so in gacha games where they gotta sell you the PNGs one way or another, and I'll always argue that Arknights has been incredibly good with handling powercreep compared to its peers (and just, as a game in general), but again, it's inevitable, so you end up with situations like Degenbrecher existing and Doctor Manhattan Exploding Ch'en and Irene right into niche uses (Ch'en nowadays being at her best as a support sub-DPS with her Module allowing for great party Offensive/Defensive SP charging, while Irene still has her powerful S1/S2/S1 loop combo with Dorothy) or, you know, Texas the Pale and Yato In A Fur Bikini completely obliterating Phantom out of the face of Terra.

All of this, in my opinion and perception, holds true nowadays: When a unit of a new archetype or playstyle releases and they are very strong, you only hear few people complaining about them being very strong, but when a unit could possibly powercreep an older unit, especially an older favorite, that number increases exponentially. Of course, creatures like Wisadel, Degenbrecher, and Ling exist, which blow other units out of the water entirely, and you've also had units like Surtr or Mlynar who aren't really directly powercreeping any specific units as much as powercreeping entire roles and concepts.

Arknights also does have more content creators now, which I also think worsens matters because they have an obligation and a blood oath to the algorithm to always make a video that goes something like "NEW OPERATOR EXTREMELY BROKEN?????" with a crappy clickbait thumbnail and since [GRUMP ALERT] most Arknights players hate thinking for themselves and love looking at The Content Creator to form their opinions on whether Unit Is Strong Or Not [/GRUMP ALERT], these sentiments, whether legitimate or not, tend to flare up more often. By the way, that's also not a good idea, because everyone thought Gnosis was an easy skip back when he released, and then it turned out Gnosis was cracked, and a shitload of CN players regretted not rolling for him, so hey, sometimes this does result in pretty funny things to occur, as it were.

But yeah, this has been a little retrospective of the zeitgeist throughout the years.

[teecupangel]

I know there's been a lot of stuff about the Assassins getting sent into the past, but what if they all got yeeted into the far off future? Yes, Desmond too. Imagine all of them suddenly finding themselves in Cyberpunk or something like that. Desmond might have the best luck at processing everything, but the rest? Oh boy...

That or Desmond in Cyberpunk with the assassins as engrams, which might be easier. It'd be pretty funny if they were all corporeal as well though

I was wondering if this was meant to be a general cyberpunk setting or if you meant Cyberpunk 2077 but then I read the engrams part and I’m gonna assume you meant a Cyberpunk 2077 AU.

You know what would be fun?

If this was a ‘failed’ attempt to resurrect Desmond.

We’ll set it in a highly advanced city ala Night City but not exactly Night City because we want our city to be under the control of Abstergo. We’re going for full cyberpunk dystopia here with Abstergo ruling the city in a mix of Cyberpunk 2077 + watch_dog Legion.

The city itself is kept under heavy guard so escape is high nigh impossible.

To twist the knife on the wound, the name of the city is New Monteriggioni.

That’s right. Abstergo has taken over Monteriggioni and has turned it into a bustling city.

And a high tech prison.

Now, we can go for either the ‘crimes and illegal activities are around the corner if you know where to look’ setup like Cyberpunk or the “the people have been indoctrinated by Templar propaganda” dystopia like in Captain Laserhawk, pick your poison.

The main point is that Desmond and the other Assassins wake up underneath Monteriggioni, in the Auditore crypt.

It’s no longer a crypt, though.

It’s been transformed into some kind of lab and workshop rolled into one.

And the first ones to wake up are Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton.

They wake up sitting on chairs that looked like a new version of the Animus, with the headset slowly sliding off. They are all sitting around an empty space with the Assassin insignia carved on the floor. Behind them are more chairs with other people seemingly sleeping while sitting with the headset covering half their faces.

The moment the headset completely slides off, a hologram appeared in the middle, showing an old man wearing white.

The man introduced himself as Elijah (no last name), a ‘benefactor’ of the Assassins. He gives them a brief background of the current situation:

The city is under Templar control, calling themselves Abstergo

Centuries have passed since their death

Their consciousness is based on the recovered DNA from their remains or something that held their DNA. The DNA sample was incomplete due to the age so Sample 17 and the data compiled by the Assassins were used to complete them so that each one of them would have memories up to their death.

Their bodies are called ‘dolls’ but they have been upgraded as well with an assistance module to help them understand the world around them without overloading their new ‘brain’. This assistance module shows up as a UI that only they can see with an access to the Brotherhood’s digital library (called a database) that can show them information if they request it using their mind.

“The Assassins have lost.” The hologram stated as he slowly paced around, waving his hand towards their direction as he continued, “This is their final Hail Mary.”

Their assistance module shows the info of what Hail Mary means in this context while the hologram stopped in the middle of the room, “They made a deal with me. In exchange for bringing you back, I was given complete control over the Brotherhood.”

“The three of you are the first ones to be awakened.” The old man stopped for a moment before correcting himself, “No. You will be the only ones to awaken. There’s no longer enough energy left in this place to wake the others.”

“That will be your mission.” The old man continued, “The assistance module will explain in details what kind of energy is necessary and where you can find it.”

“Your priority though…” The old man stepped to the side and another hologram appeared, showing a young man sleeping in some kind of… sarcophagus with a glass top?

“This is Desmond Miles.”

Ezio froze.

“At least…” The old man placed a hand on the glass, “This is Desmond Miles’ body, recreated by the Templars to control the city. This city’s security system is powered by POEs in different Abstergo facilities. Abstergo uses this body to control those POEs continuously.”

The hologram of Desmond disappears and the old man walked further to the side as the circle around the Assassin insignia on the floor slid open.

Another chair slowly ascended until it replaced the open hole left by the insignia as the old man continued, “Even if you get the energy and installed it here, they will not wake until this facility comes under Desmond Miles’ control. This is… my final security protocol.”

He stared at the chair as he continued, “Steal the body Abstergo is using and place it on that chair. That chair will upload all of Desmond Miles’ memories.”

“Only then will you be able to wake the others.”

He turned to face the Assassins once more as he said, “Once Desmond Miles has all his memories, he will know what to do.”

“Good luck.”

[hkxytech]

Allen-Bradley 1734-IE4S POINT Guard I/O Safety Module

Allen-Bradley 1734-IE4S POINT Guard I/O Safety Module – 4 Safety Analog Input Module (Compatible with terminal bases with 12 terminations). Our Bulletin 1734 POINT I/O? modules offer digital, analog, and specialty I/O, as well as POINT Guard safety-rated I/O, with one to eight points per module. You can mix standard and safety I/O in the same system. Comprehensive diagnostics and configurable…

[ficmachine]

Eyyo cute idea I had what about glamrock Freddy or Montgomery x new masc glamrock reader. Like they are a new animatronic and they are kind of shy meeting their new band members. And like Freddy or Montgomery are just head over heals for them.

This one's kinda long.

Glamrock Freddy/Montgomery Gator x Masc Reader

[Headcanons - Short, shy animatronic dancer s/o ]

-

You're a bit unsure when you first step out of your small recharge room to meet the other animatronics. Despite the immense knowledge you have on things, including the animatronics you're supposed to work with, it's... Unsettling; new. You don't like that very much. Then again, you're going to experience a lot of things first-hand from now on.

It takes you a bit to step outside, and when you do you're met with four new faces. The amount of people asides from the other mechanical beings makes you want to cower. Kind of sucks that it's your first day online and you already feel like your memory is about to overfill with... What is that? Ah, anxiety. Great. It seems you have a rather advanced emotion module installed.

Glamrock Freddy -

The moment he laid his eyes on you he runs a full body-scan on you. They were all informed that there's a new animatronic joining their band and, truth to be told, he wasn't sure what he was expecting. It sure wasn't someone like you, though.

You're small... So small. You maybe just about reach his chest. He finds that incredibly endearing.

The way you look up at him as he's introduced as the leader of the band makes his electronic heart skip a beat. Your very unsure but incredibly curious gaze staring right back at his softening one. It was that moment that made him want to befriend you – to be close to you and make sure no harm comes to you.

He's not exactly a confrontational kind of guy, he's aware of that. Still, though, despite getting close to you he couldn't just ask you out. You were his co-worker! Your friend! He can't just... Take advantage of you like that. He's a gentleman! He will wait for you to make the first move if... If you feel like that towards him, that is.

Still, he feels so very strongly for you that he can't help but sigh deeply every time he watches you interact with kids. You're good at handling them, and even better at getting them involved and teaching them some simple dance moves. The way your soft laugh echoes through the room catches him off guard. Man, he really has it bad.

It gets to the point where it's awkwardly obvious that the big bear has a thing for you. You, however, afraid to jump into conclusions, keep doing your thing and don't cross a line – you mind your business even when Freddy's focus lingers on you as he completely ignores the owner of the establishment in favour to stare at you. It's embarrassing.

After a few months of being pushed and teased about it eventually Freddy takes a step forward to ask you out (after being threatened that Monty will steal you if he doesn't). It's sweet, a bit awkward, but he does manage to confess to you. Quietly, you nod your head. It's insanely uncomfortable to speak up when dozens of families and employees surround you holding cameras up to memorise this interaction.

Very quickly, Freddy asks if you want to get out of the public eye. You've never dragged him away this quick before.

The two of you settle in a very cheesy, domestic kind of relationship; affectionate, loving and extremely gentle towards one another. You ou end up being one of the most talked-about thing by the fans, the employees, and even some newspapers.

Hell, there's even couple's discount for merchandise of the star of Pizza Plex himself and his partner! Both of you agree it's embarrassing but there's only so much you can do when your relationship is very much a hot topic for the first few months.

Monty -

Truth to be told, he didn't want to be there in the first place. It's always a drag when they introduce a new model – one that'll eventually break down and be forgotten about. There's no point of caring when they'll only be here for a few weeks, gain little to no attention, and then end up either being broken up for parts or a punching bag for the ki--

Oh. Oh no. You're cute.

What the hell. They can't just go out of their way to make such a handsome animatronic like it's some kind of a competition. You're probably the smallest one asides from the S.T.A.F.F. Bots, and besides! How is he supposed to deal with this when you look up at him with such an incredibly.... Awkwardly charming smile? Man, he shouldn't have come here.

Monty becomes incredibly protective of you after your first meeting. Yes, you can take care of yourself and yes you're beyond capable of dealing with kids on your own when they want to spend time with you, but there's no way in hell he's letting anything slip by. If you're going somewhere alone? He'll be right by you. “Gotta make sure the newbie's doing good.” is his excuse.

He's certaint he never worried so much about anyone else before. He's not sure why you struggle when there's too many people around you, or when there's a bunch of them staring – you're a star! A dancer! Aren't you supposed to like the attention?

It worries him. You worry him. Not in a bad way, of course not, he can't do anything about the personality that's been installed into your processor (and he adores you for how you are, he does) but sometimes he worries that the job is a bit too much for you to handle. Maybe you'd be better off with a smaller role? What if the attention gets too much for you? He's scared you'll get in trouble for “not working properly” as some kids put it when you tripped over your own two feet on stage once.

Given the chance he'll take over for you completely. It's hard to see the audience with the lights pointing directly at you. You're an incredibly good dancer but he's seen you stumble; he's seen you mess up and hesitate to get back up. The last thing he wants is for anyone to chat shit or point fingers at you. Whenever that happens he'll make sure all the attention is on him and ONLY him – he'll rock out harder, do some twirls, maybe even do a split. Anything to make sure you don't get yelled at for screwing up.

He waits for at least 3 weeks until he decides that his feelings aren't going away. When he's sure though he pulls you to the side and away to ask you out – just the two of you, nobody around.

Surprisingly, the whole thing is incredibly sweet.. He invites you into his – for once - cleans room before you get there. He's gentle when he asks if it's alright with you for him to speak from his mechanical heart. When you nod he simply states - “I've got it bad for ya. You ah-- You wanna be mine?” and whips out a heart plushie he... Made himself. It's.. Not good and only kinda heart shaped, but you very quickly catch on what he's getting gat.

As chill and casual as he is you watch him fumble with his shades awkwardly, tail swishing from side to side while he waits for you response. You know him more than enough to know how he acts when his nerves kick in – it's kinda cute.

The hug you give him is enough for him to go from 'Tough Cool Guy, No Touchy' to melting in your arms. His shoulders slump, tail finally stops anxiously wagging from side to side; he gives you the gentlest hug he's ever given.

The word about the two of you spreads fairly quickly, mostly because after days of him softly begging, giving up when you showed discomfort and trying again the day later, you finally gave in - after yet another promise that you won't regret everyone knowing you're a thing. And he was right.

The last thing you expected him to be is a big PDA guy, though it took him a bit to actually grow into it no matter how affectionate he actually was in private. Nowadays the two of you are basically inseparable, and given the chance he'll carry you anywhere he can. You're small, you're incredible – you fit in his arms perfectly.

[angelz-dust]

cheaters always win (jason todd x reader)

summary: uh... you fuck red hood. that’s it. happy kinktober.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni) - smut, unprotected sex (no condom, no pulling out),  clothed sex, masks, mild roleplaying. bad writing. terrible, actually. enjoy tho.

minors/ageless blogs who interact will be blocked - read rules before interacting

you laid in bed, comfortable underneath your soft blankets, head rested against a fluffy pillow. you had just taken a nice shower and took your time getting ready for bed. it was starting to get colder, the crisp october wind not being very forgiving, but you managed to maintain a decent temperature that goldilocks would approve of. this was a perfect recipe for slumber and you plan on indulging in that. it didn't take long for your tired state and environment to lull you to sleep.

unfortunately, though, nothing could ever be that perfect.

after getting about an hour and a half of sleep, you suddenly were brought out of dreamworld and back to reality. you wanted to close your eyes and continue your dream where you and your old friends from high school were international super spies, so you did just that. you let out a deep exhale, trying to find that sweet spot of unconsciousness again but something was tingling in your mind. you felt like something was off.

you kept your eyes firmly shut as you tried to feel for anything, the paranoia starting to settle in. was it the boogeyman coming to get you out in some inception like dream sequence or was someone in your apartment? you kept your breathing quiet as you tried to listen in for anything. you couldn't see it, as your eyes were still closed, but you could feel the that the door to your bedroom was now ajar. you were afraid to look, unsure of what you'd see.

you slowly opened your eyes, turning your head and sitting up to see someone sitting in the chair next to your dresser. they were illuminated by the moonlight shining in through the blinds of the window next to you. you let out a gasp, flinching and gripping your sheets and you felt your back press into the headboard. the person just stared at you while you panicked.

your eyes were blurry and filled with sleep. it took you a moment in your now petrified fear to realize that you knew who was sitting in the chair, unflinching at your scared noises.

"jesus fucking christ," you breathed out, pressing your hand on your chest as you felt your heart hammering back against it. "oh my god, you scared me."

silence. no response. not even a nonverbal one.

as you attempted to regulate your breathing, you stared at jason. well... not jason. you were staring at red hood. he must have just gotten back from patrol. sometimes he would stop by to spend the night with you. he must have broke in, as he always did, while you were asleep.

"goodnight, asshole," you pouted, laying back down in your little cocoon. you expected to hear a response or at least the sound of his boots hitting the floor while he shuffled around to get ready for bed. you didn't, though, which prompted you to open your heavy eyes once again.

"jason," you called out cutely, turning over to look at him. your pout returned after a yawn fell from your lips, glistening your eyes with sleepy tears. "hurry up and come to bed."

you weren't sure if there was something wrong with him or not. was he upset? hurt, maybe? these scary thoughts were starting to bring you out of your sleepy stupor. you sat up, deciding to try to throw some humor his way to get a reaction. you wanted to try and see where his head was at without having to ask specifically.

"excuse me, red hood?" you started, rubbing your eyes softly. "have you seen my boyfriend, jason?"

you watched as he shifted in his seat, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. he went and placed his chin in his palm, looking at you.

"i don't think i have," he responded, his voice distorted because of his voice modulator.

you smiled, glad that he was talking now. you hoped this meant that nothing was wrong. "he's very tall and solid. silky black hair, pretty green eyes, ruggedly handsome. very hard to miss."

red hood drummed his fingers on his lap with his free hand, pretending to think. "it's not ringing any bells."

"oh no," you sighed jokingly. "do you think something bad happened to him?"

"he's probably dead."

your face fell into a blank stare at his stupid joke. thank god you couldn't see his smug face under the helmet. was he giving you his signature smirk? were his eyes sparkling, overshadowing the sadness that always seemed to linger behind them or had their beauty been plagued by it, along with the rest of his handsome face? it was incredibly hard to tell. you hoped for the former.

"my boyfriend is too strong to die," you told him with a small smile. "i bet he could take you. he taught me everything he knows so... i bet i could take you, too."

"i seriously doubt that," you heard him retort, sitting up straight in the chair now. he viewed your claim as a challenge he was going to accept.

"then try and fight me, red hood," you said, sticking out your tongue at him.

you watched him stand up and walk towards you, not realizing how menacing he actually was. not seeing his face was unsettling enough but his stature made him even more intimidating. you knew he wouldn't hurt you so fear was replaced with confused arousal. it definitely was not the goal of the interaction, so you quickly pushed the thoughts away.

you stood up on the bed, wanting to have height advantage. he looked up at you for a moment before reaching out to start tickling you. laughter pearled out of your mouth as you were brought back down to your knees out of shock. “cheater!” you called out through your laughter.

you tried fending him off, pushing his hands away and weakly punching his chest and arms. it was obvious he was trying to possibly let you win. even in his state of not trying, you'd still lose.

the two of you went back and forth for awhile, taking jabs at each other while you laughed along the way. at one point, jason hooked his finger under the waistband of your panties, pulling it back as far as he could before letting it snap back against your skin. you let out a little yelp, promptly giving him a very careful punch to the crotch. it was a fake fight, after all. you didn't want to actually hurt him.

he instinctively flinched back, quickly breaking your guard by smacking your hands away and reaching out and pulling his sweater up over your head, just enough to cover your face while he softly jabbed at your soft skin. you sputtered as you tried to pull it back down but not before he used both of his hands to give your breasts a squeeze. he must have gotten bored with play fighting because as soon as you pulled his sweater back down, he quickly pinned you to the bed by your wrists. you stared up at him, eyes wide as he hovered over you.

"oh," you breathed out, blinking up at him. "o-oh! ouch!"

"what?"

"i think i've been injured," you said with a little smile as he loosened his grip on your wrists, letting you free. "do you think you could take a look at it? i mean, it's the least you can do considering it's you're fault."

you could feel him rolling his eyes and it only made your smile grow. you sat up and pressed your back into his firm chest. you could feel his steady breathing starting to sync up with yours.

"show me where it hurts," he told you and you took one of his hands, slowly guiding it up your stomach underneath his sweater. you stopped when the side of his thumb was pressed against the underside of your breast.

"it's somewhere over here. i'm not exactly sure where," you explained coyly as he began massaging your breast, looping his other arm around your waist as he started rubbing himself on your ass. you pushed back against him, letting out a mewl of satisfaction.

the two of you stayed like that for awhile, slowly but surely getting each other worked up. you hadn't expected him to be so receptive. you were just going to tease him a little in hopes of getting him to drop the red hood act so you could get some sleep. you assumed he'd want to finish what you started as jason but the fact that it appeared you'd be getting it on with red hood felt much sexier and a lot more fun.

"i'm not feeling any problems, sweetheart," his distorted voice rang in your ears as his movements stopped.

"oh, well, that's good," you said softly, placing your hand over his and pulling it away from your chest. "but i have another problem now."

"yeah?" he questioned as he watched you take his glove off, carefully stuffing it into his jacket pocket. "what's that?"

you silently led his hand down to your soaked panties and he let out a chuckle. "oh, i see. that is a problem."

"can you fix it?" you asked, letting out a moan as his fingers had already gone to work.

"i can certainly try."

while his fingers worked at rubbing you over your panties, his gloved hand made its way to the breast he had neglected earlier. you whined softly as you rubbed back against him while rutting against his fingers. eventually, your panties were so wet to the point where he might as well have been touching you directly, which prompted him to get them off of you. it took some maneuvering but he eventually got them off and he kindly tossed them into the hamper before continuing.

he teased you first, ghosting his fingers over your outer lips and slit before spreading you open. he repeated this motion a few times, making you whine in frustration. once he was satisfied he slipped his middle finger between your folds, softly rubbing you. you took matters into your hands and started rubbing yourself against his finger, desperately wanting more. the more you moved, the less pressure he applied.

"stop it," he finally said, his voice firm. you pouted, complying with his request and quickly being rewarded. he teased your clit right before gently dipping two fingers inside of you, making you moan out in surprise. he began pumping them in and out of you, bringing your juices back up to your swollen clit.

your back arched, surprised at how sensitive you were. it was a little embarrassing, actually. jason clearly didn't care, continuing to exploit your sensitivity and get more pretty moans to fall from your lips. not being able to sit still any longer. your hips began bucking again. jason let you move for a little while before removing his hand completely.

"i think i might be making your problem worse," he teased, palming himself over his pants. "and causing one for myself."

you heard the clanking of him fiddling with his belt buckle and you turned around to help. you quickly unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, giving him the space he needed to pull out his hard cock through the opening. you dipped your fingers into your wetness, using it to help slick his cock, focusing on the head. you started stroking him with both hands, one firmly gripping the base while the other was teasing the head.

jason's moans encouraged you to move faster. he moved his fingers to your lips, making you taste yourself while you stroked him. you sucked on his fingers, closing your eyes as you moved both hands to the tip of his cock. he pulled his fingers away and you let them go with a pop, making him sigh deeply.

"i have to fuck you now. right now," he said seriously, stroking himself in front of you. "i hope your boyfriend doesn't mind."

"i'm sure he will," you said honestly, giving jason a lazy smile. you turned around on all fours, bending to with your chest pressed against the mattress and your ass in the air. you felt him lining himself up with your entrance and you braced yourself for the initial stretch. you gripped the sheets tightly as he pushed gently himself in. he slipped in easily, thanks to your seemingly infinite wetness.

you felt him press his fingertips on lower back, making you sink down so your hips were against the bed. that was when he tightly gripped them and began fucking you from behind. he rolled his hips into you, his movements slow and deep initially before he picked up the pace.

"you're so tight around me," he praised you, moving his hands to grip your ass.

each thrust was met with a moan from you. you were still very sensitive and it was starting to effect your entire body. jason's shameless fucking wasn't helping. he took a moment to remove his other glove, putting it in his pocket before dragging his hands up your sides, thumbs pressed into your back for better balance and access.

eventually he flipped you over, watching your now exposed breasts bounce while he rolled his hips into yours. you wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him deeper inside of you. he obliged, snapping his hips faster and pushing himself deeper.

"you like being fucked by me?" he asked between thrusts.

you nodded sloppily, gasping softly each time his hips slammed back into you. "y-yes. i love being fucked by you, red hood."

the room was filled with a symphony of your shared moans, along with other lewd noises. you weren't sure how much longer you would last with jason's nonstop thrusting. you felt your leg starting to cramp up and give out, the sensations of pain and pleasure starting to blend together to the point where it almost felt good.

"i'm getting close, baby," jason panted, finally slowing down. he rubbed circles into your hips, looking at your blissed out form below him. "so fucking close."

"please, keep going," you begged him, rolling your hips with his slow movements. "i'm almost there."

jason picked you up, taking you back to the chair. he sat down and wrapped his arms around your waist before harshly bucking his hips upward, hitting your sweet spot. you let out a loud string of moans and whines, using the arms of the chair as support as you tried to match jason's wild hip movements. you could feel your release coming, the pressure that had built up inside of you ready to dissipate.

"i'm gonna cum," you choked out, prompting jason to hit you with deep and deliberate thrusts, finally pushing you over the edge. you clenched tightly around him, feeling his cum spill inside of you while you both rode out your highs.

the both of you took a moment to catch your breath, bodies tingling in the afterglow. you felt like you were gonna pass out at any second, but not before you saw jason's face. you refused to lose consciousness before then. you reached out, hands caressing his helmet. you heard a click and sharp hiss, talking it off of jason's head.

"there he is," you said sleepily, setting the helmet on the dresser beside you. you carefully peeled off his domino mask next, tossing it next to the helmet. "my jason."

jason's cheeks were flushed and his sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead. his eyes were shining, just like you had hoped they would. he gave you a lopsided grin, leaning in to finally give you a soft kiss. "i can't believe you cheated on me with red hood."

“the real cheating was when you tickled me,” you laughed against his lips, stealing another kiss as you held his face in your hands. "can you blame me, though? he's really sexy."

"given the opportunity, i would fuck red hood, too," he admitted jokingly, peppering kisses on your cheeks and down your neck. "sorry for scaring you. i didn't mean to."

you looked at him with a worried expression, recalling the events that got you to this place to begin with. you pushed his hair back from his forehead, carding your fingers through his locks. "are you alright? did you have a rough night?"

jason sighed before nodding softly. "yeah, kinda. but i'm alright now."

"we can talk about it. only if you want to," you offered and he shook his head, giving you another kiss.

"tomorrow," he compromised, slowly standing up with you attached to him like a koala. "we need to get cleaned up and go to sleep."

"i had that handled until you came along," you teased him as he headed for the bathroom. "but alright. sounds good to me."

[jd-loves-fiction]

I’d like to please request a Din with a s/o that knows how to fight. They get into it with some stormtroopers and he’s in awe at how well she protected him. Only if it it inspires you!

🌙👀 my first Mando request, thank you darling❤️

[14:59] Blaster fire zips past Din's helmet as he presses his back as close as he can to the rock behind him.

"How did we get here?"

"I don't know, and at the moment, I really don't care."

"You should've stayed in the ship!" Din shouts over all the ruckus, glaring at you from beneath his visor.

"Bit late for this conversation, isn't it?" You shout back, turning around and taking aim at one of the stormtroopers shooting at the two of you. You miss the shot as a gloved hand pulls you back behind cover. "What the fuck, Mando?! You wanna stay here all week?"

"I want you to be safe! So let me handle it, okay?" The aggravated tone of his distorted voice is new to you as Din is usually a man of very few, very quiet, words.

Didn't change the fact that you can handle yourself.

"No, you can't handle it yourself. So listen, you're gonna distract them for a bit and I'm gonna sneak towards another cover and hit them from behind." You explain as the troopers' fire slowly ceases while they approach your location. "You want us to both get out of here? Then trust me on this." You add urgently as you feel his hesitation weight him down.

Finally, a heavily modulated sigh escapes him, before the helmet turns to you and you're almost sure he's glaring at you under there. "Let's do it." Din says with a nod, the words 'be careful' right on the tip of his tongue but there's no time for them. And he knows that you know.

So with a small blaster in your hand, you make your way towards another hiding spot. Two of the troopers spot you and break off from the group trying to shoot Mando and begin firing at where you're crouching.

Din's movements become frantic, attempting to take care of the soldiers pinning him in place before the two others get to you.

Luckily for both, you're no weakling.

You let the soldiers get close to you, scaling the small hill you’d hid behind as they did. As the two get close enough, you launch yourself over, landing on one man’s shoulder and knocking him off his feet. Taking advantage of the other’s confusion, you run towards him as he struggles to train him blaster on you. You grab it then, pulling it towards your body and kicking the back of his knee.

The man falls heavily to the sand with a groan, mildly confused as to how you’d managed to do all that, and not having time to process it before your knee meets where his nose would be.

You shoot the last man crowding Mando, twirling your blaster playfully as you walk towards your partner (though he didn’t share your thoughts on that, but perhaps now he would). You smirk, brows raised as you approach, opening your mouth to say something along the lines of ‘I told you so’, confident that his silence was due being speechless from your show of strength and not whatever was marinating in that tin can of his.

But before you can say a word, he turns around and starts walking towards the Crest, stomping his feet like a petulant child. You follow him, silently confused but determined to get some answers. Perhaps due to the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

You finally get to the ship you’ve started to call home to see Mando put down his rifle. Still as silent as he was when you first met.

“So? Nothing to say? Not even a ‘thank you’ for saving your life?”

Well, you didn’t technically do that but, details.

“What, you want a medal for nearly getting yourself killed?” He grits out, sharp and harsh, helmet turned to you. You can imagine his furrowed brows and the frown beneath.

“But I didn’t. I’m unharmed and I took down those guys all by myself.” You justify, pitch and volume raising as your aggravation does the same.

“But you could have gotten hurt! And it would’ve been avoided, if you listened to me.” He answers sternly, the modulator making his voice sound all the more intimidating in that moment. But you would not give in so easily.

“Why are you so hung up on what could have been? It’s already happened and it went fine so calm down!” You shout back, gesturing wildly in frustration. His gloved hand slowly clenches into an equally frustrated fist, trying his best to be the voice of reason (despite the fact that he started the whole thing).

“You--” His voice raises even more despite his attempts to keep a steady tone, anger fueled by fear, a few he wasn’t entirely aware he had. The fear of losing you. But before the discussion could escalate any further, his incoming speech is cut off by a soft coo.

The child stands to the side, looking up between the two of you in confusion, tilting its small head from side to side.

You immediately bend to take him into your arms, holding him to your chest with a tenderness Din is almost jealous of. His temper threatens to flare up again at the thought that you had placed yourself in danger and left the child alone. But he calms down the sound of the tiny creature’s giggles as you coo back at it

Din sighs, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground, anger mellowed out after the show of affection that makes something warm and unbearably soft bloom in his chest in place of the fiery, hot, fury from before. Despite this, his pride holds him back, makes him hesitate. But only for a moment.

To hell with it.

Slowly, tentatively, as if approaching some wild animal, Din steps closer to you. First, he moves to place a hand on your shoulder, hesitating once more, before he finally does, gathering your attention. Your eyes meet his visor, soft and tired now that the adrenaline has worn off.

And so, hoping not to startle you, he lays his hand on your shoulder, squeezes once and prays that it conveys the sincerity he feels deep in his guarded heart.

You give him a soft smile, stepping into his embrace as his arms wrapped around you and the child, as if to protect the both of you like this.

"You're right, what's done is done. But how could I not be worried? Do you feel worried for me when I go out hunting bounties?"

"Yes..."

"And have I not shown how capable I am of handling it?"

"You have..." You trail off again, choosing to look down at the child in your arms, nearly asleep, instead of his unforgivingly cold visor. You feel vaguely embarrassed once you see his point, as you're sure he must feel from acting so overprotective.

"So, of course I'll worry, just like you do. And that's fine. Let's just... Try to talk this stuff out next time. You know, instead of screaming at each other." He chuckles softly, hand stroking the back of your head, feeling it move as you nod.

It's uncomfortable, yes, being pressed up against the planes of beskar, but it's safe. And that's what matters.

[treasureswordsgirl55]

The Child's Fault

Character: Din “Mando” Djarin

Inspired by (song): Cuando Nadie Me Ve - Alejandro Sanz

Warnigs: Mando without helmet (This is a neon lights warning!)

Author's Note: Hello Again!!!

This is the first fic that I posted in this account with Mando and his adorable little green child. What can I say about these two? They’re just adorable.

Ps: I miss so so so much The Mandalorian

Ps2: I wrote this during middle of season one.

So.... I hope you like this one, and as always, thanks you for all the replies ❤️ That means so so much for me. XOXO 😘😘😘

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cuando nadie me ve puedo ser o no ser… Cuando nadie me ve pongo el mundo al revés, Cuando nadie me ve no me limita la piel, Cuando nadie me ve puedo ser o no ser. Cuando nadie me ve…

A thud resounds from the lonely ship as the beskar makes contact with the ground. The culprit of that sound growls annoyed as he looks around trying not to have attracted the attention of those who accompanied him.

That is the sound of a man who is carried away by the tranquility of being alone and full of freedom.

He never thought that freedom had a specific sound, or any sensation to which to attribute it, but for him, freeing himself at times from that oath to which he owed his life filled him with peace.

He walks slowly, enjoying the sensation of lightness that floods him, and at the same time he turns to observe the little green specimen that sleeps pleasantly in his Moses crib, too confident that he is in good hands, which he does. smile.

He shakes his head when a grip on his chest distracts him and knows what it means: In the short time she had been with him, he considered him hers. He considered it his family.

Perhaps because of the fact that he felt that he would feel like him, alone in a world he barely knew. Perhaps because a paternal instinct was born in him that he did not know he had or only wanted to be something more than a simple bounty hunter.

He still couldn't explain what led him to rescue that boy, but he was sure he should. He wanted to be someone who would do the right things and stop carrying all that heavy baggage on his shoulders.

At times he is once again that little boy who hears his mother's voice calling him from the immense gardens of that palace that only remained blurred in his thoughts, as well as the memory of his laughter every time she caught him and did nothing but offer him affection.

Even though he had learned to hide his emotions from him, he missed that kind of affection more than anything. He missed her more than anything.

He felt even more lonely knowing that there was something waiting for him somewhere but that he was not comfortable with it.

How could he go back to his "normal" life when his reputation was known to the entire parsec? The advantages of wearing a mask.

A sigh clouds the glass and he turns to see how Winter sleeps relaxed in her bunk, without being aware that he has been watching her for a few minutes without any barrier between them. That woman had managed to get into her life without even looking for him, she had saved his skin as soon as they met on Naboo, when they tried to kidnap the child and she protected him as if her life depended on it.

There, between his fear of losing the child and a feeling of warmth invading him, he felt that he fell a little in love with her.

The wavy-haired young woman settles into her sleep muttering a couple of inconsistencies and Dyn keeps them in her mind thinking about when she can tell him to take advantage of it. He laughs as a sound pulls him out of his reverie and before he can take the helmet, those huge black eyes are watching him as if it were an inspection.

The little boy with bulging eyes and green skin watches him making him feel uncomfortable, naked.

He felt so exposed that he could barely breathe easily.

A bubbling sound similar to a laugh came out of the child's mouth as he stretched his little hand towards the Mandalorian like that first time they met, hoping that he would lose the fear of feeling exposed and realize that it was only them.

Dyn got it. They were just a boy and a man who had each other. Just the two of them and no one else.

He approached slowly and took the little one in his arms, with a delicacy that was not typical of him, he smiled at him and the little one made a sound similar to a laugh.

- Be quiet. Ok? You don't want to wake her up.

The little bulging-eyed specimen stood up stretching his little hand trying to reach his face, looking at him in a strange way that Dyn understood as curiosity. For the first time he had seen him without the helmet he was taking it too well. They both were actually taking it too well.

- Yes, this is me - The murmur filled the empty spaces creating a kind of echo that only they were able to hear - Do you like what you see?

The little noise similar to a laugh made him smile again and hold him a little in his arms, feeling how the little one rested his little head against his chest; that little boy had earned what little was left of his heart.

A sound coming from the other side of the ship put him on alert at the same time that he took the blaster from him and pointed towards the door, leaving the little one in his cradle and activating the commands of his wristband in case he needed to move him away from there. .

- Everything's fine? - Winter's sleepy voice came from his bunk, hiding the vision of his face without the beskar that protected him so much.

The sound that Dyn interpreted as a laugh sounded again and he chose not to speak, but the young notary that her voice was different - Mando?

- Stay calm, it's just the movement of the wind outside. Go back to rest - Winter felt a chill to hear it. His voice did not sound as usual, with the sound of the modulator interfering between them, nor with the typical tone produced by the Beskar, but it seemed sweeter, more real. That told her that he was not wearing the helmet.

The heavy dream she had of her dissipated at the thought of letting her curiosity overwhelm her.

She sat on her knees on the bunk and crawled from her until she was in front of the door, which separated her from seeing Dyn.

- Sorry. I did not want to bother you - That female voice sent a chill through her body making her think for a second to press the button that separated the two cameras and let her see it- Is the child okay?

Dyn smiled as she watched the little boy whimper in her crib answering her questions. - You're fine?

That conversation felt so intimate that neither of them wanted it to end.

The Mandalorian took a seat near the door and in a fit of emotions put his hand on the door that separated them and let out a sigh.

- As long as you and the child are, I will be too - Winter smiled as he put his hand on the door and caressed it thinking it was Dyn's face. He pushed that thought out of her head and leaned against her with a heavy sigh. This was more exhausting than trying to guess if he smiled or even looked at her every time she spoke to him.

The two were silent as they pondered how strange this situation was: They had been together many times, talking about the next steps to take, how to find where the little one belonged and about the long nights of surveillance they had to carry out so that that little green glutton was sure. But they had never been in a situation as strange as that.

- How did he take it? - The young woman's voice made Dyn turn towards the door with a frown - I mean the child

It took him a minute to realize that he was talking about him seeing his face.

- A t least he didn't scream when he saw me. - Dyn's annoyed voice flooded that bunk and Winter laughed. The mixture of annoyance and irony in his voice made her think that he was frowning, but she wanted to have a minimal image to be able to put a face on that person who haunted her even in her deepest dreams or saved her in her worst nightmares - I must like him.

- Everyone likes you, Mando, even though you are very grumpy - The young woman was silent, she barely heard his laugh, a sincere laugh, that she admitted that his words were real. She heard the boy's whimper and it was her turn to laugh - Now am I the fun of you two?

- You too?

- Sorry?

- If you like me - The question caught her off guard, and the only thing she managed to answer was a resounding yes, but that word did not come out of her mouth- You don't need to answer if you don't want to.

- I like you a lot - "More than I want to admit" she thought as he concentrated on raising and lowering his hand on the door that separated them, imagining for a moment she was touching the beskar of his armor and she lost a second in it - Although sometimes you just grunt and touch buttons, but it's nice to be by your side, well, for me it is.

The silence made Dyn move to the door and consider again pressing the button for the bunk.

But the child read his thoughts and with just a small imperceptible movement of his hand, the situation changed and passed so quickly that neither of them saw it coming: The door opens, causing the little one to let out a sound similar to a laugh, accompanied by a curse coming from a female voice on the other side of the door that ended with Winter losing her stability and falling face down to the ground. The young woman waited for the blow to arrive but that did not happen, on the contrary, she felt the cold run through her body as soon as she felt the metal against her hands, a metal with a polished appearance.

She didn't need to see it to know that the only metal in the Razor Crest that she looked like was Beskar.

Dyn had two options before the door opened: Don't touch the button or Put on the helmet and open it.

He cursed as his options changed: When the bunk door opened without even having pressed the button, he had no time to reprimand the child, but hurried over to grab Winter before his head hit hard the ground.

And in all that, he didn't have time to put on his helmet.

Winter automatically closed her eyes, squeezing them tight enough that she didn't even feel a single photon. She held back a gasp at the idea of ​​him stopping her fall and cursed the Force hard because that little slice of the image she had come to glimpse must be illegal.

- You're safe, Winter. Breathe - The sound of his voice, barely softened by the absence of the beskar made the young woman feel that the heat began to invade her, to the point of consuming her in a minimum second. She mentally cursed as she moved her hands trying to push Dyn away, trying to get back to the bunk and close it from the inside.

- I'm really sorry. I do not know what happened ... I swear I have not touched anything - her phrase came out of her mouth, broken and quick from her, to the point of not understanding herself - I did not see anything - she said with the head hung and eyes closed.

Dyn smiled as she shared a look with the little child, as if they were sharing a secret.

He would already be in charge of talking to him.

- Stop talking. It was an accident of the child - his voice sounded annoyed and Winter guessed that he was looking at the child - I'll talk with him later.

- Don't be so harsh. It happens to anyone.

- Not him - The little boy replied with a laugh and Dyn let out a sigh. He helped the rebellious young woman to get up little by little and once she was sitting on the bunk, he watched her without saying a word. Her hair was tousled and her cheeks were flushed. He smiled at that image and looked at the little child.

- Can you stay up? You may feel dizzy ...

- No, I'm fine. Let me know when you put the helmet on - Dyn looked at the child and understood. He was testing him.

All he did was move the helmet away from him, with a kick and a deep breath. After that there would be no going back.

- Ready. - When Winter opened her eyes she felt her world move as if an earthquake was shaking her, trying to reduce her to rubble. She wanted to close her eyes again but she couldn't.

Those brown eyes watched her with suspicion and curiosity, a combination strange to her but familiar to him.

She didn't know what to say, she only managed to raise her hand and caress her cheek, touch to which Dyn responded automatically, bringing her face closer to Winter's fingers.

- Do you like what you see? - he asked the same question as the child and Winter smiled at him as she pulled away from him a bit and thought about how attractive he was. It was an injustice that he had to walk with that helmet everywhere.

She didn't even respond out of fear of saying something that would leave her in evidence that she was interested in him.

- Cara knows about ... - She indicated her face at the same time that the Mandalorian shook his head. - She will hate me.

- Not if you don't know. It's just the kid and you.

- You shouldn't be wearing that. It is unfair - Admits the rebel making him laugh and enjoying that marvel - It will be difficult for me to see you again with that.

- You won't have to.

- Sorry?

- I can be without it here as long as it's just the two of you. It will be our secret.

Dyn leaves the cabin with a smile while Winter takes the child in her arms without really knowing how everything had happened there.

[whenimaunicorn]

Training Exercise

The Mandalorian x female Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian is testing you. Again. This time you hit him with a strategy he doesn’t expect, and he comes back with an equally unexpected response.

Content Tags: Explicit, roleplay, dom/sub vibes, dirty talk, bondage, armor kink (I didn’t think I meant to do that but damn if it isn’t all over this fic), slight gunplay, slight breathplay, rough sex

Cold metal cuffs slam around your wrists, the sound of the locking mechanism a loud, ominous snick.

“What the fuck, Mando?” you sputter, dropping your spoon into the bowl in front of you.

“How would you get out of this?”

Stars. Another test. You push down your rising irritation with a deep inhale, sitting up straight and letting your imprisoned forearms rest on the edge of the table down in the hold of the Razor Crest. “So I’ve been captured?” you ask, probing for the parameters of the exercise he has in mind.

“Yes.” He stands a few feet away from you, leaning against the bulkhead, settling in to observe. “Now you’re in a holding cell. One guard.”

You smirk at him. “You’re the guard?”

His helmet inclines a few inches. “What’s your play?”

The question is delivered evenly, soft and simple, with only the tiniest note of challenge. He still doesn’t believe you can handle yourself as well as you say you can. The reminder gets your hackles up. “I’m not really in the mood for this.”

“You think I care if you’re in the mood?” The modulator does little to smooth the harshness with which he barks the statement.

You try not to flinch. Getting into his role already; at least, you try to tell yourself that’s all his change in tone means. Plus, it’s kind of hot when he yells at you. Not that you’d let him know that.

You sigh, and prop your elbows up on the table, examining the cuffs. They are a solid piece, two inches thick in a figure eight shape with a seam in the clasp so flush that it’s almost invisible. There’s an interface on it above your wrists, placed where your own fingers couldn’t possibly reach but would be convenient to your captors. You know enough about this model to know there’s a way to hack the lock, but not enough to actually be able to do it.

You look over at the Mandalorian. He’s facing you squarely now, thumbs resting in his utility belt, the helmet’s eye slit angled like he’s watching you closely. He doesn’t move a muscle, just waiting to see what you’ll do.

You do your best to ignore the tingling feeling his intimidation sends washing through your body. You feel the weight of his gaze like the heat of a sun against the cheek and shoulder that are angled toward him as you look back down at the cuff around your wrists.

What’s your play? he had asked. You arch your back a little more, giving the Mandalorian a better view of your body. You’ve got tricks he can’t teach you, and your irritation has turned into an overwhelming urge to rub that in, now. You sit poised like a pin-up girl as you pick up the spoon from your abandoned meal and stick it backwards into your mouth, then use the chisel-shaped back end of it to probe clumsily at the locking mechanism.

Mando shifts in the corner of your vision, moving just a little bit closer. “You know I can see you, right?” The edge of derision in his voice only spurs you on.

You look up at him, shifting the spoon in your mouth so he has to watch your pink tongue lick out along the edge of it. His upper body pulls back with a start. “I know.” You smile lasciviously around the stick of metal. “If I was alone with one guard, I’d convince him to step closer to me.”

The lower edge of his helmet drops in acknowledgement, and then his blaster clears its holster, in his hand and pointed straight at you faster than you can blink. “Cut that out. Drop the spoon.”

You turn in your chair, knees spread just a little immodestly, so the bottom edge of your tunic creates an intriguing little darkness between your legs for your “guard” to ponder. It’s hard to decide if the man behind the helmet is taking the bait, but you’re going to carry on your demonstration as best you can. You hold the spoon between your teeth and then relax your jaw, turning your lips into a pouty little ‘o’ as the spoon falls straight down into your lap. You suck in a big breath that makes your breasts swell as you look down at it, nestled between your thighs. “Come and get it.”

The Mandalorian seems to hesitate. “Is this really your best strategy?”

“You’d be surprised how often it works.”

His visor is angled just a little too low for you to think he’s looking at your face. He could, of course, take the exercise in any direction that he wants. He could play a guard that’s smarter than his libido right now, or one that doesn’t find you attractive at all. So maybe it means something when he chooses to relax his grip on the blaster, and steps closer, playing along. “It’s no use trying to escape,” he intones, resuming the game as he looms over you, blaster still pointed at your head, though at a lazier angle.

It shouldn’t be as hot is it, to stare up at the enigmatic Mandalorian warrior from your helpless position like this. Though the warm, prickling feeling that spreads through your lower body only makes the game easier. You form your lips into a little pout. “I’ve got to do something to pass the time.” You extend one foot, ankle making contact with the inside of his knee, then slide it up between his legs, past the defense of the metal plates on his thighs. You stare at his eye slit the whole time, tongue peeking out to play at the bottom of your teeth. “You want to put something else in my mouth?”

You feel him flinch. But to his credit, he leans into his discomfort, and into your personal space. “You’d like that.” His words come out in that flat, measured way he has, but the underlying tone is somewhere between brusque and incredulous.

You’re not sure if you’re freaking him out or turning him on, but a heady rush of excitement propels you forward. You give him a slow, sultry shrug as you stare up at him. “Maybe I’ve got a thing for being tied up.” You rock your ankle back and forth against his inner thigh.

The Mandalorian stares down at you, maddeningly still. His body language only shifts when he finally speaks. “Did I mention the guard is a Gamorrean? A particularly ugly one.”

He’s teasing you. You can just imagine a shit-eating grin extending behind his beskar mask. You reach your cuffed arms up, refusing to back down. “Then I’d be sure to stroke a finger down his tusk.” His helmet is cold under your fingertip as you dare to mime the action, sliding your touch down the groove of his iron cheek.

The blaster pointed vaguely at your temple never wavers. You’re close enough now to see that it’s not currently armed, though that information does little to dampen the chill of having a weapon aimed at your head, in a hand that has never hesitated to kill. Mando leans in and presses his other hand between your legs, retrieving the spoon. He takes his time about it, just as a big ugly half-seduced guard would do, digging his fingers unnecessarily into your soft thighs and dragging his knuckles against the sensitive spot between.

Your breath catches. You had been bluffing; you wouldn’t actually enjoy this if he had been a real guard of any species, but when Mando is the one groping between your legs you can’t help but spread them a little wider.

His head is only inches from yours. You stare into the eye slit of his helmet, knowing that somewhere behind there he’s staring right back at you. The shape of the beskar knows only one emotion: menace. You have no fucking idea what expression lies behind the mask.

His knuckle rolls again, right over your clit, making hot arousal bloom so hard and fast that your muscles turn to jelly.

His helmet tilts, and he speaks in his quiet voice again. “You’re not making your move now?”

It takes a second for your brain to catch up. Mando assumed you were luring the guard inside your reach so you could whip out some kind of flashy combat skills and disable him. Of course he did. That’s what he would do.

Evidently, you take too long to respond. He removes your opportunity to act. “Get up!” The Mandalorian grabs at the cuff around your wrists, yanking you to your feet. He holsters the blaster as he crowds your body, backing you up into the wall. Cold beskar presses between your thighs, making sure your legs stay open as you slam back against the bulkhead.

You resist a little on instinct, your mind now torn between winning the game and just enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He overpowers you easily, forcing your hands up over your head. There’s a clicking sound, and then both of Mando’s gloved palms are running down your arms, though they’re still locked in place. He’s magnetized the wrist cuff to the bulkhead. Fuck. You didn’t know it could do that.

His beskar face looms just inches above your own. His grip doesn’t flinch as his hands run down from your arms to your flanks, feeling along your ribs in a touch that’s more sexually charged than you’d thought him capable of. “You’ve chosen a strategy that can get you in over your head, fast.” His voice sounds a little tight behind the modulator. His hands slide down to grip your waist. “Would you really let it get this far?” You can hear him breathing now, fast and hard. His fingers knead at the tops of your hips. “Dirty yourself, letting a filthy guard touch you this way?” There’s a hint of a whine under his accusatory tone, and you start to think the Mandalorian might be even more turned on by this game than you are.

You don’t answer, not sure what to say that wouldn’t ruin whatever’s starting to happen. Mando’s hands travel up your body, thumbs daring to skim underneath your breasts.

“No play yet?” he challenges, voice sounding a little lower, a little rougher. “Still not ready to make your move? This is only going to get worse for you.” His palms skim over your tits, but he seems to be holding himself back, barely making contact. “Better do something before he starts taking off your clothes.”

Absolutely you want him to start taking off your clothes. But this is just a training exercise, isn’t it? You’ll probably just make things awkward if you delay any longer, sitting here enjoying an excuse to get groped by the Mandalorian. Time to make your next play. “Okay big boy,” you purr, barely keeping a straight face as you try to imagine seducing a giant pig-man, “let me make you feel really good.” You slide your cheek against Mando’s helmet, dropping your voice into a throaty half-whisper above where his ear would be. “Give me one of my hands free, and I promise you won’t regret it.”

He pulls the pressure of his body off yours, just a little. Considering. You writhe against him, whispering ‘please’ and dragging your knee up the inside of his leg to show him where your hand would want to go. Before you can make contact with your target, Mando reaches up and presses a button on the cuff. “That… that would probably work on a big, dumb guard. I’ll give you that.” His voice sounds a little breathy, but he’s rallying himself. “Let’s see what you can accomplish with only one hand.”

The steel around one of your wrists retreats. The other one remains locked to the wall. “Oh, I can do plenty,” you say, bringing your palm down to the cloth-covered opening between his helmet and pauldron. It’s hard to grope a man wearing full body armor; all you can do is massage at that firm muscle that connects his shoulder and neck, hoping that the pressure feels nice through the canvas-like fabric that covers his skin here.

His fingers flex where they span your waist, a sudden dig that seems involuntary. He can’t be used to even such a blunted touch as this one, you suppose. He turns his gesture into a more obscene caress, sliding down your hips, grinding your pelvis tighter against the beskar thigh thrust between your legs. You don’t have to fake the moan that falls from your throat.

“Definitely a dirty girl,” he says, and squeezes your ass with both hands. Now you’re really not sure if he’s speaking as the guard or himself. His voice has dropped low and the modulator can’t smooth out the pleasure that’s thickening it. “Offering yourself up like this…” His cold helmet presses against your temple as the Mandalorian brings his whole body closer, nestling his head between your cheek and your upraised arm, the one that’s still locked to wall of the ship above your head. He grunts as he digs his fingers into the widest part of your bottom, and you groan. “You like it rough?”

“Yeah,” you moan, not sure if you’re playing your character anymore either, afraid to say anything that might make him stop. You abandon his neck to slide your free hand down past the beskar chestplate, seeking warmth in the space at his flank where something approaching soft and human is accessible to your touch. You can feel him breathing here, fast and deep. His hips writhe, pressing that solid flesh above his lower ribs more firmly into your palm.

“So pliant. So soft.” His tone has gone softer, appreciative. One hand stays on your ass while the other travels up your back, scooping you closer to him, until your chest is flattened by solid metal as he all but dry humps you against the wall.

Your fingers tease at his belt line, searching for entrance. A splash of nerves cools your belly at this point; you’ve never seen the Mandalorian undressed in any way, and you worry how he might react to you trying to get under his clothes. There’s always the chance you’re mis-reading this situation horribly. He’ll stop you if you cross a line, you’re certain, but you want to go slowly enough to make sure the sin is not too egregious.

Mando seems to sense your hesitation, slowing down too. “If you’re thinking about going for my gun,” he says, “you’re telegraphing.”

Apparently, he still thinks you’re thinking about the training exercise. He hasn’t lifted his head from where it’s nestled into your shoulder, however. His hands have slowed but they’re still cupping you.

“Not going for your gun.” Your fingers skim along his lower belly, finding the buckle of his belt.

“No?” Mando breathes.

You squeeze the clasp, releasing it with a click that seems way louder than it should be in the empty galley of the ship. His exhale carries just enough vocalization for the modulator to pick it up, sounding akin to and yet wholly different from the heavy sighs that escape him when you or the child are being frustrating. He gives you no other reaction but that.

You dare to stick one finger down inside his waistband. His heavy shirt is tucked in and so you still haven’t contacted any skin. You can’t even pretend to try to read his face, with the front of his helmet still pressed into the crook of your neck. Your finger tugs at his clothes and his body shifts against you but you can’t tell if he’s pulling away or shifting to give you better access.

You lose your nerve. “And then I would,” you narrate, stopping yourself, “you know…” Your finger points down toward his cock, trying not to think about what it would feel like to scoop your hand over it, wondering if you would find it hard or soft…

He lifts his head, only far enough to stare into your face through that shielded slit in his helmet. After a short, measured silence, he speaks. “Go ahead.”

Somehow you can’t wrap your head around the statement. “Um, what?” You feel your hand curling up, starting to withdraw in an awkward defensive reflex, though one finger is still stuck inside his waistband.

He cocks his head, and you can just feel him taking your measure. His open hands caress up and down your back, and your body responds, curling into the touch. You realize your mouth is hanging open as you continue to meet his impenetrable beskar gaze.

“Don’t you want to see if your plan is going to work? I know I do.”

Well, fuck. You rotate your wrist and press your whole palm into his lower belly, fingers pointing down. You can actually feel his warmth here, and the way his breathing speeds up as you slide your hand lower against him. When your fingertips reach bare skin he moans. It sounds like he tried to keep it in but it just slipped out anyway. He clutches you closer to him again as you skim down along course hairs and hot skin.

What is happening here? Does he really want you to wrap your fingers around his cock, like you’re so close to doing right now? His whole body is tense, you realize, and his fingers are digging into your skin almost painfully.

You slow your approach, not wanting him to snap under that tension. Or for him to snap you. You scratch your fingertips softly into the trail of hairs you feel leading you toward your prize.

“Fuck,” he groans, and pushes his whole body against you, all but crushing you against the bulkhead.

Now you can’t move your hand. But in the midst of all the hard edges of his armor, you can feel one thing poking into you that definitely isn’t beskar.

So the Mandalorian does want you. His helmet presses into the crook of your neck; you just know that if it weren’t in the way he’d be mouthing open kisses all over your throat. He keeps your hand trapped between the press of your bodies, the other still cuffed up to the wall, while his roam freely all over you. This time when he reaches your breasts he lets himself feel, scooping over your pillowy flesh and trapping a nipple between his thumb and the side of his hand.

The pressure is just short of pain and you mewl at the pleasure and desire it sends blooming up through your core. Your reaction encourages him and he tears at the opening in the front of your tunic, struggling to get at your bare flesh.

The savagery pulls a gasp from your throat, and that sound makes him pause. “I said this strategy was a dangerous game.” His helmet shifts so he can get a better look at your face. “Do you want to keep going?”

You nod. “I like this game.”

His real voice, not the aggressive character, slides out soft and even from the modulator. “I like it too.”

You press your hand harder, down where it’s trapped between your bellies, tickling your fingers toward his root. “Then let’s keep playing.”

The groan that reaches your ears through his modulator might be the most delicious sound you’ve ever heard, as he changes the angle of his hips and gives you room to reach him. Well, it was the most delicious sound, until you hear the next one to come out of his mouth, even deeper, even longer, as you find his thick shaft and curl your fingers eagerly around it.

His length had been stuck a little down one pant leg. He gives a pleasured hiss as you free him from the confinement, scooping him in your palm to point straight up between your bodies. One of his hands leaves your waist just so he can hold himself up against the wall; you must have made him go a little weak in the knees. You purr a little “mmm” in the back of your throat in satisfaction, to see the Mandalorian in such a state. His cock is thick and velvety smooth and already twitching in your palm as you give him a few slow, steady pumps.

His noise of pleasure is almost a wail, and without warning he slams a palm into the center of your chest, pushing you back into the bulkhead again. His fingers slide up to bridge your throat, exerting just enough pressure to set warning bells off in your head, and to slow your hand.

“Fu-uck,” is all he says by way of explaining himself. Then he uses both hands to pull your tunic up your body, exposing everything above your leggings to the cool air jetting from the ship’s recyclers all at once. “Off,” he growls as he tugs the fabric against your armpits, forcing you to let go of his glorious cock and let him pull the tunic off over your arm and head.

With your left arm still cuffed to the wall, the shirt has to just kind of hang there on one shoulder, but Mando has succeeded in freeing the soft flesh of your neck, your chest, and your belly. He gazes down at you for an endless moment, then begins to assault everything he has exposed with hands covered in gloves and arms coated in steel.

You know that his gloves are augmented with some kind of sensors that transmit more information than the leather look of them would imply. You wonder what your pebbled nipples and rarely-bared skin feel like to him. He certainly has the touch of someone with perfect sensitivity as he sculpts and squeezes you; he plays with your nipples and adores the rest of your flesh until you’re panting for him.

You shove your hand back into his pants. You have to make him feel how he’s making you feel, to return this sweet torture. He moans again, and thrusts himself into your hand.

You strain against the wrist that’s cuffed to the wall. If only—of course. The plan hits you all at once. While you’re dying to explore these unexpected sexytimes with Mando, your pride is still itching at you to try and win the game.

“I-I want you, babe,” you say, making the sound of the words bottom out in your throat. “Want you in my mouth.” You squeeze him from root to tip and try to drop down in front of him, dangling off the cuff like you’ve lost all control. “Please let me—let me get on my knees for you.”

Mando curses through his teeth and presses the button to release your wrist without even hesitating. As your arm falls you lean into him, feigning like you’re going to do just as you said. Then you square your stance and twist, shoving him toward the wall, using your grip on his cock like a handle. In a real fight you would have hurt him bad right there, but this is just practice, just training. Just an exercise. You don’t squeeze him hard enough to do any damage.

And as soon as you’ve twisted his momentum to the side, you’re pushing off the wall, sprinting for the hatch out of the hold, and sweet, sweet victory.

A hand like iron clamps onto your shoulder; something catches your leg, and then you’re falling, with a heavy body riding you down. You twist into the fall so it’s not ugly, absorbing the impact with thigh and forearms. Then the Mandalorian is pressing your bare chest into the decking.

“Don’t think you got away with anything, there,” he says as he climbs more firmly on top of you. You turn your head to see his beskar face looming near your cheek. “I knew what you were up to.”

“Then why did it work?”

“I just wanted to feel you run.” He presses his body over yours, armor plates grinding into your thighs and back, shoving your hips flat against the deck too so you have no leverage to try and escape. “Now. What were you saying about your mouth?” His hand leaves your shoulder to grab up a section of your hair, tugging tight at the back of your head, forcing your face up toward him. “Ready to make good on that promise?”

You nod, frantically, but as much as you’d love to suck him down, the feeling of his whole body grinding you into the deck is driving you crazy. You curl your ass up against him, with the tiny amount of movement his pressure will allow. You want more than anything else for him to just fuck you through the floor right here.

Mando’s hand runs down your naked side, pushing at the waistband of your leggings when he reaches them. “Or maybe I’ll just—”

“Yes!” you cry, “oh please,” arching your back, scrambling to help him get your clothes out of the way.

His answering growl roars wild and alien through the modulator right beside your ear. You take more of his weight as his chest presses against your upper body so he can use both hands to clear all the barriers  below your waists. You can choose to help him with your hands too, or you can hold yourself up with your forearms so you have room to actually breathe under his crushing weight.

You choose to sacrifice your breath. Your bare chest crushes into the cold decking as you shove your leggings down past your ass, and spit into your fingers so you can lubricate his path. That thick cock of his might have a hard time getting in, in a position like this, but it’s going to be so worth it.

Cool beskar gauntlets slide against your lower back and ass as Mando’s hands work at his own trousers in the small space between your bodies. His panting breath crackles through the modulator above your ear, sounding even louder since you can barely suck a breath in yourself under his weight. He moans when he notices you stroking your own slit, readying the way for him. You’ve worked your hand under one hip so you can reach yourself even as he’s crushing you. You’re already wetter than you expected, but you make sure to drag that moisture all over your sensitive folds.

As soon as he’s gotten himself free you feel his fat head probing at you. Some of the pressure comes off your chest as he slams his other hand against the deck near your face, holding himself up so he has a little more control. You think at first that he’s lining himself up, as Mando swirls himself around your entrance, and so you arch your back, present your hips as much as you can for him. As he keeps moving you realize he’s playing; savoring, scooping that moisture all over his tip before finally deciding to press inside.

The stretch is intense, and it just keeps coming. Now you have another reason not to be able to breathe. The pleasure in that invasion is white-hot and overwhelming, and he feels impossibly long, impossibly deep as he flattens you into the floor like this. You relax everything and focus on just taking it, on taking him.

Finally, finally, the timeless plunge reaches its end, as his hips come to rest against your bottom. He stays there, arms scooping around your shoulders, helmet pressed against your cheek, and lets out a long, shuddering exhale. Then he starts pumping. Long, measured, relentless thrusts drill into you, each one as deep and overwhelming as the first. The pleasure rips through you like a wildfire, melting and invigorating your limbs both at once.

And in this position you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it, let Mando claim you, press further and further until you feel like your entire being is nothing but the cunt he’s hammering into, a vessel for pleasure as he grunts and curses above you, losing himself just the same in the meeting of your bodies.

Your pleasure builds, clamoring for release. You realize one of your hands is still trapped under your body, and with the small movement your current state will allow you to make, you get your finger onto your clit.

It doesn’t take much, just the slightest targeted pressure, to harness the wild ecstasy that’s been building in your core. Your muscles lock, your body clamps, and all that needy pleasure spirals so intense that you hear a rushing in your ears.

“Oh, fuck, are you coming?” Mando groans, his modulated voice so close and yet a million miles away. He presses deeper, more eagerly at the very idea, and that pushes you right over the edge. You wail like an animal and curl up under him, except you can’t, the floor’s too solid, he’s too solid, and you cum with every muscle in your body straining against a steel prison that keeps you flat and helpless.

He rides you through it all, pumping faster, harder, grunting with the effort and making your orgasm feel like it’s never going to end under the relentless way he fucks you. Even when the crest passes and your body goes limp, he keeps going, driving himself like your lives depend on it, as relentless as you’ve seen him in battle. Tears form in your eyes as his cock won’t let your body come down. You feel everything inside you tensing up for another orgasm by the time his breathing goes ragged and you know he’s close too.

When the Mandalorian comes he finally lets it all go, burying himself in you to the hilt and wailing with a sound so raw it makes your heart crack and your body clench around him. Your second orgasm makes the tears fall from your eyes; all your limbs collapse together as your cunt milks every last drop of his release out of him.

The first one to move after the rush fades is him; his helmet comes into view from where you lay with your cheek pressed against the deck. His leather-tipped finger soaks up the tear that was threatening to fall over the bridge of your nose. “Was—” his voice is thick and he has to clear his throat before he can continue, “—was I too rough?”

You make a reassuring sound, the closest you can get to words for a moment. You shake your head, just a little. “Fuck. No. Loved that.”

You wonder if that makes him smile behind the mask. Your voice came out raspy, made you both conscious of the fact that most of the weight of a seasoned warrior, plus a hell of a lot of solid beskar, still lies squarely on top of you. While the sensation was a turn-on, you still make a little sound of relief when he rolls off you, laying on his back by your side.

His helmeted head rolls to face you. You’re sure you look like a hot mess, laying there mostly naked, ass up, with your face in the deck, but you feel amazing. Mando reaches up one gloved hand and presses two fingertips lightly to your lips. It feels like a kiss, so you purse your lips and kiss back, keeping your eyes locked on his eye slit. He lifts his hand to your temple, brushing his fingers through your mussed hair.

“I guess you showed me.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s referring to the training exercise. “I thought you said it didn’t work on you.”

His helmet inclines. “It worked.”

You smile. Maybe you preen, just a little. “Satisfied, then, that I can handle myself?”

“Definitely not.”

He just lays there while you pout at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He lifts his arm, beckoning you to peel yourself off the floor and come cuddle against him. You pull your tunic back on before you comply; bare skin against beskar doesn’t sound quite as appealing now that the heat of passion has fled.

You cuddle into the crook of his arm, finding a decent enough pillow on the inside of his bicep. Only once he’s got you curled against him to his liking, does he explain himself. “You are not going to be fucking your way out of trouble while you’re with me,” he says matter-of-factly. “I forbid it.”

You try not to let him feel you shiver at what his tone does to you. “Is that so.”

“It is.”

“If you don’t respect my skills—”

“I do,” he cuts you off. “But they’re only for me, now.” His body shifts where you’re curled against him, his hand clutching against your back. “We can play this game again, as often as you like, but..” he reaches over and slaps your ass hard enough to sting, “now I’ve also got to start teaching you how to actually fight.”

My Mando Smut Masterlist

Taglist is open, and I’m taking requests: @equalstrashflavoredtrash @laketaj24 @themaskismyface @pascallorian @shadowfoxey​ @pinstripeninja13​ @thatkidofwarandpeace​ @no-droids

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[bellesque]

Respite

The Mandalorian x Reader

Summary:

There are three things the Mandalorian can’t have at the same time, or at all:

An excursion with the kid.

No one tracking him.

A brief window for him to let his guard down.

In other words: peace.

But maybe, just for one day... he can.

Read on AO3.

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.8K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, Daddy Din, Softness, Light Angst like it’s barely there, me just trying to make things make sense just shhh ignore science and some canon for the fluff

A/N: yes, i couldn’t help myself. oops. y’all know i’ve been obsessing over this show lately, lemme just ease into writing for mando too okay okay great

- - - - - - - - - -

So. Holding a little baby ball of green wrapped in scratchy brown wool was not something you thought you’d be doing today.

Not that you plan your days particularly. No, but you had some idea of how it would go. Tinker a little at the shop, maybe bargain with the offworld Jawas outside the city. Come back home for a bite to eat and then maybe tinker some more.

Cruise through hyperspace, this baby with the hugest fucking eyes in your arms? Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought this is what you’d end up doing.

His pointy ears perk skyward as he stares up at you, cooing softly in question. Shit, what does it want? Does it need anything? You’re not exactly sure what you’re supposed to—

“Put the kid down.”

Maker, your heart almost jumps out of your chest. The modulated voice isn’t angry. It’s not impatient, but it’s not patient either. It’s quiet at the same time loud enough for you to hear through the iron that encases it. It’s stoic, emotionless, intimidating…

Fucking scary is what it is. Is what he is.

You’ve heard the stories. About the Mandalorian as a people. To see one? Be in the same ship as one?

Well, if you were back home, you’d be considered a legend just alongside them actually.

You bounce the baby gingerly, so minutely it’s almost like you don’t move your arms at all. Maker, you’re confused. You don’t know what it is, why it looks aged at the same time so adorable, and you don’t know what it needs.

Which brings you back to the Mandalorian, whom you’ve known for approximately—oh, about an hour or so now, and his change in verbal directive. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said. Put him down.”

Who are you, really, to argue with him? All things considered, it’s his ship, his rules, and his baby. Apparently.

There’s no way he’d be all green and bug-eyed underneath all that armor right?

You ignore the burning question that stations itself on the tip of your tongue, instead bending down to set the baby on its feet on the metal floor of the Razor Crest. The baby coos again, wobbling its way towards the pilot chair where its dad sits.

Stars, how is it so fucking cute?

You’re a little too intrigued by the way the baby moves: his whole body leans heavily towards one side with every waddle forward. Slow, purposeful, adorable waddles. It’s amazing how he just doesn’t teeter off too much to one side and fall in a heap of wool and large ears.

The baby manages to soundlessly end up by the Mandalorian’s feet, tugging at him with its stubby three fingers. The Mandalorian’s helmet turns briefly, glancing down at the green creature that helplessly reaches for something too far up the console. Too far for his little grubby hands to reach.

He audibly sighs as he scoops up the baby in one hand, settling it onto his lap while it continues to make grabby hands at something.

“I meant the pram.”

“O-oh,” is the only pathetic thing you can say. You shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but it stubbornly makes its way into your system anyway. This wasn’t a job you signed up for. In fact, you don’t know exactly why you’re here. The Mandalorian simply looked you up and down after you made a few repairs to his ship, and asked quite bluntly, “You good with a blaster?”

You blinked, twice, just enough time for your mind to catch up and process what he just asked. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you shoot?”

“Um.” Eloquent. “I’ve tried, a couple times, bu-but—”

He expertly threw the blaster rifle at you, which you struggled to catch perfectly. Him, as intimidating as ever, jerked his head to the side. “Shoot,” he said simply, raising a gloved hand to point at a canister several feet away. “Right there.”

And you did. By beginner’s luck, the canister split open.

Which, for some Maker-forsaken reason, warrants your presence on this ship. Are you a babysitter? His… partner for a day? Extra help? Maintenance? You had one job: tune up his Razor Crest. That’s it. You should be back home. Tinkering. Fixing. Bargaining.

But you’re here. A backdrop to a mysterious bounty hunter and his equally mysterious baby.

“I can put him in the crib,” you offer a little nervously.

The Mandalorian says nothing. He sits, stoic and silent in the pilot’s chair, the baby cooing periodically in his lap as he plays with the tiny metal ball the Mandalorian hands him. You swallow. He doesn’t even have to look at you for your palms to start sweating.

And it doesn’t help your rising nerves that you don’t know why you’re here. You’re not a quarry—right? Oh, shit, is there any way you could be and you just don’t know it?

To venture forward and say something, or continue to stand several feet behind him in silence. Have your questions answered, or just wait until he deems it the right time to provide you with them. It’s a mental battle that has you chewing on your lip and glancing skittishly at the glowing buttons around you.

Eventually your nerves win out, unable to take the quiet that stretches out seemingly into lightyears. “Um. So… what do you… need me to do?”

The Mandalorian takes a beat to respond. He presses a few buttons on the console, and mutters a curt, “Hold onto something.”

You’re glad for your quick reflexes, because as soon as he says so your fingers latch onto the nearest metal bar just as you lurch forward in hyperjump. The impact leaves you a little dizzy, swaying on your feet as you struggle to regain your bearings when you exit hyperspace.

He swivels to face you, standing from his seat and regarding you with… subtle interest, maybe? Or maybe he’s just amused at how you’re still swaying in your spot.

The baby fits snugly into the crook of his arm, and the image of this broad man covered head to toe in beskar with the tiniest little thing tucked into the bend of his elbow is so bizarre that you physically have to bite back a question: Are you green too?

“I need you to cover me,” he says eventually. The baby gurgles and looks up at the metal visor. “Just for today.”

“Cover you how?”

His helmet tips down as he glances at the baby in his arm. “Make sure no one’s following me. If you see someone, shoot.”

“Now hold on,” you interrupt. Finally you’ve regained your balance, and apparently, your voice. “I only shot that canister once.”

His pauldron lifts as he shrugs with one shoulder. “Once is enough.”

“I don’t think I can get lucky a second time.”

“Look,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that quells the arguments forming in your throat. Desperation, maybe? Just a hint? A little urgent, a little… pleading? It’s a little hard to decipher, between the general lack of emotional lilt in his voice and the synthetic warp of his helmet. “I can pay you. Handsomely. Just watch my back, only for today, and I’ll take you home right after.”

You consider it—well, not like your consideration changes anything. You’re already on this forsaken ship, hurtling towards who-knows-where, so might as well. A little extra something never hurt anyone. Especially you.

You need the credits. Bad. The shop’s been struggling a little, and if you’re being honest, having the Mandalorian come in was the best thing to happen to you financially in weeks.

Okay. Okay, maybe you could do this. Watch his back. Just for today, like he said. You nod, mostly to convince yourself rather than to affirm him. “Okay,” you say aloud. You watch as the Mandalorian descends the ladder with one arm, still cradling the baby in the other. “So where are we going? A bounty, maybe? Someone who needs some good Mandalorian-style telling off?”

 --

It surprises you entirely when you land on the Forest Moon of Endor.

Really, there’s nothing here. Except for Ewoks. You have absolutely no clue, no idea what could possibly attract the Mandalorian to this place.

Except maybe, you think as the baby stumbles through the lush forest as fast as its little legs can take it—maybe this is why.

The Mandalorian hasn’t whisked you off to some exciting, gunslinging adventure. Not a bargain, or a job.

He’s brought you here for a day of nothing.

Granted, it’s not like you’re actually a part of it. You’re an awkward, outside-looking-in kind of spectator, eyes flitting nervously from vine to vine and grip tightening on the blaster whenever you hear even the slightest snap or crunch of nature. The gentle breeze carries the light laughter of the baby to your vicinity, and he holds your attention before your eyes focus on his guardian (dad?) a few meters away.

He’s… quiet. As usual. But for some reason, despite the seemingly impenetrable fortress of beskar and your inability to get a read on him, you can just tell, clear as day. It’s a soft sort of silence.

The chrome visor is undeniably trained on the little green baby as it chases after something that crawls on the grassy earth. The sky is a dusty blue, painting shadows over the Mandalorian and his tiny companion.

Serene. Peaceful.

You don’t know how long it takes until your tense muscles begin to relax from the calmness of Endor. Your breathing evens out and you set the blaster on your lap as you sit yourself on a large rock. It’s… nice. No pressure. Just a day with a kid and his dad doing absolutely nothing.

Peaceful.

While your body loosens up, the Mandalorian continues to stand across from you in soft stoicism. Based on his body language, his fight-or-flight response isn’t at the fore, but it’s ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice.

But he’s, for the most part, present. Watching. Observing. Admiring, if the gentle tilt of his helmet is any indication.

You wonder, fleetingly, what it must be like to be him. To follow in the ways of the Mandalore. What he has to give up, what he has to live with.

His helmet snaps up to look straight at you. You jump.

He walks over to you in long strides, and you can’t help but feel like prey. Maker, he could have a smile on his face, could be the least intimidating person in all the galaxy—but the way he walks, all bulk and purpose, makes you feel like a rabbit in a snare.

You nod your head in the general direction of the baby, hating the way your heart thumps loudly against your sternum when he approaches. “So. Endor? For this?”

“Yes.” He moves to stand next to the giant boulder you’re perched on, holding his posture straight as ever. Your eyes flicker from his helmet to his chest plate, and this time your questions burst at the seams.

“Isn’t that heavy?” you blurt.

His head tilts slowly to face you, and you hastily turn yours away. Your cheeks burn. Scary. Fucking scary.

“Y-your armor.” He doesn’t have to say anything. Somehow with the look he’s giving you, shielded at the same time piercing, gets your mouth moving. Like a bounty trying to negotiate. You can’t look at him. You can’t. You’ve made a fool of yourself, asking such a dumb, rhetorical question that continues to hang in the air. “I-I was asking, if—if—”

“The beskar becomes a part of a Mandalorian. It’s worn with pride.” There’s a pause, and you can see in your peripheral that he frees you from the weight of his gaze and returns it to the giggling child. “But. Sometimes.”

You nod in short, slow jerks, trying to empathize with him. “You ever take it off?”

“No. Not in front of people, at least.”

“Even the helmet?”

“Especially the helmet.”

You’re pushing it. Testing the limits, the boundaries of his silence. For all you know he could snap like a twig from your probing.

… Maybe one more.

“But why?”

The Mandalorian exhales, his chest visibly expanding and compressing as the sound seeps out of the modulator, long and drawn out like the silences you’ve spent with him. “This is the Way,” he murmurs.

The Way. The tone in his voice, though barely noticeable thanks to the filter, is enough to remind you that he is a man underneath all that metal. You feel a little… bad for him. Covered head to toe in armor, never able to take it off.

So you kick off the rock, without a real solid plan in mind, and hold out your palm to the Mandalorian.

He cocks his head to the side. You imagine he’s giving you the wariest of looks inside the metal that sheaths him. “What?”

“I’m going to go.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, I’ll scout or whatever it is you call it. Just—what is it—secure? Yeah, that. And you,” you glance around, searching for the baby, “are going to get some downtime alone.”

He visibly tenses, and the stark contrast of his hardness and the thriving, dancing foliage amuses you just a little. Cracks that hard shell of intimidation you held for him moments ago.

“The kid—”

“I’ll look after him,” you cut in. Maker, he’s so protective over the little bean. You wonder what this bounty hunter had to go through with him to warrant such concern. “It’s why I’m here, right?”

You can tell he’s considering it. Just when you think he’s going to accede, however:

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll fire two warning shots into the sky if anything happens,” you promise. Your mind’s working a mile a minute—stars, you don’t know why you want to help him, ease whatever burden he faces—but you try to come up with solutions and answers where you’re able. “I’ll skirt this perimeter, far from you. I’m handy with a blaster, remember?” You hold it up for emphasis. “And, and—you can stay on the ship. Or in a super secluded corner, I’ll slip you some food and you can take off your helmet—”

“Stay here with the kid.”

“Huh?”

He takes a step backward. “Don’t let him out of your sight.”

The Mandalorian disappears into the dense woodland without another word.

The baby gurgles at your feet, gripping the hem of your pant leg as it looks up at you once again. Imploringly, almost as if to ask, Up?

You scoop him up into your arms and sit back down on the boulder. “Think your daddy’s gonna have a good time on his own?” You scratch his ears, his eyelids drooping into inky semicircles at your actions. You soften. “You’re cute. No wonder he likes you.”

You get the feeling he doesn’t like anyone else as much.

 --

It’s well and truly dark when the Mandalorian comes back.

The evening creatures have started up their symphony to welcome the night, a gentle accompaniment to the rustling of the leaves and the faint, distant gush of water. The baby slept in your lap for a bit as you battled your own stupor, and he woke up with an energetic babble to continue exploring the small patch of forested, open space the Mandalorian landed you in.

He doesn’t scare you as much when he comes back. Maybe it’s the way he walks, a little less battle-ready and a little more eased, or because you’ve gotten past that image of him just being some steel-plated bounty hunter. Either way, you greet him with a smile.

“Okay?”

He nods, one short dip of his head. “Thank you. For taking care of him.” He turns to watch the baby attempt to catch something that… most probably isn’t there. “I’ve secured the area. Scanner says there’s no one here but us for another thousand mile radius.”

“That’s good to know.” You rise to your feet. “Ready to head back?”

“Actually,” he starts, the word dragging slow and easy, “I was thinking we could head back tomorrow.”

Well. That certainly surprises you.

“It’s… nice here,” he admits quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to say it. But you understand. Sitting in silence here in one of the less populated parts of Endor has been therapeutic for your soul. You didn’t realize how hectic your daily life back home truly was: fast-paced, requiring you to be two steps ahead to survive. Here, you’re able to be free from the need to stay on your toes, even just for a moment. Maybe the baby’s carefree energy is contagious, but being here, alone with him, has already done wonders for the invisible weight on your shoulders.

“It is,” you agree. One contemplative inhale; two more. Should you ask? Maybe you shouldn’t.

Ah, fuck it.

“So… since we’re staying one night,” you swallow, “do you want to, maybe, watch the suns rise?”

Mando looks at you. At least, you think he does. The hard lines of his helmet make you feel that his personality is the same way: sharp, cutting—he’s probably the type of guy who always looks people in the eye. You imagine he’s looking straight into yours. He stays like this, still as a statue, while you make it a point not to buckle from the attention. You wish you knew what he was thinking, how he was looking at you. Just to know if you’ve missed the mark and suggested something downright preposterous.

“Yeah.” His shoulders relax after an excruciating, lengthy moment. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

You breathe out a soundless sigh of relief, wind you didn’t realize you were holding gushing out of your lungs, and you beam weakly at him. “Okay. Great.”

“Get in the ship. We can rest a bit, get up in time for the suns to rise over the horizon. Then I can take you home.”

Ah. Home. Something inside you sinks at the thought as you climb into the cockpit, pulling you back to the harsh reality that your life is. Surviving. Working. It’s not that you don’t love what you do, it’s just… this is such a welcome reprieve. You aren’t exactly ready for it to end, even though this trip wasn’t meant for you at all.

At least both of you are on the same page.

You and Mando make camp on a relatively open field on a ridge that overlooks Endor’s teeming lush vegetation. Not much is different here, it’s still trees and plants and earth, but with the baby’s giant bug eyes full of wonder and zeal, it’s as if you’ve landed somewhere else.

A small fire crackles to life, and Mando throws a branch into the flickering flames. He settles back on his haunches and you sit cross-legged next to him.

There’s really just. Something about him. Something that intrigues you, pulls you in just enough, not too close to the fortress he’s built for himself but still, close enough for you to want to know more. You have questions. Still, so many. You gaze at the chrome visor, the fire’s reflection dancing off it in steady flickers.

Steady. Controlled. The possibility of bursting into a large, engulfing wildfire ever-present. You wonder if that’s him—if the Mandalorian is like fire.

“You should get some sleep,” he says after a while, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the peace that blankets both of you. “You look tired.”

Right on cue, you stifle a yawn. You couldn’t exactly take a nap and watch over the baby, and it’s beginning to take its toll on you. “What about you? You gonna sleep?”

“Maybe.”

Silence. The embers glow within the logs, a pretty, warm orange that makes you vaguely remember the suns you’ve seen before on other star systems. It coaxes you into a state of relaxation, your heartbeat slowing and your eyelids growing heavy. The walls you put up for yourself crumble just the slightest as you let your guard down. Just a little. Perhaps the fire has the same effect on him. What are the odds of him humoring you with another answer?

“Do you… sleep with it on?”

One second drags into many more. The fire crackles. The crickets chirp. The baby gurgles.

“Mostly.”

You don’t pry further. There it is again, crawling up your gut, that mild feeling of secondhand guilt coupled with a little secondhand sadness. And just very steadily creeping in at the edges—the inexplicable need to give him a taste of something he’s probably haven’t had in a long time.

“I can sleep out here. With the baby. You can sleep in the ship, so you can…” The tail end of your statement goes unfinished, fading out into just another crackle of the fire.

But he understands. There’s a weight in this silence this time, pulled with gratitude and perhaps a little awe. You don’t consider yourself a believer in the Force, but. You can feel the wave of subtle relief that radiates from him. Like… like no one’s asked before, and he’s too honorable to ask for something like some time to himself.

“Thank you.”

Your chin dips forward, the same time you feel your cheeks warming—from the fire or something else entirely. You don’t exactly want to name it. “You’re welcome.”

A pause. “Will you… be okay?”

“Tough girl like me?” You give him a sleepy half-smile. “I’ll manage.”

You think you’ve just gotten used to him, acclimatized to the way he keeps you at arm’s length simultaneously trying to maintain a certain degree of chivalry—but what you think you know of him is tossed completely out the window when he stands and pats you on the shoulder.

It’s brief. Just a second, nothing more; casual in itself yet somehow it holds the weight of a star system. To you, at least. The Mandalorian are warriors. They should not know softness… but they do. This one does.

He retreats into the safety of the Razor Crest, his silhouette fading into nothing more than a shiny glint, but the mystery of him shines brighter in your mind’s eye than ever before.

∎∎∎∎∎∎

“Mando. Hey, Mando. I can call you that, right?”

You bounce the baby on your hip, significantly more confident in your movements than you were yesterday. He’s taken a liking to you, you think. He lights up with giggles when you raise the pitch of your voice and scrunch up your nose to amuse him. You can see why the Mandalorian likes him.

You’re quickly growing fond of the little womp rat too.

The Mandalorian straightens. He looks at you in question. You don’t know how you can tell—you just do.

“Suns’re about to rise. Stop checking that thing and let’s sit down.”

He taps his vambrace a couple more times before his arm drops to his side. “Habit. Don’t come crying for help if there’s an ambush we don’t know about.”

You roll your eyes, scratching the baby’s whiskery forehead. “Sit. C’mon.”

You plop onto the ground for emphasis, and the Mandalorian follows in a far more bulky, yet somehow graceful, manner beside you. Endor is still colored a pale indigo, the first few rays of sunlight barely peeking out from the horizon.

You’ll be quiet this time, you promise yourself. No more prying questions, no more trying to wheedle information out of him. Just peace and quiet, a change of pace from the brutal noise of bounty hunting he’s used to.

“I actually… shouldn’t have done. What I did.”

You wait for him to continue; you get the feeling he’s talking more for his benefit than for yours. He’s not trying to fill the void with needless chatter. This is different.

“Picking you up and taking you away from your job. It was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

You shrug. Truthfully, you don’t mind as much as he thinks you do. “I needed a change of scenery. I’m guessing you did too.”

“I did.” He straightens. “But. Still.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Now, you count the seconds until he starts speaking, just to keep your mind from initiating the conversation. You get the idea that if you start talking, asking more questions, saying random things you notice about the changing color of the sky, whatever spell he seems to be under—being freer in his words, the beskar fortress opening just a tiny crack for you—will be broken.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight—

Eight whole seconds.

“I’m not even supposed to be doing this. Staying in one place for too long is… dangerous.”

“For you, or the kid?”

“Both of us.”

“Just a few more minutes,” you encourage lightly. “Until we see the suns completely.”

And there it is, that tip of the strong lines of his helmet dipping low, a finality in the gesture that renders you mute. An acknowledgment. Silence.

Golden beams of light begin to bleed over the tops of the terrain, the trees turning from a shadowed teal to a full forest green. But… slowly. You don’t realize how slow sunrises are until you’re actually watching one. The giant star inches its way up over the sleepy Forest Moon, its second half just barely noticeable and following suit. It’s kind of fun to try and figure out where one sun stops and the other begins.

“It’s been a while,” Mando starts, voice pleasantly low and modulated and throwing you for a loop completely, “since I… last watched a sunrise.”

You pick at the wool covering the baby. “Really? When was the last time?” You bounce the kid to keep him from fidgeting in your lap, a constant rhythm to lull him into a tranquil disposition.

Mando leans back against both his arms, head going to one side in thought. “I was a foundling. I can’t remember much of it—just the feeling. How warm the sun was. Everywhere. It was… it was blinding. I think.”

You gaze at him. The threat of heaviness hangs between you, and you attempt to keep an air of lighthearted conversation before it can drag you down into a pit you’re not quite ready to jump into. “And now? Too many bounties to hunt?”

He turns his gaze to the horizon. “Something like that.”

The morning breeze caresses the tendrils of your hair, fanning out behind you while the baby reaches in vain to capture a tiny insect that flies past.

Stars. Something in his answer shakes you. Not an earth-splitting, roaring kind of shake—it’s a quiet rumble, enough to rouse one who was sleeping. Enough for one to go, “What was that?” and wonder if what they felt was real.

He’s a bounty hunter. He shouldn’t be sitting here, with you—with a kid, for Maker’s sake—watching a sunrise on Endor. All beskar, all tough, he probably fought tooth and nail to survive. He’s probably killed more people than you’ve seen at the shop. His silence is probably calculating after years of hunting. Distrustful of strangers, always strategically two steps ahead. For him, it’s probably killed or be killed. That’s probably second nature, hell, first instinct maybe, for him. Probable. Not fact. Still—you get the feeling you’re not quite off the mark.

But for him to mention the last time he saw a sunrise.

He’s scary. Stoic, emotionless, intimidating…

But he was someone before he put his armor on.

Metal maketh a Mandalorian. But also, not really. Of course there’s more to it. But it’s all you and most see him as: just some metal bounty hunter chasing coin. It’s easy to forget there’s a man underneath, warm and alive and likely just as human. Does he allow a smile underneath his helmet? Does he hold his laugh back, does he let his tears fall freely?

And then somehow, gazing absently at the lazily rising suns, its warmth spilling over the horizon, something guts you. A realization. One not so outrightly jarring, but it hits you with surprising force nonetheless. It wriggles its way to the tip of your tongue, somewhere between a question and a statement that you fight to withhold.

You don’t doubt that he’s seen the sun rise. Has he taken the time out to sit here, like this, and watch? Probably not. But you don’t doubt he’s seen it.

You doubt that he’s seen it since he swore the oath.

The baby brings you back to the present, his gentle grip on your forearm rousing you from your deep thought. You glance at him, and then to the Mandalorian beside you. He’s absolutely set in his seat, still and silent like he always is. You wonder if he’s always been like that. Or if without the helmet, it’s a different story.

You have too much respect for him—fear, yes, but mostly respect—to ask him to take it off with you next to him. So instead, you scoot gingerly, careful not to jostle the baby too much, until you’re sitting with your backs pressed together.

You feel the slightest shift of metal against your hair as the Mandalorian turns his head partially to the side. A silent question.

You’re nervous. You don’t know why the tiny action has your heart thumping. Your fingers pick at the wool once more. When you speak, your voice is small. “I… you can—um, you can. Take off your helmet. I won’t look. Promise.”

The wind whistles in your ears, and you wonder if it carried your voice away. Or if you’ve just insulted him. Oh, Maker, why do you have to be so fucking impulsive—

“The suns are rising here. On this side.”

“I-I know,” you trip, “but you know. Endor. Binary star system, all that. But we’re on the Forest Moon, right? So—so I’ve heard stories that—”

“You want to watch the suns rise.”

You huff, a little exasperated. What exactly are you frustrated about? That he’s deflecting so much? That you’re stammering every two seconds? That you’re trying to do something nice but you feel it’s going completely over his stupid metal head?

You exhale and try again. Sure enough, climbing inch by inch, another celestial body begins to rise up into your eyeline. “They say Endor—the planet, I mean—sometimes acts like a second sun.”

“Endor has two suns.”

Maybe you’re crazy, but you swear you hear a smile somewhere through that warped voice filter.

“I mean—” your cheeks are heating up now, “they say you can watch the suns rise on both sides if you’re on its moons. But one of them’s not really the sun. Duh. Endor just. Reflects the light, so it looks like the sun. Or-or something like that.”

“And you see it?”

“Right now? I do.” You bite your bottom lip, briefly debating if you should vocalize what you’ve been thinking just now. “I just… have you ever seen a sunrise? Without that thing on?”

Oh, you’ve done it now. If you were toeing the line before, now you just straight up cross it, ignoring any and all boundaries. Maker, you’ve literally just met him. But here you are, running your mouth and doing uncharacteristic things.

But he’s surprised you multiple times too. His kid. His awkward softness. Or at least, his willingness to try for it.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I-I wasn’t thinking, and—”

Something thunks against the hard earth. A fraction of a tilt of your head to the side, and a brief glint of metal twinkles out of the corner of your eye.

You’ve never straightened so fast.

Your heart continues to thump, a staccato that has your nerves skyrocketing. Don’t look. He’s trusting you. Don’t look.

You never expected the steel fortress to crack even just a little. But here, right now, he’s opened a fucking gate with you.

You’re too afraid to even speak right now, afraid that it will burst whatever precious moment you two are both sharing and experiencing separately. You feel the Mandalorian inhale and then exhale, equally long and deep, as he sags against you.

Tired. Relieved. Heavy. Eased.

Unmodulated.

Vulnerable.

After a few moments your taut muscles begin to loosen and you nestle as much as you can into the armor on his back. His head gently bumps against yours, and you stiffen.

The baby coos in your arms. You relax minutely.

You spend seconds, minutes, possibly even hours sitting back-to-back with the Mandalorian in companionable silence. Endor isn’t as blinding as its suns are, but it’s still incredibly pretty to watch its reflected light crawl over the horizon. You sit and watch until the light spreads over the entirety of the Forest Moon, until your shadows slowly disappear, in awe of the absolute tranquility of it all. It just feels right, even with his beskar pressed against your back and the baby babbling from time to time. It shouldn’t, but it does, and your heart fills with warmth that spreads through your veins, like the sun’s a beacon of warm feelings and you’ve just absorbed it all. You close your eyes. And you commit this moment—this singular, uninterrupted moment that’s forever yours—to memory.

“This is nice,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he quietly agrees, “it is.”

∎∎∎∎∎∎

It kind of really fucking breaks your heart when you exit the Razor Crest and enter the shop with a bag full of credits.

Of course it had to end. What were you thinking? That somehow, the Mandalorian was going to offer you to stay? What would you even do?

After you and Mando shared such an intimate (at the same time, not) moment together, it’s kind of… strange to be back where you started. In the shop. A good distance apart.

About to say goodbye.

“Thank you,” he says, his modulated voice ringing familiar and foreign at the same time.

“My pleasure.”

Awkward. It’s not strained, but… it’s off, considering this morning. The intimacy of such an innocent moment. Do you… hug? Do Mandalorians hug?

He glances at the ship. “I should get going.”

“Your ship’s all good. I, uh, checked once we landed.”

“Thank you.”

Gratitude. Always, with him. Your cheeks burn.

He turns to walk up the ramp, and before you can stop yourself your mouth opens before your mind can protest.

“Hey Mando—”

He stops, turns to face you. That piercing gaze. You just know it. You smile, hoping he smiles under his helmet. You really, really hope he’s smiling under there.

“Be safe.”

He waits a beat. Then another. And then—

“You too.”

Your heart drops, just a little, but you keep your smile on your face and your eyes trained on the Crest as the engines power up. And then he’s off, taking his kid with him along with the memory of his brief period of respite with you.

Maybe another day, when the last thing you’d think you’d be doing is holding a little baby ball of green wrapped in scratchy brown wool, will be the day he comes back.

The chances of that are slim. But still, you’ll take your chances.

You like those odds.

[anime-alyssa]

also on ao3. 

please consider donating to my ko-fi if you enjoy this story - it would really help me a lot this week (also i’m late on rent)

be’jetii masterlist

f o u r.

“Father no!” You screamed, being pulled onto the Falcon by Leia. You watched Vader strike him down, right in the chest as Obi Wan Kenobi became one with the Force. You felt it stab you through the heart, as if a piece of you had been ripped out. Screaming, thats all you did. Luke was too, but you - you were trembling.

Your father was gone - the only parent you ever knew.

Luke wrapped his arms around you and held you to him. You felt calmer instantly, as you always did when you were around Luke. But there was still pain. Anger. Hurt. Those emotions were taking over your body and your being as the Falcon sped away towards the Rebel base on Dantooine.

“I told him not to go - I told him not to do it. I told him - ” you stuttered out.

“None of it is your fault. It’s Vaders.” Leia said to you comfortingly, placing a hand on your arm to soothe you.

The Force had betrayed you - everything you knew had betrayed you. It took him from you. Your mind flashed to the future, to Luke leaving you on Tattooine. Tears streamed down your face and you screamed as he took off, another piece of you feeling like it was getting ripped out of you -

You woke with a gasp, sweat forming down your body. You panted - you hadn’t had those dreams in ages. And yet all of a sudden, you had relived it all. What was going on? A little coo from the foot of your bed snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked to see the kid sitting there, watching you.

“Hey little guy.” you breathed out, still shaken up.

“Morning.” the Mandalorian said in the doorway. You jumped, not even noticing him there. Did he see you get up - oh god did you scream in your sleep? If you did, he didn’t say anything and kept moving on with the point of his presence. “The storm has stopped. I’ve dug your speeder out from under the sand. There was some damage to my ship, but I got it fixed. Yours…” he trailed off.

That made you jump out of bed, shorts and tank top only and run past him, out of your door. What you saw was not what you wanted to see. Your ship was decimated in the storm, both engines flown off god knows where and parts scattered around. His was in better shape, but yours… you had nothing. How were you supposed to get to Chandrilla now?

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” you groaned as you walked up to it. The sand burned the bottoms of your feet but you didn’t care - you were so upset over your ship being torn apart. You’d have to rebuild the whole damn ship - probably sell your speeder to afford the parts. Even worse, you’d need Han and Chewbacca’s help. “This is gonna take months to fix. God dammit, how am I gonna get to Chandrilla to get the parts…”

You knew the Mandalorian could give less of a shit about you and your ship. The storm was over, which meant he could leave. You had no clue if he was still planning on taking you with him, but he could leave. You heard a modulated sigh behind you.

“Need to pick up a quarry on Chandrilla. Can give you a lift if you want… if you can watch the kid for me.” he proposed. You turned around to face the Mandalorian, in shock.

“What are you gonna do, throw me in carbonite afterwards?” you asked him slowly. Surely, he couldn’t be serious? He was threatening to throw you in the chamber for the past 48 hours and now all of a sudden he was going to be nice to you? In return for watching the kid.

“No - I changed my mind. I can bring you to Chandrilla and back if you can watch the kid. I… I hate bringing him with me. He shouldn’t have to see it.” the Mandalorian said to you. You guessed that was fair enough. Plus the kid was quite cute and Ben would have someone to play with.

“Fine… thank you.” you said to him.

“We leave in thirty.” he said, walking off to his ship. His shoulder bumped yours ever so slightly as he walked by. You watched him enter the ship, the kid trailing behind him. Going back into your house, you changed quickly, put your lightsaber under your tunic and got together credits and things you would need, quickly booting up your holo to leave a message for Leia or Han. Or at least you hoped you’d leave a message - Leia picked up. You could feel her anger radiating through the picture and for a quick second, you saw fear.

“Where the hell have you been?! Han and I have been trying to contact you for two days now and nothing - ” she yelled. She yelled so loudly at you that the Mandalorian probably heard her from your ship.

“Sandstorm. Listen, I’m coming to Chandrilla. Have someone dropping me off, my ship needs parts and I need to drag Han into helping me fix it. I’ll be around for a few days, though. Probably.” you told her.

“Han isn’t around right now - wait someone is dropping you off? Kenobi what the hell have you done - ” Leia accused, making you gasp.

“Why do you always assume I’ve done something?” you asked, offended. God you sounded like Han for a minute.

“Because I know you too well. But fine, whoever it is can drop you off at your usual spot.” she retorted with a sigh.

“Thank you. Also, I have to babysit a kid and he’s coming with me and things are a bit more complicated than that and you might kill me.” you added. Leia’s expression changed to shock and back to anger slightly and you knew that you needed to hang up and cut it short. Plus, you saw the Mandalorian now staring at you from the doorway.

“You what - ” You knew that you were probably going to see death when you first landed, but you cut her off. You’d deal with Leia once you landed.

“GottagobyeLeia!” you said in a rush, hanging up and cutting the conversation short, shoving the pad into your bag. He was watching you curiously, you could tell as you turned to face him. “Eavesdropping isn’t nice, you know.” you said to him.

“Who was that?” he asked, protectively.

“A friend. Trustworthy.” you told him. He seemed unconvinced, but went with it anyways. Damn Mandalorian and his trust issues.  

“Time to go.” he said to you. You followed him out of the house, making sure to lock it up before following him up his ship. The kid watched you with light eyes as you put your bag down and the hangar door closed - thrilled that someone else was going on an adventure with him.

The Mandalorian actually brought the kid up to the cockpit with him and you followed, sitting in the co-pilots chair as the kid sat in his little… booster seat? That’s what it looked like to you, anyway. In silence, the Mandalorian prepared you for take off. He set the course, calculated the jump and you were off. It was silent for the first bit of the ride - you knew it wasn’t going to take much more than 30 minutes in hyperspace to get to Chandrilla. But you needed to tell him how it would go once you landed - that he needed to listen to you.

“When we get to Chandrilla, you need to go to these coordinates.” you said, flashing him the data on your holo quickly. His helmet tilted, a sign that you now have started to understand as curiosity and confusion. It was how he communicated things he was unsure of.

“This isn’t the docking bay.” he commented.

“No, it’s not. You can move to one when you drop us off, but I need to go here. They’re going to question you over the comms - let me do the talking. I’ll go off with the kid, and you can go get your quarry.” you said to him.

“I will bring the kid off and meet this person. I don’t know who they are and you won’t tell me.” he said back to you sharply.

“I told you that you can trust her. You’ll see when we get there.” That and if you were holding the kid there was less of a chance of Leia strangling you on sight, but you didn’t want to tell him that. He went silent and all that filled the cockpit was the sounds of hyperspace and the kid chewing on some silver ball of his.

Soon enough, the console made the sounds to come out of hyperspace. You leaned back in your chair as the ship fell out, Chandrilla appearing before you. He plugged in the coordinates you gave him and went down into the planets atmosphere. The guard ships were on the side of the ship in an instant as soon as you got closer to Leia’s house.

“What the hell - ” he started, letting the communication through. You stood up and went over to the console.

“This is private territory - state your name and your business.” one of the pilots said. The Mandalorian snapped his attention to you in annoyance, as you expected but you took over.

“What the fuck is this - ” the Mandalorian started to fight back but you cut him off, responding.

“Hey Adian, it’s Kenobi. I got a ride, she knows I’m coming.” you said to the voice.

“Oh, hey there Kenobi! You’re all set for landing, she’s waiting for you. She looks a little pissed, though.” Adian, the pilot, said to you. You let out a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I’m in for it. Thanks, bud.” you said, turning off the communication and sitting down.

“Kenobi?” he asked, aggravation all over his tone.

“It’s my last name - just fly the damn ship and park on the pad.” you said to him. He sighed and listened to you, approaching the senator’s house on the hills. “God damn it, she is waiting for me.” you groaned.

“Who?” he asked.

“Just hold the kid, alright?” you said, climbing down from the cockpit as he landed. You heard him quickly following you, complaining to the kid about how you were acting as you grabbed your bag and he opened the hangar door.

Leia Organa-Solo was not a force to be reckoned with, and you knew that. But here you were, standing in front of a very pissed Senator. You felt it through the force and saw it on her face as you stepped down the hangar and approached her.

“Don’t kill me there’s a kid - ” a slap to your face echoed across the clearing as you held your hand up to your cheek. “Ow!” you complained afterwards. Okay, so you supposed you deserved that a least a little.

“You’re lucky I didn’t stun you into the next year, you fucking - ” she stopped short as you could feel a presence behind you. The Mandalorian had come off the ship with the child, you presumed. “Hello there.” her tone changed almost immediately seeing the beskar clad man come up next to you, the child cooing the entire time.

“Leia, this is the Mandalorian. Mandalorian, this is Senator Leia Organa-Solo. My friend.” you introduced them, putting emphasis on the friend part for both the Mandalorian and Leia.

“Good to meet you, Senator.” he said, very politely. You had never heard him be this nice in the entire time that you have known him so you had to try and hide the shock on your face.

“Likewise. Thank you for dropping her off, I know she can be a lot to handle.” Leia looked over at you narrowly with that last remark. “Is this the Child you mentioned?” she asked, looking over at the kid in the Mandalorian’s arms.

“Yes. Ben’s got a playmate for a few days while he tracks down a quarry somewhere on the planet.” you said to her. The Mandalorian whipped his helmet over to you, angry.

“A senator - ” The Mandalorian started to get defensive upon you telling his big secret to a Senator, but you cut him off.

“She’s friends with me and married to Han Solo, relax. She’s seen it all.” you said, turning around and holding your arms out for the kid, him jumping into your arms.

“I wish you could leave your ship here, but I think you understand why it can’t stay. I’ll let the guards know that when you come back to pick him up, you are welcome.” Leia said.

“Of course. I… thank you, Senator.” You almost passed out right then and there - he said thank you? After he made such a big fucking deal -

“Please, just Leia.” she replied. The Mandalorian took the kid’s hand in his and looked at him before he took his leave.

“Behave.” he told the kid. He cooed up and gargled at him as he left, walking back to his ship and promptly leaving.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” Leia said to you sternly, still mad at you. You watched the ship take off before turning to go towards the house, Ben now calling for you.

“I know, I know.” you told her as she took your arm and ushered the both of you inside.

She was going to kill you, probably.

taglist: @waiting-for-motivation @domino-oh-damn @theocatkov @killtherandomness @mrsparknuts @wolf-lover74 @the-sparkism @jedi-dreea @buckysalefty

[hkxytech]

Allen-Bradley 1734-OE4C Analog Current Output Module

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[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 11

Details, details, details. For someone looking like a pro-wrestler, complete with the dress-up gimmick, Jason Todd - the Red Ghost - turned out to be a very good listener and paid attention to details. He listened quietly as Oracle put out the proverbial lay of the land.

"So to make it clear and recorded redundantly, Talon was an enforcer with the Court of Owls; supposedly the entity that controlled all of Gotham, consisting of the 'builders' of Gotham as well as the 'money' that built Gotham. This guy Bane just out of the blue came to Gotham and killed the members of the Court and Talon's teammates. And now he claimed to be Dr Thomas Wayne's son, and therefore Bruce Wayne's half-brother." Jason recited. "Are the Waynes a member of the Court of Owls?"

"Not according to the database Talon gave us." Oracle replied. "Evidently, the Court had... harassed them to join, but they have repeatedly refused. And by 'repeatedly' I mean over like, three generations of Waynes."

"Yeah, I didn't think so, either. Talia wouldn't have... well, associated herself with Bruce Wayne, otherwise." Jason agreed. "Ra's didn't like to share control with a random group of people who have assassins as doormen. The public disruptions would have been too overwhelming."

"So the Waynes have made an actual tangible alliance with the Al Ghuls, I presume..." Tim commented. "Corporate-wise, the Al Ghuls owned almost half of Gotham, while the other half belonged to the Waynes. Yet they were in different lines of businesses that if the two families were to unite by means of - say, marriage - it would definitely fit the description of a monopoly."

"You're a corporate goon, aren't you?" Jason remarked. Tim preened a little.

"Kind of. I run a much-smaller family business." he admitted.

"I'm... not sure if I should consider it cool or horrific." Jason commented. "What's the business line?"

"Generic meds." Tim replied, and then stopped himself. There were a mere handful of generic medication companies in Gotham, and he might have given away his own identity.

"Ah, cool, then. Generic meds for poor people? Did you leech off the prices?" Still, Jason's disarming smirk and seemingly innocent questions were too inviting to not be answered.

"Of course not! I'm a hero, aren't I?" Tim replied coyly. Jason seemed satisfied with the answer.

"Cool, then. Anyway, to answer your question, yes, there were business deals between the Al Ghuls with the Waynes that are limited to the form of businesses either parties would do. And yes, you're right. If or when Bruce Wayne passed without any other heirs, Damian would own both conglomerations and would have been a form of monopoly. There were... contingency plans to avoid that." Jason elaborated. "But if Bane is a son of Thomas Wayne, he would have inherited half of the Wayne Enterprises, regardless."

"I sincerely hoped that Bane was not Ra's 'contingency plan'," Oracle intoned.

"I've never heard of his name until now." Jason clarified. "And I know all of Ra's associates and agents. Visible or otherwise. And Talia's. But for the issue with the Court... you people think that the Waynes bankrolled Bane to eliminate the Court of Owls."

"We suspect. We haven't found evidence to support or deny it." Oracle said. "You're quick."

"I'm not slow just because I came from Crime Alley, thanks." Jason retorted. "And I'm starting to realize... if I - on behalf of Damian - am staying at the Wayne Manor, I might be able to look for evidence thereof."

"Really quick, I wasn't even going to suggest that yet," Oracle replied glibly.

"And if they were innocent - because of course, we all believe in the 'Innocent 'til Proven Guilty' adage - then you can ally with the Waynes to indict and/or remove Bane out of the equation." Jason continued.

Well, Tim was impressed.

"That's it, in a nutshell."

"I hope you have a contingency plan in case your plan goes sideways..." Jason sighed.

"...you technically have nothing to lose," Tim assured him. "You'll have an escape, where you can bring Damian to a place that is both reinforced and semi-publicly visible; you'll have the Birds of Prey as your backup. And if - in a scenario where Bruce Wayne did not accept Damian, you'll still be welcomed here."

"Why? Just because I'm a Gothamite or what?" Jason challenged.

"Because..." Tim sighed. "Okay, look. I see it more as for Damian's sake, right? If he's accepted, and you don't want to help us, that's fine. We'll figure out something else. But if he's... denied his father..." he shook his head, pushing out the images of himself as a 12-year-old who'd just received the news of his parents' death. "...I know what it's like to lose a parent through violent means, alright. I don't... I'd rather Damian not take the path I took."

Jason's smile looked more like a snarl. "Now that's noble, Stray. You don't want Damian to be a thief like you, but you forgot who you're talking to. I grew up here, in Crime Alley, until my mom died. My dad was gone years before. I lived on the streets, had a box for a bed for weeks. That's the kind of life you won't want a ten-year-old to have to face."

Tim chuckled uneasily. "Okay, that's fair. But considering he's the only heir of the Algol Enterprises, I doubt he'll end up on the streets, am I wrong? Not to be insensitive, but there's a reason why Talia chose you to take care of him, and that wouldn't be the muscles or the pretty face."

That was a logical explanation, so Tim thought, but he could swear that Jason was blushing - even under the tanned skin. He shook his head lightly, and said, "No, I'm also his legal guardian unless his biological father files for custody; and am in charge of the Algol Enterprises," He scowled lightly. "...in spite of the fact that I don't like the corporate world in general. Damian is actually more than smart enough to supervise the companies, but he is still a minor. His signatures should always be accompanied by mine."

"Good system," Oracle commented. "I don't see you as someone easily persuaded if you don't believe in the matter."

"I believe in fairness and assisting those in need, not feeding those in power," Jason muttered. Then sighed. "For now, though, I'll need your help to fend off the League of Shadows. There won't be any steps taken toward your goal if Damian is assassinated."

"That, I believe, I can help. It's not gonna be pretty, but..." Dick remarked, stepping out of the bedrooms. "Boy's sleeping like a log. I mean, literally like a log: on his back, straight-backed and all." He added when Jason's eyes found his.

"You know how to contact your... uh... friends?" Tim tried, cringing, knowing how Barbara felt for violence.

"You thinking about rising the other talons?" Barbara must be cringing, too.

"Unless you can think of utilizing Superman or something, I don't see any other way..." Dick argued.

"Wait," an epiphany suddenly hit Tim. "I... hold up, let me think..." he raised a hand, stopping the questions he knew would be coming out of both Jason and Dick's mouths. A half a minute later, it hit him in the full picture. "Wasn't Green Arrow trained by the League of Assassins, too?"

"Oliver Queen, you mean. Yes, he was." Jason confirmed. "Funny dude, all sass and pretending to be no-brain. Shiva trained him--" Jason suddenly stopped.

"Does he know you?" Tim asked.

"He should... he got in just about a while after I did. I'd trained with him before Talia sent me training elsewhere..." Jason replied, and then his face brightened. "You scary-scheming little shit..."

"Green Arrow opted to use his skills as a hero, protecting those who can't protect himself. I know he's good - a little unfocused in a hand-to-hand and more reliant on his bow and arrows, but he's good." Tim pointed out. "And he has his own group of 'family' - all fighters for good. I'm sure he'll be happy to help us." he hinted to Oracle, deliberately pointing to Oracle as the decision-maker of the 'group'. With the way Dick was glaring at him, Tim knew that he was following Tim's hints - and not mentioning that Tim could have asked aunt Dinah for Oliver Queen's help. Dinah has been dating him for a good long while, after all.

"I'll put out feelers," Barbara stated. "Jason, do you have inklings or list on who we might want to chase after? You mentioned they're covert, and about half of the identity of people rounded up by the GCPD earlier were locals."

Jason shrugged helplessly. "They don't usually trust digital stuff for this... membership thingy. Not especially for foot soldiers."

"I think I can figure out how to sift them out..." Tim commented, ideas after ideas churning through his mind. "Want me to come over and powwow, O?"

"Yes, sure. That'll be great." Oracle replied, even with the metallic voice modulator, Tim could sense the relief.

"Okay, you wanna come with?" he asked Dick.

Dick shook his head. "Not that I'm guarding you or anything, 'cause I'm sure you can figure out how to get out without me noticing, anyway. But I'm... I'd prefer if the boy wakes up, he'll still see me, you know? So he's convinced that he's not... being abandoned or anything."

"That's sweet, but I agree. Do you mind, Jason?"

"Having another body to stand guard? Not at all. I'll need to shut my eyes for a few, anyway." Jason replied with a small smirk. "Would've been nice to shut-eye with a warm body next to me, but hey, beggars can't be choosers," he added blithely just as Tim got up and walked away.

Tim paused, turned, and blew him a kiss. Because that's what mama Selina said you should do when someone openly flirted with you if you also want to flirt with said someone. Jason's smirk just got bigger but didn't give any more reaction.

Tim continued his exit, his mind partially mapping out his plan to clean out the League of Assassins from Gotham; the other part mapping out his plan on to figure out if Jason was as compatible as he suspected.

[mxndoscyarika]

Home (Mando x female!Reader)

Requested by @karnita-mexicana: “Since requests are open what would you think of a padame and anakin type of relationship with mando and the reader where the reader is the queen of a planet and they have a secret relationship going on and it’s super fluffy 🥺👉🏾👈🏾”

Author’s note: It’s finally done! Sorry this took so long, I wanted to make sure I did it justice. Enjoy!

Summary: After weeks of anxiety, you return home to find a new addition to your life.

Warnings: none

Like my writing? Here’s my masterlist.

The Razor Crest was silent as it approached the planet of Garamonde, a planet with lush green forests spattered with some of the most advanced cities in the system. As they entered the atmosphere, Mando picked up the child and placed him on his lap. “You ready to meet someone very special, ad’ika?”

Large dark eyes looked up at him curiously.

“You better behave once we get down there,” he teased. “Ok?”

The child smiled and let out a coo.

———————————————————————

“The mines will cease operation for the time being,” you declared, seated in your throne. “It’s no longer safe for the workers. Many jobs in the development sectors will open as we continue to develop more energy efficient devices; we’ll transfer them as appropriate.”

In front of you stood royal advisors, each carrying datapads with reports on various sectors. Although they were capable of handling everything with little input from their queen, you had made it a point during your time as ruler to remain as involved as possible.

The most recent problem seemed to be the state of Garamonde’s mines. The increased snow over the recent winter meant much more snowmelt once the weather warmed up. Mines set up near the base of the mountains were at risk of being covered by mudslides and collapsing.

“But our exports-”

“Will be fine,” you reassured. “We have much more to offer than metal, and we have a duty to protect and support all workers. This is not up for debate.”

“Yes, your majesty,” they all said in unison, bowing.

Standing up, you said, “Well I guess that settles things. You’re all dismissed.”

Your gown of purple and gold flowed behind you as you strode down the hall, guards trailing slowly as usual. You never quite understood why you needed protection in your own palace.

“Your majesty!” a voice called out. You turned around to see it was Javonor Talbri, one of the advisors who’d brought up an issue with taxation. “I have the reports you wanted on this datapad. Would you like me to give them to you now, or-”

“Leave those in my study,” you quipped, continuing to walk once he caught up. Just a few more feet, and you’d be free of all the formalities and gowns “I’ll go over them later.”

“O-of course, your majesty,” Talbri replied, gripping the tablet tightly.

“I’ll be sure to have a look soon,” you said absentmindedly, entering your chambers. Closing the door on him, you finished, “For now, I have other things to attend to.”

“Of course, your majesty! Forgive any pressure I may have put upon you. I simply just-”

Sighing, you pressed a button on the control pad by the door, which blocked any sound from entering your room. Talbri was dedicated and competent, but he never shut up.

The first thing that came off was the large pin holding together your hair and jeweled headpiece. Even after years of wearing heavy headpieces and hairstyles, you never quite got used to them. At least, not enough for them to be comfortable.

You then changed into some soft pants and a long-sleeved top, both made from stretchy but durable fabric. Stiff heeled shoes were exchanged for worn-in boots with quiet soles. Digging through your wardrobe, you found your favorite cloak, a remnant of a visit to Nevarro. Well, before all the commotion began. Thankfully, it had died down since then.

In less than half of an hour, you were standing by a blue lake. Trees surrounded you, towering high and providing shade for the warm day. Spots of light littered the forest floor, much like how the buildings in the kingdom glittered during sunset. It was peaceful, but something was missing.

You inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, trying to calm the nagging in the back of your mind. Where was he? Did he make it out of Nevarro?

The snap of a twig behind you sends your reaching for your blaster, pointing it in the direction the sound came from. This forest wasn’t known for harboring dangerous creatures, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Hey hey hey don’t shoot, it’s me!” a modulated voice shouts. It’s Mando, and he’s got one hand flung out, the other occupied with a bundled up...blanket?

Letting your arm drop, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and placed your blaster back in its holster. You took him in, as if the mandalorian standing there could’ve been a figment of your imagination.

Fallen leaves and twigs crunched under your feet as you ran into the mandalorian’s arms, nestling your face against his neck. He still smelled like leather and the metal of the Razor Crest. The only difference was that he had new armor. Yes, finally, your Mando had come home. It was your Din. You pulled away. “I should shoot you for not sending a message to me for the past three months. Where have you been?”

“I’m sorry, I had some business to take care of,” he replied, holding you close. Well, as close as he could with the child on his other arm.

“You didn’t come home,” you murmured, placing a hand on the side of his helmet, where his cheek would be. “I was so worried. I flew all the way out here and waited for you. You never came.”

“I-I know,” he said, voice strained. “It’s a long story.” The bundle in his arms squirmed a little, drawing his attention back to it. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, cyar’ika.”

You gasped softly as the child poked its head out of the blanket, big eyes looking around at everything. The sky, the trees, Din, and you. Your heart melted as it smiled up at you and reached out. Tucking yourself to his side, you asked, “Is this what kept you away for so long?”

He nodded. “It was one of my bounties. But it’s just a kid. I couldn’t live with myself if I turned it over and walked away. So I broke it out and we’ve been on the run since.”

You frowned. “But your creed...that means it’s...”

“It’s a foundling in my care,” he answered. “And according to the creed, I’m its father now.”

You laughed softly, stroking the child’s ear with a finger. “I never thought I’d see the day that the big bad Mandalorian settles down with a baby of his own.”

“Neither did I,” he replied softly. He looked down at you, taking in your smile and the child’s newfound fascination with your jewelry. “But here we are.”

There you were, indeed. You and Din had discussed having your own children before, but recent years left both of you stranded in your own ways. Transitioning into being a queen had drained you mentally and physically, and Din’s occupation didn’t leave much room for settling down.

“You could stay here,” y/‍n offered. “This place is pretty well hidden, and in all our years of coming here, no one has followed us.”

Din sighed and pressed his forehead against yours, keeping you close with a hand on the small of your back. Even through all the layers, you could feel his warmth against your spine.

“I wish I could,” he said, voice breaking. “But I can’t put you in danger by staying here longer than a few weeks at a time. Not until I know for sure that no one is after our ad’ika.”

Humming, you asked, “Our?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want it? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just sprung it on you-“

“I’m just teasing, cyare,” you interrupted, pressing a kiss to the side of his helmet. You reached over and let the child grab onto your finger. Smiling, you continued, “I always knew you had a soft spot for foundlings. Remember when you gave me that idea to reform the foster care system?”

“Every child should have a home they can return to,” he rasped, looking down at the child in his arms. “Even if they’re not related by blood.”

“Well, this foundling is very lucky to have you.” Noting the setting sun, you added, “We should get inside, you must be tired.”

The cottage was small, but it was enough for both of you. No amount of luxury or extravagance could replace the intimacy of living with loved ones. Din immediately spotted the satchel of cooking ingredients sitting on the counter, no doubt containing everything needed to make tiingilar, a traditional mandalorian casserole dish. You knew what your riduur’s line of work entailed, and home-cooked meals were few and far between. So, you and Din had eventually formed your own tradition of cooking a meal together whenever he returned to Garamonde. The only difference was that, this time, you would be joined by the child.

You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around the thought of it; that is, the fact that your Din now had a child of his own. Did that mean you would be as its mother? Or would the lack of marriage vows mean you would simply be an outsider to his new clan?

Once the food was ready, you two would sit back to back, a way of dining together while respecting Din’s religion. Until you and he were officially wed, you were forbidden to see his face. Part of you was disappointed at that, because you didn’t know how long it would be until you and Din were married; if you would ever have the chance to at all. But above all else, you respected him, and understood the gravity of the exceptions he already made for you. Sitting back to back while eating? He didn’t have to do that; he’d had to take his meals in isolation pretty much every day. But for you, he risked having his face seen. All so you could savor each other’s presence for as long as possible.

As you ate, you could hear the child’s squeals of joy and Din’s soft chuckles coming from behind you. He would say something in mando’a and imitate the sound of a speeder before feeding the child yet another spoonful of tiingilar.

“Your mother is a great cook, isn’t she?” he mused, mostly to himself. You were glad he couldn’t see you, because you felt your cheeks burn hotter than the two suns.

When it came time for the child to sleep, you two gathered blankets and pillows to line a woven basket. “I’ll have a proper bed made for him once I return to the palace,” you said quietly, not wanting to disturb the drowsy baby. “But this will work for now. Cuun ade je morut’yc.”

Our child is safe.

“Cuun ade je morut’yc,” Din repeated, his heart swelling with affection when you claimed the child as yours.

After washing up and taking off his armor, he slid under the blankets, lying on his back. The sheets rustled as you followed him onto the bed shortly. Although you both couldn’t see, you easily fell into comfort. His presence was familiar and soothing as you practically melted under his touch. You could feel his entire body relax underneath you, weeks of tension leaving him.

“You should stay,” you said softly, head resting against his chest. He was so warm and gentle, a stark contrast from the beskar armor he donned. “It’s safe here. You and ad’ika would have my entire military’s protection.”

“Even if we didn’t have our ad’ika, you know I wouldn’t be able to,” Din said, his unmodulated voice sending shivers down your spine. “Your people wouldn’t approve.”

Lifting your head to face him, you asked, “Do you really think they won’t approve?”

You cradled his face in your hands, tracing the stubble lining his jaw. The curtains in the bedroom were drawn closed to block out any light, giving Din the safety of removing his helmet. Your thumb pressed lightly against his plush lips, feeling his warm breath against your fingertip. Kissing him between each word, you pondered, “Do you really think they’ll disrespect their queen’s choice? Disrespect their king and their child?”

Din groaned softly, his hands wandering south. One arm remained secured on your hip while the other pressed you against him, sliding under your shirt. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Me as your king, and ad’ika as our heir.”

[happy-beeeps]

I Don’t Do Droids pt. 2

(gif not mine)

Pairing: translator!reader x Din Djarin

WC: 1.6k

Summary: You get on board the Razor Crest and start to wonder if this was such a good idea, so you spend your time mentally unpacking your new companion.

Part 2 of “I Don’t Do Droids” read part one here!

* * *

You’ve walked for maybe twenty minutes through the crowded underbelly of Coruscant until the realization that you’re a colossal moron strikes like a load of duracrete. You’re following this man; a tall, menacing, Mandalorian, towards his ship with very little explanation aside from needing a translator and a trip to Devaron. And credits, which you would be the first to admit you were in desperate, desperate need of. Still, you’ve followed your fair share of strange men through dirty streets to dirtier ships, and it never ended particularly well.

Still, you think your companion this time around is… different. There’s something of a softness to his beskar edges, you heard it in his voice, saw it in the way he meandered around your belongings in your tiny room of a home. When you near what you suspect to be his ship, you see it again, as he freezes suddenly in front of you and turns on his heel to face you. “You’re uncomfortable.” He states, quite matter of factly, and you tut in response before crossing your arms over your chest. “Puhlease Mando, I’m a big girl, I can handle myself.” You reply, scrunching your face up to him in a desperate attempt to appear calm and collected. You imagine he smiles back at you and he places his hands on his hips, “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anybody.”

“Good. Then we have nothing to worry about.” He responds, and starts walking towards one of the older ships in the depot. Your eyes take in the Razor Crest, it’s an older model for sure, but something about the ship is well cared for. There’s rust in places rust ought to be, and it's shiny and new in the places it needs to be. When he presses a few buttons on his control panel along his wrist, the ramp lowers with the groan of an old ship, but you listen for squeaks and are pleasantly surprised to hear none. He takes care of this ship, you think to yourself, and he’s letting me on it. The thought sends a faint blush to your cheeks and a warmth to your chest, you don’t trust him yet, but you’re comforted by the realization that maybe, just maybe, he won’t kill you on board.

You follow heavy footsteps up the ramp and take in new surroundings. The dark, metallic echo of a ship is nothing new to you, but the outfittings of a bounty hunter’s ship surprise you. There’s a carbonite freezer to the side, an armory you watch him almost ceremoniously put his weapons in, and lock tightly with the buttons on his wrist. Next to all of this, however, you see a warm light glowing in a tiny refresher in the corner, and you can see a cot tucked in the back wall of the ship. If you squint, you can see a few folded tunics and pants along the top of a metal locker, and you feel stupid for being surprised that he owns clothes, much less folded ones. Yeah, like he just wears beskar and nothing else, that makes more sense you think to yourself, and lean back on your heels as you take it all in. He’s looking at you again, staring hard through the black T of his visor, his presence is amplified by the realization that you can’t see at all what he’s thinking. “You can throw your go bag over there,” and he gestures to a cubby just below where his own clothes lay. “I’m gonna take off, set a course for Devaron. You can come up into the cockpit whenever you’re ready” he states, and climbs up the ladder towards the controls. There’s something about the Mandalorian dialect, you think, their language is built around commands. You wonder if that's why he always sounds so confident when he speaks, so sure. Then again, you wouldn’t be surprised if years walking around in blaster proof armor just does that to people.

* * *

Up in the cockpit, it’s more crowded than you anticipated. He has four chairs up here, room for a large crew, yet only one hulking form to occupy them. Hyperspace blips in and out of existence as you seat yourself at the chair opposite him, biding your time staring out the transparisteel and into the bluewhite streaks of light that dance across your eyes. You watch him out of the corner of your eye, silent and focused, his head only jutting down for a few moments at a time to look at the nav. You hate that you’re so stiff next to him, that he can probably feel the anxiety radiating off of you across the way. He’s considerate, and you almost hate yourself for being so intimidated. “I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can even really realize what you’re saying. This seems to have caught him off guard, and he turns to face you after he flicks the ship in autopilot. “Sorry? For what?” he responds, elbows resting on his knees and letting his hands dangle loosely in front of him. “For being so cold I guess, I don’t know. It’s not you, it’s just-”

“I don’t expect to have your trust after an hour of knowing you,” he responds, scooting the chair a little closer to you in an attempt to make you relax. “Would it make you feel better if I told you if someone wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now?”

“I mean… It doesn’t make me feel worse?” you offer up, and you can swear you hear a metallic chuckle peeking out from underneath his modulator. “Do you owe Greef Karga anything? Money? A favor?”

“I don’t owe anyone anything”

“Well, he sent me to you, and I have no intention of letting any harm fall in the way of an… associate of his.” He says, and you swear you can hear an inkling of warmth in his voice, but it could just be you mind playing tricks on you. You hum in response before he starts up again, “Besides, I told you, you’re kind of entertaining to keep around.” And that earns him a laugh, and you lean back in the chair and allow your shoulders to remove themselves from next to your ears.

* * *

Devaronese is a weird language, nearly dead, spoken only by rich, politically inclined citizens of Devaron. You learned it for this reason, the politics behind it. The language had nearly died out during the Galactic Civil War, when people decided to just learn Basic instead. It made you sad, the thought that people would only learn one language. Sure, there were protocol droids and millions of dialects across the galaxy, but was it so hard to pick up a few? You skimmed over a few notes on your datapad before looking over at Mando, “Can I see the puck? I wanna see what kind of dialect I’ll need” and he turns to and hesitates for a moment before reaching it into his pocket and igniting it. A young humanoid male appears, a fact that makes you shake your head in response. “We’re going to Devaron to look for a politician's kid who's not Devaronese?”

“He’s from Hosnian Prime. He’s hiding out on Devaron, easy to get lost in those jungles and catch a ride on a cruiser, they’re both on the Corellian Trade Spine.” You nod, mouth making an “O” shape as you try to think like a bounty hunter, not a linguist. “So you need me to help make connections with people so you can find him quicker?” and he sends pointed fingers at you to indicate you’re spot on. “I thought you’d be smart, with all the languages. You learn quick.” You smile in response and give him a question of your own, “Try me? Quiz me on a language you think you know better than me.”

“Elek. [Ok.]” He replies. Perfect. Mando’a. You’re trying to discover bits of him, the pieces he won’t give you yet. Something about the way he lets his language slip across his lips with ease, but without the guttural sounds, keys you in on the fact that this is not his mother tongue. He learned this later in life. “You’ll be surprised how well I know Mando’a.”

“Gar serim, [You’re right] then surprise me more.” 

You spend another hour or two teasing each other, throwing insults in Mando’a back and forth and you teaching him a few basic words in Devaronese. He looks at you a little too long as your eyes grow droopy and he shoots out one last question. “What’s your native language?” and you smile to yourself as you let your eyes slip shut for a moment. You hum in response before murmuring, “Galactic Basic.” He lets out a barking laugh before replying, “So the translator comes from a planet with only one langauge? Seem’s ironic to me.” You contemplate giving him a morsel of yourself, and decide the only fair way is to let him in on what you’ve learned about him. “Naboo doesn’t have another language. We only learned the one in our education,” and you pause for a moment to let him absorb the honesty of your statement before continuing, “besides, your native language isn’t Mando’a. You learned only Basic too.” Your eyes slip shut once more, and you let out one final breathy sigh before leaning farther back in your chair. You can feel your companions eyes burning a hole into your face, but are surprised when you’re only met with a light touch to your knee. “You are smarter than you let on. Meh gar kyrayc, shuk bah ni [you’re no use to me dead, get some sleep] you’re tired. We’ll be in Devaron shortly. I need your brain fully charged.” You smile to yourself as you let your mind drift off to sleep, next to a man you don’t fully trust, the kind yet patronizing Mando’a idiom slipping into your mind. 

Maybe he does want you to stick around.

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