#this idiotic vambrace

[mistress-light]

@cruelfeline May I present to you with proof of submarine Cuff?

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

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

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

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

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

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

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

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

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

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

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

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” You replied.

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

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

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

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

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

All business.

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

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweatpants?

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

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

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was the one.

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

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

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

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

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

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

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

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

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

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

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

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

[kybercrystals94]

A Dangerous Dance

Read here on Ao3!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 3 | Prompt: "It's just a scratch."

Rated: G | Words: 540 Minor CW: Someone accidentally cuts their hand, but the minor injury is not described in detail.

The Mandalorian trainer pulls a knife from the sheath strapped around his vambrace, and twirls the short blade deftly between his fingers. The man isn’t even looking at the weapon, his eyes following the movements of his sparring clone cadets. If he notices the shaggy headed cadet unabashedly watching him in the far corner, he doesn’t give any indication. 

Awestruck, Hunter doesn’t notice an enemy attack approaching until Crosshair charges into him, tackling him to the ground and pinning him. “Pay attention, idiot,” Crosshair growls. “It’s no fun getting the advantage if you aren’t even trying.” 

Hunter squirms in Crosshair’s hold. “Fine. Get off.” 

Crosshair rolls to his feet and puts out a hand to help Hunter up. Hunter grudgingly accepts the offer, his brother yanking him up roughly. The two get back into ready position, and while Hunter does put his all into the exercise, he can’t quite stop himself from occasionally glancing at the Mandalorian, the blade catching the light as it flits in a dangerous dance between his fingers. 

Hunter grins to himself. He can do that. 

***

“That is not a training knife,” Tech observes critically when Hunter pulls the very real weapon from his bag. “Where did you get that?” 

“I found it,” Hunter says. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes. “More like stole it.” 

“You stole it?” Wrecker gasps. 

Hunter frowns. “I borrowed it. I’ll put it back when I’m done.” 

“Done with what?” Tech asks. 

“I wanted to try something,” Hunter says. He’d been practicing with his rubber training knife for weeks, and he’s gotten pretty good in his opinion.

“Please tell me you are not going to try spinning that sharp knife around your fingers,” Tech says.

Hunter flashes Tech a grin. “I’m not gonna try.”

“Yeah,” Crosshair says, sitting down at the table, folding his arms and resting his chin on them. “He’s gonna cut his fingers off on purpose.”

“Could he really cut off his fingers?” Wrecker cries, alarmed. 

“If not his fingers, then his entire hand,” Crosshair says. 

“I’m not going to cut anything off,” Hunter assures Wrecker, “I’ve been practicing, and I know what I’m doing.” 

***

Hunter holds his bleeding hand over the fresher sink. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a little scratch.” 

“A little scratch does not bleed profusely,” Tech deadpans, examining the wound before pouring bacta over it. Hunter hisses, jerking away, but Tech’s tight grip on his wrist prevents a full retreat. “Please hold still.” 

Wrecker and Crosshair crowd in the doorway, watching. 

“It did look really cool,” Wrecker appeases, “Well, until you sliced your hand open.” 

“I didn’t slice my hand,” Hunter growls. “It’s just a scratch.” 

“If you keep telling yourself that, maybe it’ll come true,” Crosshair snarks. 

Hunter glares. “Maybe if you shut up, I won’t sock you in the jaw.” 

Crosshair grins back triumphantly. “I’d like to see you try with that gimp hand of yours.”

“I advise you let the cut heal before you get into a physical altercation with anyone,” Tech says, wrapping a bandage around Hunter’s palm. 

Hunter huffs, glancing at the knife balanced on the edge of the sink. He just needs to practice with his rubber blade for a few more weeks before he tries again. 

END

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[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Sanctuary part 2

Chapter 11: Mando’ad

A/N: My kids are at their dad’s this weekend and it dawned on me that I haven’t posted a chapter! My weeks are so busy in the run up to the stupid summer holidays 🤣 got the delight of sports days next week. Oh. Yay.

Mando’a translations:

Aiwha-bait - derogatory term for Kaminoans

Di-kut - equivalent of idiot

Me’sen - ship

Osik - equivalent to shit

Uj’alayi - is like a sticky cake. (Also where Fi gets his nickname uj’ika (little cake as a literal translation) for Stitch.)

Shabuir - motherfucker

Aruetii - non mandalorian, outsider

Warnings: 18+, mentions of experiments, many feelings, probably incorrect interpretation of legend clones, repeat of info we’ve already had but the Batch hasn’t.

Word Count: 5.5k+

Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

Masterlist

1 month since Setron

“Uh, Tech?” Wrecker looked out of the open ramp, his helmet kicked up to his forehead.

“Yes?”

“You said this was a…town?”

“I distinctly clarified it as a settlement.”

“Don’t look like much,” Wrecker grumbled. Tech walked past the bigger clone, glancing outside and giving the smallest of shrugs under his armour.

“It is what some people might call, a backwater settlement. Which is perfect for us.”

“Tech’s right.” Hunter appeared, checking his vibroblade by drawing it from the vambrace slightly. “It’s remote, away from the Imperial occupation and we can stock up on supplies. We might even blend in.”

Wrecker scrunched up his face. “Doubt I can.”

“Being a Mandalorian is a choice,” Tech called from the cockpit. “Not a race.”

“C’mon Wrecker. Sooner we get supplies and fuel, the sooner we can continue looking for them.”

Them. You and Omega thrown together in one word. It protected Hunter from feeling the slice of agony whenever he said your names. It never dulled, that sharp edge of his guilt.

Hunter had noticed, since Setron, Tech opened up more. He spoke to his brothers about his previous searches rather than hiding away and suffocating in his own loss. Tech now looked at them as fellow sufferers. Hunter knew you had been a blow for the whole squad, but Tech felt it the most. Omega, they all felt on the same level, and Hunter assumed that was Tech’s reasoning as well. He just needed the time to process it all.

Apprehension gripped Hunter’s stomach more than he would ever admit to Wrecker. They left Tech with the ship, letting him work on some systems that had thrown up an error in their last hyperspace run. Mandalore had been the nearest planet they could land safely and discreetly.

The ship was tucked behind a bank of trees, a few klicks north of the settlement, Enceri. They were flanked by a forest and there was a lake nearby, not how they imagined Mandalore at all.

“Feels weird,” Wrecker started, glancing over at Hunter.

“I know,” Hunter breathed. He could feel that telltale crawling sensation at the back of his neck as they approached the muddy road which seemed to be the main throughway. They were being watched.

A market stretched along the well used path, dotted with some shops and a cantina all surrounded by residential buildings. Speeders were parked up or being used to haul items or people.

And everyone was geared up. Armour of all colours, designs, men and women, even children. Some with their helmets covering their faces, others were holding them in a way that Hunter found achingly familiar. All turned to observe the strange newcomers. Hunter kept himself walking, cautiously taking stock of his surroundings, Wrecker large and imposing just one step behind.

He had questioned Tech if this as a good idea, coming to a planet of people that would start a fight if someone looked at them wrong, but they’d had no choice. Supplies were low and this was the nearest, Imperial empty, landing site. Tucked away in the northern hemisphere, they should be able to come and go — hopefully — unnoticed.

Hunter approached the black doors of the cantina, tracking mud into the run down establishment. He noticed the lull in conversations at their entrance. Considering it was a trading post, it didn’t seem like they got many outsiders in these parts. People openly gawked at their armour, eyeing Wrecker’s size with a little trepidation. Some with an open challenge in their glare.

The elderly woman at the bar watched their approach, her eyes narrowed almost to slits. Hunter squared his shoulders and tucked away everything that made him human. Slipping into his soldier persona, his senses tingled when someone entered behind them.

For a beat, the women made no attempt to acknowledge them beyond staring, but when she spoke Hunter wished he had brought Tech. Her scowl deepened the wrinkles on her face, the same words falling from her but in a sharper tone.

“What do we do?” Wrecker whispered via the internal com, easing himself into a position that attempted to block the interaction from the nearest tables.

“Do you know the best place to buy supplies?” Hunter asked the barmaid. He didn’t expect her mouth to twist with mistrust. Her arms crossed and Hunter heard the scrape of a chair on the uneven floor. His fingers flexed, ready to pull his weapons if needed.

He knew a handful of Mando’a due to Echo and you, and he didn’t think calling the barmaid a di’kut would do him any favours. Her wizened gaze slid to the side, asking a rough question to a mandalorian that had appeared beside them. He nodded and replied in kind, holding up a gloved hand showing three fingers. She tutted and breathed a word that sounded like aruetii. Not that Hunter had any idea what that meant.

“Come and sit with me,” the Mandalorian said, jerking his head to highlight an empty table in the corner. “Your size is making people nervous,” he said with a chuckle, clapping Wrecker on the shoulder. The brothers exchanged looks through their helmets, not really having a choice when the stranger pointedly waited at the table for them.

The chair creaked alarmingly under Wrecker’s larger frame, but Hunter’s attention was on the Mandalorian. He had taken off his helmet, revealing messy dark blonde hair and a beard. His eyes roamed over them knowingly, and he seemed utterly at ease. The helmet was placed on the table, his arm spread across the back of the empty chair.

“You’re from Coruscant,” Hunter observed quietly, puzzled by the man before him. His accent was twisted. But the crispness of Corscanti was there still.

“Once.” He nodded and smiled at the barmaid when she dumped three drinks of something black and strong smelling on the table followed by three high sided bowls of food that looked like red soup. Hunter and Wrecker sat their stiffly, not wanting to take their helmets off and reveal their faces. “You’re safe here,” the stranger said dismissively. “Eat.”

“We don’t even know your name,” Wrecker’s voice was low and gravelly, his attempt at talking quietly.

“Call me Bardan. And you are…?” Hunter stared at the cups and bowls. He could see some people still glancing their way, but since Bardan had sat with them, attention had shifted away. Carefully, he slipped his helmet off, placing it on the table.

“I’m Hunter, this is Wrecker,” he explained. Bardan barely looked at Hunter’s face, already eating the soup he’d ordered. “S’good,” he mumbled, pointing at the dishes. “Eat.”

Wrecker followed suit, putting his helmet on the table and dragging a bowl closer to him. “Starvin’,” he mumbled, giving Hunter a sheepish look before tucking in.

Hunter was burning to ask questions, his mouth opened to start when someone else swept into the cantina. Making a beeline straight for their table. He cut an imposing figure in a blue set of armour, waving a hand at the barmaid and then patting Bardan heavily on the shoulder as he sat down. He had no qualms about removing his helmet, revealing a face that Hunter and Wrecker knew all too well.

“Bard’ika,” he said in greeting. “Don’t look so stunned,” the newcomer grinned. “Not seen a face like mine before?”

“You’re a reg,” Hunter observed. Bardan didn’t seem phased by his companion being a clone and it explained his uninterested reaction when Hunter and Wrecker took their helmets off.

“Ouch. A reg huh?” The conversation paused as a new drink and soup were delivered to the table. “I think you’ll find I am no ordinary, reg.” Hunter threw his memory back to Kamino. He knew of the Gen ones, like Rex. ARCs, Commandos… the Batch were slightly younger, trained separately from the bulk of the GAR so they could hone their unique talents. He vaguely recalled a mention of some specialist squads, black ops that worked like his squad had done. “Name’s Mereel.”

Bardan lazily gestured when he introduced them. “Big guy’s Wrecker. This is Hunter.”

“Ah,” Mereel nodded, understanding dawned in his liquid gold gaze. “You’re 99s, I heard you’re as defective as us Nulls. Of course, the Kaminoans designed you that way. We were a mistake.” Hunter pushed his bowl of soup towards Wrecker who took it silently and began to eat it.

“You were trained by the Mandalorians in Kamino?” Mereel took a swig of the black drink before responding to Hunter.

“We were.”

“What are you doing out here?” Wrecker asked.

“Living,” Bardan replied, nursing his own drink. Hunter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“You are trying to find out why we’re here. We just want supplies and then we’ll be on our way.”

“You’re looking for someone,” Bardan hunched over his ale, noticing the way both the clones tensed at his words.

“What’s it to you?” Wrecker rumbled, clearly on the defence.

“You’re not with the Imperials,” Bardan observed. “You’re clones, yet I feel a sense of urgency from you both.”

“Like I said,” Hunter lowered his tone and stressed each word. “We want supplies and then we will leave.”

“At ease,” Mereel told him. “You’re safe here, as long as you don’t tell anyone else you can’t speak Mando’a,” he let out a rough laugh. “We can give you supplies. Your ship is on our doorstep and Kal’buir wants to meet you anyway.” Something clanged in Hunter’s memory at the word but he couldn’t place it. Not now.

“This feels like a trap,” Wrecker whispered to Hunter, as Bardan and Mereel stood up and gathered their helmets, talking between themselves.

“They know where our ship is. What if they have Tech?” Hunter worried, picking up his own helmet. “We need to see this through.” Wrecker blew out a breath, clearly unhappy but like Hunter, he couldn’t see another option either.

Mereel and Bardan walked with them back to the ship. Occasionally Mereel would ask a question, easily drawing out a laugh from Wrecker with his easy smiles and personable approach. Hunter stayed wary. He wanted to see Tech was unharmed before he even considered trusting these people. Even if they were clones.

By the time the Marauder materialised through the trees, Hunter could feel the tension in every line of his body. He didn’t wait, charging up the still open ramp only to find Tech beneath a console in the cockpit. Wires hung down, his gloved hands twisting them, not acknowledging Hunter at all.

“Tech.” He was relieved to see his brother unharmed and seemingly oblivious to everything around him except the ship.

“I am fixing the sensor array wiring,” Tech answered as if that explained anything. “Was the supply run successful?”

“We have company.” Now Tech peered at him through the dangling wires.

“Who?”

“Someone called Bardan and a clone called Mereel.” Hunter watched him slide out from under the console, sitting up to rest his elbows on his cocked knees.

“What are their intentions?”

“Unknown,” Hunter replied gravely. “We landed on their doorstep, apparently.” Tech was up and tapping on the ships controls, referring to his datapad.

“I conducted a comprehensive scan of the area and not a single residence was registered within the immediate vicinity.”

“It wouldn’t be.” Both the clones turned to face Mereel who had boarded silently. His eyes travelling over the Marauder, letting out a soft, appreciative whistle. “We have taken great pains to hide Kyrimorut.”

“Kyrimorut?” Hunter questioned.

“Literally translated it means end haven,” Tech supplied, adjusting his goggles.

“We call it home,” Mereel said. “Keeps us safe, away from that shabuir, who calls himself Emperor.” He turned, leaning against the door hatch. “Modified Omicron Class shuttle…you’ve got some serious weaponry on this me’sen. Seen plenty of action, judging by the marks and dents on the hull.” Tech almost visibly bristled at Mereel’s observation.

“We have not remained in one location a sufficient amount of time, to complete any cosmetic repairs.”

“Yeah. I know what that’s like.” A sharp whistle sounded from outside and Mereel grinned at them over his shoulder. “Buir is here.”

“Buir,” Tech muttered. “Means father.”

“How do they have a father?” Hunter frowned.

“I theorise, they address him as Buir, akin to how Stitch referred to Jango Fett. Mandalorians adhere to a creed where loyalty holds a greater significance than blood ties. This leads me to conclude it is plausible they adopt more than we realise.” They descended the ramp where Wrecker waited at the bottom, his helmet kicked up but watching the strange group with suspicion.

Two other armour clad Mandalorians as well as a cart full of fuel and supplies had arrived. One was a clone that was talking to Mereel and Bardan, the other was an older man. His brown hair was starting to grey, but his blue eyes were sharp and didn’t seem to miss a thing. He smiled at Tech and Hunter, limping a little when he came forward with a hand outstretched.

“Kal. Skirata. Bard’ika commed ahead and told us you needed supplies.”

Hunter took his offered arm and they clasped each other’s forearms. Tech seemed a little perplexed, but then no one had asked to greet him in such a way before. It felt unnatural, so he flexed and shook his hand after the contact. He didn’t like that way of greeting.

“Why are you helping us?” Hunter asked.

Kal cast his gaze through the trees. “Wouldn’t be much of a clone saviour if I didn’t at least fill your ship with food before you disappear.” Bardan came to stand next to him with Mereel and the other clone. “Kyrimorut is a refuge I built for clones after the war. I adopted this lot,” Kal gestured to the two clones beside him and they smiled identical smiles. “And plenty more. Some still in enemy hands.” He took a breath as though such a thought pained him greatly. “Bard’ika informed me you’re looking for someone.” Tech shoved past Hunter drawing the groups attention.

“Two people actually. One is an adult female and the other an adolescent female. We believe they are both being held by an Imperial scientist known as Hemlock.” Kal’s expression darkened at Tech’s words.

“I know of him. Disgusting human,” the man spat with vitriol. “If you’re seeking him though, you won’t get far. We even have someone on the inside and we still can’t pinpoint exactly where the base is.” Tech sucked in a deep breath, tapping on his bottom lip as he thought for a moment.

“Are you able to converse with your contact?”

Kal stepped aside, gesturing to the new clone. “Jaing, this is your playground.”

“Let me show you what we have.” Tech gave a curt nod, his expression was serious but there was a light of excitement in his gaze as he led Jaing into the ship.

“I’ll refuel the ship,” Wrecker offered.

“Need a hand?” Mereel moved the cart closer to the side of the ship at Wrecker’s nod.

Hunter turned his attention to the man they referred to as Bard’ika. He knew that was a term of affection, it was one of the few things he did know about the language. But something about Bardan made his senses take notice. It rolled over his skin, leaving a wake of tiny hairs on end and it was a sensation he recognised from you.

“You’re a Jedi.” Bardan grimaced when Hunter spoke.

“I used to be. I’ve moved away from that now, for obvious reasons.”

“More Mando’ad than anything. Ain’t ya son?” Kal draped an arm over Bardan’s shoulders and tousled his hair with a smirk. “Nothing gets past you, does it Sergeant?”

“Not anymore. Not since the war.”

“What a horrible time that was,” Kal sighed. “Still, I have to be grateful or I wouldn’t have my sons. None of them.” He became solemn, fixing Hunter with an intense stare. “You ever find who you’re looking for, you can come straight back here. I know you won’t settle before that, not when a youngling is missing. But there’s always room here for more.”

“That’s quite an offer,” Hunter said, not wanting to give a definite answer.

“Yeah, and here’s another,” Kal held out a hand with a data chip.

“What’s this?”

“Bank account. For your squad. It’s untraceable, Jaing worked his magic. Regular payments will be made into it for as long as you need.” Hunter took the chip, unable to see a way of saying no. First thing he’d do would be to hand it to Tech and verify it was just a data chip.

“Uh, thanks.” He still felt on edge, not really understanding why all of them were offering so much after meeting them once. But then, the squad had instantly taken you in as soon as you tried to shock Tech back at the slavers compound.

“The woman you’re looking for,” Kal said slowly. “Who is she?”

“Our medic,” came Hunter’s short reply. The less they knew about you the better.

“Always important,” Kal mumbled, exchanging a quick, knowing glance with Bardan. “Jaing will probably spend hours bringing your brother up to speed.”

“Tech,” Hunter supplied.

“Tech. Suits him.”

“They’re all fuelled and loaded up, Kal’buir.” Mereel pushed a now empty cart. “I see Besnay gave them a whole uj’alayi.” He pouted slightly.

“It’s good too!” Hunter turned to see Wrecker standing in the hatch, already eating something that looked like a cake.

“She’s a good one. Ordo’s wife has taken to a mandalorian kitchen like she was born to it,” Kal enthused.

“Gave Wrecker some explosives to add to his collection,” Mereel continued, pointing a thumb over his shoulder at the ship. “He’s got enough in there to make even Darman jealous.” Kal’s expression became strained, humming in agreement so he didn’t have to form words.

“Hunter!” Tech’s cry from within the ship spurred him to react quickly, bursting into the hold and coming to an abrupt stop. Jaing was sat at the console, Tech was holding his datapad but his attention was fixed on the screen.

“What is it?” Then he looked at the screen, suck in a breath at the sight.

“We had contact with Niner a rotation ago, until he went dark.” Jaing’s jaw flexed. “I have managed to download a few moments from Niner’s HUD the rotation before and found this,” Jaing explained.

“Tha’…that’s Stitch!” Wrecker gasped, the cake forgotten in his hand.

The picture was a frozen break in time. Your hands were bound, sat at a table in a room that had barely anything in. Your eyes were closed with blood streaking down your face, running into your mouth. Hemlock stood beside you, an openly sinister, gleeful expression lit up his face.

“What is that?” Hunter asked, referring to the device that hovered above the table, seemingly in pieces before you.

“That is a holocron.” Bardan had followed, looking over Hunter’s shoulder with a passive expression. “Kal’buir, he’s opening holocrons.”

“Osik,” the older man muttered. “Nothing doing right now,” he gruffly said but clearly not happy. “That’s not our business.”

“I don’t recognise her,” Bardan said more to himself than anyone else. “She looks familiar though…is she a Jedi?” Jaing pressed some buttons and brought up files that had classified scrawled across them.

“She was never at the temple, Bard’ika. She was…raised by Jango Fett?” Jaing spun round to catch Kal’s eye. The latter sighed, leaning forward to squint at the screen. “Says here she’s…well I’ll be damned!” Jaing pointed to another file. “This is part of the information I skimmed from Kamino since, well since I was old enough to do it.”

“You were in the barrels of their databanks by the time you looked 4, son.” Kal gave a snort of amusement.

“We weren’t the first clones.” Jaing shook his head in disbelief. “They attempted cloning a Jedi first.” Bardan stiffened.

“What?” Hunter demanded coldly.

“Says here, in layman’s terms, Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas offered his DNA to see if the aiwha-bait could make more Jedi. Every attempt failed, none survived except one. Designation JC-005.” Jaing took a deep breath. “This was erased from the Kaminoan files, after she was smuggled from Kamino by Sifo-Dyas himself.” He scrolled through the file. “The report implies she had a midi-chlorian count, with an estimated end count of around 9,000.” Hunter was reeling from the news that you were a clone. The clone of a Jedi. Jaing continued in his narration. “I can’t tell if Hemlock has this information but he,” here Jaing swallowed and glanced up at Tech who had been still as a statue this whole time. “He’s been experimenting on her.”

“What do you mean?” Hunter demanded. “How?” His insides were rolling. You were alive. And you were being used. He felt sick, what if Hemlock was experimenting on Omega too? He had to get you both out of there.

“It will take time to crack into those files,” Jaing explained. “They’re locked down tight.”

“How do you still not have a location for this base?” Hunter’s words were sharp but none of the men around him flinched. If anything they all carried depressive weights of their own at this news, haunted by unseen shadows none of them could shake.

“Hemlock has implemented extensive measures to conceal the whereabouts of his base,” Tech spoke up. Clearing his throat before his spoke again. “It appears the location is promptly erased from a ship’s navigational system.”

“Can’t you track it through Niner’s signal?” Tech shook his head at Hunter’s question.

“The signal to Niner’s HUD is being deliberately dispersed throughout the system in an attempt to obscure the destination point, and encryption from the HUD further distorts the origin point.”

“So they’re nearby?” Hunter asked.

“We believe so,” Mereel answered. “Just because this narrows it down to a single system, doesn’t mean it will be easy to find.”

“I can give you a copy of everything I have,” Jaing offered, addressing Tech with a softness to his expression that Hunter hadn’t seen before. Tech gave a curt nod, handing over his datapad. He didn’t look at anyone, moving around them until his steps descended the ramp and faded into the trees that surrounded the ship. Hunter’s chest expanded, torn between wanting to question everyone here until they gave him some solid intel and following Tech.

“I’ll go,” Wrecker whispered, disappearing outside.

Hunter fixed Jaing with a glare. “I want to know everything you know. You’re still withholding things from us.” The Null grinned but it wasn’t in amusement.

“Take a seat, sarge, because we’ve seen your youngling. And your medic.”

Tech had no idea how long he walked for. His feet wouldn’t stop. There was an urgency inside him, almost like a vibration that resonated through his entire body. He had to move.

He knew you were unique. He should have seen the signs, the obvious intelligence you possessed, your apparent natural born skill with healing and how quickly you absorbed information, utilising it immediately. Your extraordinary resilience, he had put it all down to being half raised by Jango Fett. He had failed you. Failed to see beyond your midi-chlorian count, not looking deeply enough into why the Empire wanted you.

The holocron opening before you meant something. You weren’t a Jedi, or an obvious force user. His mind was leaping to wild assumptions such as; Hemlock could have secured someone who was able to teach you. Jedi abilities grew over time, nurtured from a young age, a step that had been missed with you. Maybe his experiments on you enhanced it all, somehow?

With a quiet shake of his head, Tech rubbed a spot on his chest plate. Not that it eased the breathless ache which resided there, every hour in every rotation. A constant burning reminder of his loss, of missing you.

Trees passed him, the lake would normally have held his attention but right now, he barely saw it. The world blended into a blur which made him blink rapidly. It wasn’t until there was no change that he realised, he was cause of such distortion.

He shifted his goggles, moving them to rest on his forehead so he could press fingertips to his cheeks. They came away wet. Tech wasn’t one for crying. He didn’t think he’d done it since he was a young cadet back on Kamino.

They were raised tough, as soldiers, emotion never came into it. They were never taught how to manage it or even acknowledge it. Tech had always prided himself on his sense of detachment, he had seen how intense emotions could skew the mind, even his brothers had been prone to it.

But now, he couldn’t escape. Tech fell into a crouch, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. It did nothing to ease the burn, or stop the hitch in his throat when he tried to take a breath. He felt so raw and open in this moment, unable to quell the rush now the barriers had been lifted. Sobs beat his chest like rapid thunderclaps. The image of you with blood on your face, sores on your wrists and the hungry, devouring way Hemlock looked at you, would not leave the darkness behind his hands.

All of it choked him, folding Tech in on himself until he couldn’t find a way out of the mess. He was unaware of his surroundings, not hearing Wrecker approach from behind.

Strong arms wrapped around Tech and Wrecker squeezed. The big clone dropped to sit on the floor, leaning back against a tree and gathering Tech to him. It distressed Wrecker to see his brother suffering so deeply, so openly. So he did the only thing he could think of.

Tech didn’t fight, grateful to lean back into Wrecker and use him as a grounding technique. It took him back to a moment when they were small boys, trapped in an exercise where they were exposed to live ordnance for the first time.

Crosshair had faced it with a snarl, supporting Hunter who struggled with the noise and pressure. Wrecker had sheltered all his brothers, apparently fearless in the face of the heat waves that rolled over them. Tech had succumbed to panic, overwhelmed from everything happening at once. The noises disorientated him, the lights hurt his eyes and the feel of it all made him want to scratch his skin off.

Wrecker had carried him for most of the exercise and it was in that moment, Tech decided he wasn’t going to be a burden. He knew he was different to his brothers, with how he experienced the world, and he worked to not let it hinder him or them.

“She’s alive,” Wrecker breathed when Tech calmed down. His arms were looser, but he still caged Tech against him. “At least we know they are together. And Crosshair.”

The sun was beginning to lower, a chill from the ground was starting to seep through their armour, so Tech tapped Wrecker’s vambrace. The human cage fell away and Tech felt the emptiness that hollowed him out. He wouldn’t be complete until you were back with them.

“We should return.”

“I think Hunter is grilling ‘em.”

“They do not know the location,” Tech told him as they both stood, brushing off twigs and leaves that had attached to them. “If Jaing cannot crack the encryption, I shall also have no success.” Wrecker looked downcast, always wearing his heart on his sleeve.

“Stitch and Omega, they’re tough.” It sounded almost like a plea, he was desperate for his own reassurance and Tech saw that for once. He agreed, you were strong, having faced so much adversity through your entire life, Tech had no doubts you were surviving this ordeal too. Then his thoughts switched gears.

“Hemlock said he wanted Omega to help Nala Se…” Wrecker moved a branch aside and waited for Tech to pass. “What if he is using Omega to keep Nala Se complacent.”

“What you gettin’ at?”

“Why retain the head scientist,” Tech muttered to himself. “And the clones.” Wrecker didn’t ask another question, letting his brother think and taking it upon himself to clear the way for Tech through the foliage. “It stands to reason, Nala Se may not be there by choice.”

“She’s a prisoner too?”

“Hemlock is unable to advance his experiments, without her expertise. The Empire destroyed Kamino but they extracted everything from it beforehand.” Tech waved a finger and Wrecker lunged to push a thick branch out of the way before Tech walked into it. “The cloning programme would be too valuable to eradicate. He must be using Nala Se’s research. That is how he was able to erase the clone on Coruscant, of his designation and enhance the inhibitor chip.”

The Marauder came back into view. Hunter sat on the steps, playing with his vibroblade while he waited for Tech and Wrecker to return.

“It is highly probable, Hemlock is aware of Stitch being a clone.” Every one of Tech’s words were laden with a despondency.

“Do you think this, Doctor is making more clones?” Wrecker asked hesitantly, his brow furrowed as he tried to understand.

“It is a possibility we simply cannot ignore.” Tech replied grimly.

“Our main objective is getting our squad members out of there,” Hunter said, catching his blade with a flick of his fingers, twirling it round and sliding it home into the vambrace. “Wherever there, is.”

“Where are the others? Did they tell you anythin’ else?” Wrecker asked, peering into the ship.

“They headed back after telling me everything they knew.” Hunter was brooding, staring off into the distance.

“Anything we need to know?” Tech asked, scrutinising Hunter’s reaction.

“We can go through it later,” he finally said, fixing his honeyed gaze on Tech, the frown easing. “All right?”

“I do not think I can appropriately articulate…” Tech started to explain when Gonky appeared in the hatch, garbling his beeps in excitement. Tech stepped past Hunter to the droid and gently ushered him backwards. “Gonky is saying we have received a transmission.”

“Is it Rex or Echo?” Wrecker almost sounded excited as he charged up the ramp with Hunter.

Tech settled in the pilot’s chair, pressing buttons on the control panel and bringing up an encrypted message on the console.

“Well?” Hunter prompted, his mistrust evident.

Tech regarded the message for a second. “I can decode it. The message is written using a method I am familiar with.” It felt like it took forever for the message to be translated, when really it only took Tech a few minutes to reveal the message in its entirety.

“Wha’ does…wha’ does it mean?” Wrecker stressed, gesturing at the screen.

“Is this real?” Hunter leaned on the back of Tech’s chair, his eyes fixed on the message.

“I believe it is.”

“Can someone explain!” Wrecker moaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s Omega,” Hunter said to him. A slow smile began to work across his face. “She made it out. She’s sent us coordinates for a rendezvous.”

“Omega?” Wrecker’s eyes widened as he processed the news and then let out a laugh of relief. “She escaped!”

“It looks like it.” Hunter hesitated before allowing himself to show such relief.

“Wait…wha’ if it’s a trap?” Wrecker suddenly said.

“Unless Omega divulged a particular set of coordinates from our time near Ryloth to the Imperials, I do not believe so,” Tech explained, bringing up the details of Ryloth’s third moon. “I suggest we leave immediately.”

“Yes!” Wrecker cried out, excitement making him loud and he thumped Hunter on the back. “Let’s go get our girl.”

Tech felt pressure on his shoulder, quickly glancing at Hunter’s hand.

“She would not leave Stitch behind,” Hunter murmured. “If she did, for whatever reason, Omega will have a way back to her.” He felt guilty for keeping the intel he had to himself. Jaing had shown him some footage from Niner’s HUD, of you, Omega and Crosshair discussing an escape. Hunter was conflicted, but no one saw the outcome because Niner switched off the feed when he removed his helmet. Omega had made it out and Hunter hoped you were with her at least.

Tech tried to conjure up a smile but he didn’t have it in him. “I always strive for the most optimistic outcome,” he finally said.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go,” chanted Wrecker. Practically throwing himself into the copilot’s chair, flicking switches on the systems that needed priming. “I can’t wait to see her safe and sound and back with us.”

Wrecker and Hunter’s words melted into back ground noise for Tech. He concentrated on lifting the ship off the ground, triangulating the trajectory easily so they could launch into hyperspace as soon as they breached the atmosphere.

He was proud of Omega for getting out, impressed with her lack of detail in the message incase it was intercepted, he couldn’t fault her deliverance at all. Her choice of RP was also excellent. Yet, his stomach felt sick. He wanted to know if you were with her. And Crosshair.

He needed his family back together.

It was the end goal, the final mission. And it all sounded far too good to be true.

[eashn]

You’re an Idiot, Darling - Ch. 4

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) | Mando x Reader

series masterlist | AO3 Link

Word count: 0.8k

Summary: The Mandalorian needed you to fix the Crest, but then, he went and got stabbed. Now, he needs you to fix him up, too.

WARNINGS for this chapter: Violence, STABBING, major character injury, and the angst that comes along with it, no use of Y/N, knives, blasters, minor antagonist death, swearing, blood

Your heart dropped. 

Mando’s back was to you. His gun was in his hand. And in front of him, the Rodian bounty hunter stood inches from the kid’s floating pod, his cocked gun poised over it. 

“They told me dead or alive, Mando,” he said. Green blood dripped from his snout, smeared all the way down to his chin. “Put the gun down, and I’ll try to make it the latter.” 

No. No. You cursed yourself for letting your guard down—for losing focus. Oh, kriff, this was bad, this was so bad. 

Mando stood rigid before him. 

“Put. The gun. Down,” the Rodian snarled. When Mando remained motionless, he brought his blaster closer to the surface of the pod, setting one finger on the trigger, and—

“Alright,” Mando said. “Alright.” One hand raised in surrender, he lowered to a crouch, setting his blaster upon the ground.

“You!” the Rodian shouted in your direction. “Hands in the air. Come up beside him.”

You raised your open palms, scowling as you did. Your gun was still tucked neatly against your back; if you didn’t turn around, the hunter would never see it. You needed to think, needed to come up with a plan to save your asses. And quickly. 

You came to stand beside Mando, and his visor remained fixed upon the Rodian. In the dark, his armor was almost as black as the night around you. The only thing you could see was the digital controls on his vambrace, blinking and flashing in perfect silence. 

Wait a second…You gasped. Shit. That’s perfect. 

You had an idea. 

“What’s the plan?” Mando muttered, still facing the hunter. 

“How much fibercord do you have left?” you whispered, hoping—praying he knew where you were going with this. 

He sucked in a breath, understanding. And he whispered back, “Enough.”

You put on your signature grin as you faced the Rodian again. “That snout looks gnarly!” you called out. “Are you okay, sir?”

The hunter cocked his head toward you. That’s it, bastard, you thought. Fall for the diversion.

“Shut up, whore,” he growled in your direction. 

“Hey! I’m just expressing my concern! I mean—I feel awful for making that ugly face a little bit uglier. We both feel awful.” You nudged Mando with your elbow. “Don’t we, Mando?” A tiny snicker tumbled out of his vocabulator, and despite everything, a flush creeped up your cheeks at the sound. “Hush,” you hissed at him. You turned back to the hunter. 

“You think I won’t shoot you both on the spot?” The Rodian’s voice was laced with danger. He was seething. He was right where you wanted him. “Do you think I’m stupid?” he demanded. 

“Little bit,” you replied. 

A pregnant pause. 

Then, you screamed, “NOW!”

In a flash, Mando shot the fibercord out of his vambrace, quicker than the Rodian could ever see coming. The whip twirled around the hunter’s ankles, looping once, twice—and then, he tugged. The blaster flew out of his grip as the Rodian fell to the ground. 

“Should’ve shot him right between those bug eyes when I had the chance,” you muttered, yanking your blaster out and racking it. As the hunter lay prone upon the floor, Mando raced towards the kid’s pod. His gloved fingers looped around its side, and he pushed, sending it flying toward you. You caught it with your free arm, and aimed. 

You couldn’t get a clear kriffing shot. They were both in the shadows, unable to fully see each other’s moves. The Rodian simply wouldn’t stay down; he rose to his feet again, and lunged with his fists. But Mando was faster and stronger. Catching both the hunter’s arms, he shoved the Rodian backward till he stumbled. Smooth as a predator, Mando prowled toward him. 

Suddenly, something caught your eye: a swift, dark movement. The Rodian had turned to the side for the briefest of seconds, and now…something was glinting in his palm. 

No. 

Mando hadn’t seen it. From where you stood, the light fell just right, and you could see the knife in the Rodian’s hand. But Mando hadn’t seen it. 

No no no no no. 

“Mando, look out!” you cried. 

But you were too late. The Rodian darted forward, jabbing the blade into Mando’s side. It pierced the open space right below his chestplate. You screamed.

Time slowed. Fear sliced through you, deep and razor-sharp. You couldn’t see anything, hear anything—except the way Mando staggered backward and clutched his side. He grunted in pain, and his knees hit the ground. 

The second he fell, you had a clear shot.

You didn’t think twice before shooting the Rodian. You didn’t even look to see him fall. Because now—Mando was swaying back and forth on his knees. Even from a distance, you could see the dark blood seeping through his fingers, staining his gloves. 

“No,” you breathed, blaster clattering to the floor as you raced toward him. 

His massive frame veered to the left. With a thud, Mando collapsed.

thank you for reading! follow @eashn​ for more!

[kyberblade]

How about a valentine treat 💘

And a treat you shall have!

Preview of the epilogue for BTY!

(Names have been changed to protect the innocent! Er, I mean, to avoid spoilers! 😇)

This is the fluff and sarcasm of the idiots I miss….

Below the cut for those who don’t want spoilers.

“Now, I know that you packed it,” you said, standing in the fresher of the Crest, voice jiggling as you hopped slightly to pull the armor higher up your chest. “But I don’t know why.”

“Oh, the Jedi is stumped, is she?” Din’s sarcastic amusement was muted through the door, making you roll your eyes.

Setting your weight to one hip, you pressed the button, and the durasteel barrier hissed open to reveal your Mandalorian leaning against the frame. His arms across his chest as he waited for you, his posture easy and relaxed, he looked like a growth on the walls of his ship.

Your friends were out in the hangar with Peli, their voices faintly heard along with the annoyed bleeps and bloops of R5 as they echoed off the stone walls and up the open ramp.

“Not stumped,” you countered quickly, walking around him to the middle of the cargo hold as you pulled your gloves on, chin held high as you chose your next words with care. His visor followed you as you went. “Just…. Curious.” You finally landed on with a huff, looking down at your hands as they fiddled mindlessly before adding on a mumbled, “And I’m not a Jedi.”

Din pushed off the wall, his head shaking gently in disbelief as he walked toward you slowly. “I was going to have Boba melt it down and forge it into something better.” He stopped somewhere behind you. You were purposely not paying attention, trying not to get distracted and make sure your armor was set up correctly, only faintly registering the absence of the soft thud of his boots on the metallic hull of the Crest right behind you before he went on. “I don’t know where the armorer is right now, and it’s not full beskar anyway, so any smith could do it, but I trust him.”

“Something better?” You turned to face him, head tilted to the side as you clicked your vambraces into place, their gears whirring to life. Stumbling back an inch as you startled, his chest plate brushing against your nose he was so close, you reached out to swat his arm lightly in annoyance, muttering a Don’t do that and shaking your hand out to the side with a grimace after it pinged off his beskar. Craning your head back to look up at him properly, you couldn’t help the small grin when you found him already peering down at you. “Like what?”

Din’s head tilted just so to the right. “Something for you.” He didn’t miss a beat.

Your eyes widened slightly before they narrowed to slits. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

He was smiling. You could tell by the lilt in his voice as he leaned into the tilt of his head, his body following and started down the ramp. “You know me so well.”

Reaching out, you grabbed his cape. “Nu-uh. Not so fast, Tin Can. Hold up.” Pulling him back to you, though he gave very little resistance, you leaned around to look into his visor when he was a few inches away, his hands in his hips in mock annoyance. “You don’t have to do that.” Your voice had gone soft. He turned to face you fully. “I know that armor is important to you.”

“So are you.”

You grinned. “Smooth, Shiny. Real smooth.”

Din shrugged one shoulder, his hands falling to rest at his side loosely. “I have my moments.”

You nodded, starting down the ramp, and talking over your shoulder. “And they are few and far between.”

Din scoffed. “Lucky for you. You couldn’t handle me at full throttle.”

Grinning, you looked down at your vambraces and twisted them a bit. “That sounded like a threat.”

“It’s whatever you wanted it to be, mesh’la.”

[blackkatmagic]

Ah! The intro to Lando! And a coming date night with Kix and Rex! And Kix completely into sweaty shirtless Agen and Agen being clueless and Fox being like "this kriffing idiot brother of mine"! And THE VAMBRACES! This chapter was adorable and the smile on my face was so big the entire time.

Also Agen moving forward with a new lightsaber, wanting to honor the joy of the time he had with Tan. 😭

Agen, an empath strong enough to be on Jedi High Council: My boyfriend is acting strange while I am shirtless and sweaty. I feel distress from him. It must be the heat, obviously.

But more seriously, yeah, Agen is very much moving on from the deep grief that led him to forge his first double crystal lightsaber, and it's like. He's not going to give up Tan's crystal, because it's a piece of Tan. But he can incorporate it into something that wasn't built solely out of terrible, wretched mourning, and it's a sign that he's recovering. Even in the middle of the war, he's finding a path forward, and all the people around him (and his bond with Aram to a degree) are helping with that.

[cruelfeline]

Thinking about that time Frey asks Cuff if he gets hungry, and he's like "a vambrace? Hungry? Don't be ridiculous." As if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and she's an idiot for asking.

I like to think that, at some point, he answers something else in the same fashion. Frey asks him about xyz, and he's like "psh, vambraces don't xyz."

To which Frey just smoothly responds with "well, shit, then it's a good thing you're a cuff."

And Cuff is just like *angry surprised pikachu face* for a good ten seconds.

[waloeders]

actually no would anyone be mad if i. maybe shipped with the guy (demon?? not that far yet) who got trapped in a bracelet, sorry "vambrace", idiot ur a cuff, come on. anyway would anyone be mad

[jgvfhl]

The Number Lads Put the Pieces Together

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! WE SURVIVED ANOTHER ONE, FOLKS!!! Speaking of surviving... Last we saw, Elevensies and Ahsoka had found refuge with Saleha Nitta, but suddenly!! Ahsoka has vanished to who knows where... So, where did she go and what did she do?

Words: ~3K

Warnings: Some fighting and punching but nothing too graphic.

Link to Number Lads Master List of chapters.

Link to the story on Ao3 (it's about two chapters behind, but I'm catching up)

Sixes = Grim Reaper

Thire = RedBastard

Nero = mayhem_man

Bacara = beefcara

All of them together = Chaos Idiots <3

Chaos Idiots <3

RedBastard: sixes i am going to kriffing murder you next time you show your stupid face on trip zip

Grim Reaper: Did Bacara steal Thire’s comm?

mayhem_man: oooooooo thire’s angeeeyyyy

RedBastard: I am out here risking my enTIRE CAREER on a HUNCH for you

mayhem_man: damn and that’s saying something

mayhem_man: he worked hard for his rank

RedBastard: shut the kriff up nero

beefcara: Do I even want to know?

Grim Reaper: No

RedBastard: cannot believe I’m asking this

mayhem_man: my favorite thing to hear :)

RedBastard: do either of you with Jedi think your generals would be able to find out if a padawan at the Temple has actually been completing shifts in the Halls of Healing?

beefcara: I’m going into hyperspace. Goodbye.

mayhem_man: bacara what the hell akdjfalsk

mayhem_man: anyway, lemme see what I can do

-scene break-

Loops was getting kind of tired of cleaning up after General Skywalker and Commander Tano’s banthashit, actually. First, it was the Citadel, then again on Kadavo, and now he was clutching the doorhandle of a speeder for dear life as Commander Thire flew like a madman so they could find the commander after she’d disappeared from the Noodle Bar. He had wanted to stay put and pet the cats more. But Commander Tano had found a comm in the apartment there, and had contacted someone, and then she had vanished as only a Jedi could. Fortunately, Saleha had been able to trace the general sector and level of the connecting comm channel, and that was how Loops had ended up here.

He would never criticize Warthog’s flying again.

“The only things in this area are industrial,” Commander Thire muttered, looking around. “What’s she doing here?”

“Would it have something to do with the investigation?” Loops offered. “Looking for proof?”

“Yeah, but Fox was heading that investigation,” he grumbled. “I was helping Stone and Thorn cover the rest of the work while he did.”

“So… just comm him?”

The commander hesitated, executing a few stomach-churning turns as they went lower in the city. Finally, he grumbled to himself inaudibly, and dialed a frequency on his vambrace. “Fox?”

“Thire, this had better be useful,” the other commander answered.

“It is, I’ve got a lead on Tano,” Commander Thire said. “But I need to know if there’re any ideas on where the bombing materials were made. She’s gone into an industrial sector on level fifteen, but I don’t know where to look.”

“Materials?” There was a pause, a long one. The commander muttered a few colorful phrases under his breath. Finally, Commander Fox’s voice returned. “Skywalker says nanodroids. If there’s somewhere near you involving nanodroid production or distribution, that’s where she’ll be. I’ll be tracking your coordinates and sending backup.”

“Copy that, sir,” he answered, disconnecting the comm channel. He tapped a screen on the dashboard of the speeder. “Loops, look up nanodroids within this sector.”

Loops did, marveling at just how much tech this speeder had. He’d assumed it was Saleha’s, but considering the seats seemed to fit clones perfectly, he now had other suspicions. After a short wait, the screen lit up with results. Fortunately for them, there weren’t many.

“There’s a factory a few kliks from here,” he said, “and a warehouse… right up there.” He sat up and pointed towards the end of the block.

Commander Thire glanced at the map, then swung the speeder into parking by the walkway nearest the warehouse, leaving Loops’ stomach following a second behind. Before they got out, he pressed a button labeled Anti-Theft, and Loops heard a series of ominous clicks and clunks throughout the vehicle. They got out and ran down an alley leading to the warehouse.

It was dark down here, especially at night. The lack of glowing signs and bright windows only made it darker. Loops dutifully followed the commander towards the grey warehouse between grey buildings under slivers of grey sky. For a color so familiar to him, he found himself focusing on the commander’s red paint like he would drown if he lost sight of it.

As they approached, his eye latched onto new colors. Light was flaring from inside the warehouse. Yellow, white, and red danced behind the broken windows, and the commander held up a closed fist for them to stop.

“Any chances the Commander might have set the warehouse on fire by herself?” he said quietly.

“Probably not,” Loops said, understanding the implication. She had come to meet someone here. And they had no idea who that was supposed to be, or who it had actually been.

As he scanned the building for any possible safe way in, Loops’ visor highlighted something out of place. An armored figure stood near a doorway to the building, mostly in shadow (as most things were down here). He tapped the commander’s arm and gestured with his blaster.

“What…?”

They used their helmets to zoom in. The figure wore Coruscant Guard armor, minus the helmet, but it was impossible to tell who it was in the dim lighting.

Commander Thire gestured them onwards, slipping into a creeping gait and sticking close to the shadows around them. As they crept closer, the light from the warehouse grew steadily brighter, and Loops found himself wishing quietly, that there was nothing too flammable in there. Then he remembered these nanodroids had something to do with the Temple bombing.

Wait.

Oh kriff.

Why were they going towards it?

Commander Thire signaled a halt again, and they trained their visors on the armored person by the building. Loops blinked, narrowing his eyes to make sure he was seeing things correctly. Finally, he clicked his visor over to night vision, and he felt his mouth drop open slightly.

The person was wearing clone armor, that was certain. But that person… they were not a clone. They were human, but their skin was too light for a standard clone. What was going on?

“Stay where you are and put your hands where I can see them!” Commander Thire called, raising his blaster and approaching the man. Protocol was protocol, Loops reasoned.

The man moved immediately, reaching down to a crate near him to retrieve a blaster, then turning it on the two of them.

The commander swore a remarkably varied blue streak until he dove to roll out of the way and Loops couldn’t hear him anymore. “Stun!” he yelled, and Loops switched his blaster’s mode before returning fire.

He hated firing at close quarters. It had never been a strong suit, although he was perfectly average compared to most clones. He much preferred a little distance between himself and his opponents. But, he kept firing, doing his best to avoid the commander and the enemy bolts flying his way.

When the commander was close enough, he launched himself at the impersonator. The man managed to step to the side to avoid getting hit full-force with his entire body weight, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Commander Thire grabbed the front of the man’s chest plate, using his own momentum to carry them both down, swinging himself around to land on his knees more or less. Their attacker was sent sprawling on his back, and the commander punched him across the face, disarming him while he was stunned.

All the while, Loops kept his distance, his blaster still trained on the impersonator in case he tried anything.

The commander rolled the man over and locked a set of binders on his wrists. “You’re awfully lucky I’m still feeling nice this evening,” he said in a deceptively light tone, “or you’d be dead in a dumpster somewhere no one would ever find your body.”

Loops did not doubt his ability to accomplish that.

“So what?” the man spat. “I’ve done my job.”

The noise of a gunship closing in drew his attention away from them, and he looked up and around, searching for it. It emerged from the grey surroundings, searchlights trained on the warehouse. The warehouse was looking a bit brighter now, wasn’t it? He eyed it warily.

“Commander, I think we should clear out,” he said. “That warehouse doesn’t look stable.���

The man on the ground laughed until the commander shoved his face into the platform underneath him.

Then there was a huge noise from inside the building, and it expanded outwards until the windows shattered outwards, raining shards of glass down around them. The gunship was hovering on another side of the warehouse, and as soon as the noise subsided, troopers in 104th paint dropped out of it, disappearing to the level below.

“Wolfpack’s here,” the commander remarked. “They’ll clean up. Let’s get this one over to them.”

He hauled the man upright, kicking the discarded blaster away from him. Loops waited to follow them, but they hadn’t taken more than two steps when the door the man had been guarding burst open, and someone else ran out, coughing from the cloud of smoke following them. Commander Thire shoved their captive roughly, setting his leg in such away to trip him onto his face. Ouch. He drew his pistols in the same breath, training them on the newcomer. His DC-17 blaster was still on the deck where he’d apprehended the man.

The new figure was much slimmer and leaner than the impersonator, but still looked near-human. They wore all black, including a full-face mask of some kind and a hooded cloak. As soon as they’d swept the scene, they drew–shit, was that a lightsaber? A red lightsaber?

Loops kept his blaster set to stun. He remembered some of the stories he’d heard about Umbara, and he knew a lightsaber’s ability to reflect the bolts right back. Better unconscious than dead.

“Are you kriffing kidding me?” Commander Thire said, also switching his weapons to stun. “Listen, I’m already pissed, do you really wanna do this?”

The new attacker charged, drawing a second kriffing red lightsaber, because of course they had two. They fired stun ring after stun ring at them, and they leapt and dodged, climbing a stack of crates before launching themself off of it.

Loops was slightly confused, but he didn’t have a lot of time to think about why. Something was off, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He just kept firing, even as the person descended upon the commander–probably because he looked the bigger threat, which was fine with him.

The lightsaber blades were held straight out and parallel, and Commander Thire just… ducked. He ducked, rolled forward, stood up and pivoted around to face them. That was odd.

“That’s what I thought,” the commander said. “You’re not a Jedi. You’re not even Sith.”

The attacker screamed, charging him again, and this time he held his ground. He fainted high, then dropped again, slamming his elbow into the person’s stomach, then wrapping his arms around theirs and giving enough torque that Loops heard something pop. He winced at the broken scream that followed.

The lightsabers fell to the deck, deactivating.

“Nice show,” the commander said, then reared back and slammed his helmet into the person’s face. They slumped in his arms. “But it’s over now.”

Loops raised his comm, hoping Commander Wolffe wasn’t too busy right now.

“Wolffe.”

“Commander, it’s Loops,” he said, turning to watch the gunship. “Commander Thire and I are around the other side of the warehouse. I just saw a few of the guys drop in there.”

“Why the hell are you here?”

“Uh, we were tracking Commander Tano here, sir. We’ve got two suspects in custody with us, if you could give us a ride.”

There was a short pause before, “Yeah, sure. We’ve got Tano anyway. Let’s get them all back to the base.” The comm ended, and after a few seconds, Loops watched the gunship rise into the air and start towards them.

-scene break-

Loopy: So is anyone else’s night going to plan? Bc mine is not.

high fives: HA

CrispyDomino: what is plan to a skywalker

#1 Boy: no………

high fives: and WHOSE FAULT IS THAT, ELEVENSIES???

DEATH: Are you enjoying the noodles?

#1 Boy: yes the noodles are delicious and Ballistic Noodles is adorable

#1 Boy: however

#1 Boy: i regret several decisions made tonight

Loopy: at least you had the chance to make decisions

Loopy: cmdr thire just grabbed me and took off looking for you

RedBoiiii: is everyone okay tho?????

Double Trouble: Wait where is Elevens getting noodles????

Leafs: And what does Ballistic Noodles mean?

DEATH: Don’t worry about it

high fives: at least Ahsoka’s back, now we can actually find out what happened

CrispyDomino: that’s the idea….

d0nut man: yeah is everyone good over there?? This shit sounds wild

Leafs: Anything that might have caused General Unduli to suddenly take off for 000?

DEATH: Maybe.

Leafs: If it’s incriminating, I don’t want to know

Double Trouble: But I do!!!

DEATH: I meant that maybe literally, not enigmatically

RedBoiiiii: Damn, the commander out here using big commander words

DEATH: You know what those words mean, shut up

high fives: those are good words tho

#1 Boy: hey commander, can I show a picture of Ballistic Noodles?

RedBoiiiii: of whomst now?

CrispyDomino: this should be good

DEATH: Yeah, but just her

Double Trouble: I am so intrigued

#1 Boy: [image file]

RedBoiiiii: AAAAAWWWWWW

Double Trouble: KITTY CAT KITTY KITTY CAT CAT!!!!

high fives: wait what

high fives: wHAT

CrispyDomino: I… I’m not sure what to say

d0nut man: aw lil baby… lil sleepy baby :)

high fives: how in the GALAXY did you RUN AWAY FROM LAW ENFORCEMENT and someHOW END UP somewhere on a BEAN BAG CHAIR

high fives: WITH A VERY CUTE LOTH CAT SLEEPING ON YOU

high fives: MAKE IT MAKE SENSE, ELEVENS

Leafs: Okay he did what and why and how

Leafs: Elevensies you *are* law enforcement

DEATH: A lot has happened tonight.

#1 Boy: I’m leaving soon, cmdr Thire’s coming to get me

Double Trouble: no but like where are these noodles you’re having, elevens

#1 Boy: Am I allowed to say?

DEATH: No

#1 Boy: okay!

Double Trouble: NOOOOOOOOO

-scene break-

As soon as the Death Wings’ Venator dropped out of hyperspace after their most recent firefight–an annoying one, by the way–Sixes’ comm and holoprojector lit up like Coruscant at night. He answered the transmission first, figuring that was more urgent. When he connected, he saw Nero in one hologram, then Gree and General Unduli in another. All of them looked somber.

“What is this about?” he asked, looking automatically to his batchmate.

“I was explaining to the general what I–well, what Veek and I discovered,” he said, referring to his general. “Remember? You asked me to look into Commander Barriss on Coruscant?”

He nodded, turning his attention to the 41st members. “And?”

Gree was holding the holoprojector, but the image kept wobbling rhythmically, so they must be walking somewhere. They were in a bit of a hurry, it seemed.

“Commander Nero informed me Veekah couldn’t find records of Barriss completing her shifts in the Halls of Healing for the past few days,” General Unduli explained, her brows drawn together in concern. “I’ve just been myself and confirmed it. Master Che told me she’d not been feeling quite herself, so she said she was taking extra meditation time. But I’m not sure she’s been doing that either.”

Sixes narrowed his eyes. That was odd. “So what has she been doing, ma’am?”

“We’re going to her room now to find out,” she answered. “Here, we’re here.” She ran ahead of her commander, disappearing from the hologram momentarily until he caught up to her.

“Nero told us you had some hunch,” he said, looking to Sixes. “About Commander Tano and the Temple. That has to do with Commander Offee somehow?”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I… all I know is Offee supposedly told Tano to check out this warehouse for clues about the bombing,” he admitted. “But, when Thire, Fox, and Wolffe got there, the place was on fire and Thire found someone there with Asajj Ventress’ lightsabers.”

There was the sound of a door chime. “Barriss?” the general called, her voice tight with worry. “Barriss, it’s Luminara, may I come in?” A muffled voice answered, and General Unduli shook her head. “I can’t do that, Barriss, I’m worried about you.”

There was the sound of the door sliding open. The two filed in. There was a second of quiet, then the hologram scrambled, reforming again to show a view of the floor at an angle.

Nero sat up. “Gree? General?”

“What is it?” Sixes asked.

“It’s the commander!” came Gree’s voice from out of sight. “She’s…”

He was interrupted by a frantic plea from his general. “Get her up! Get her up, Gree, she’s alive!”

Nero shot him a look, but all they could do was wait until they were moved to see anything. Eventually, the hologram moved again, swept off the floor by General Unduli. They could see Gree in the background, carrying Barriss Offee’s limp body in his arms. It looked like they were running.

“She was drugged or something,” the general said. “She’s unconscious but physically unharmed. We’re going right to the Healers!”

“There was some kind of microphone hooked up to the doorbell,” Gree added. “Made her ‘answer the door,’ telling people to leave or come back later.” He looked pissed.

“You might want to let the Council know,” Nero advised. “Considering Tano’s tribunal is in… thirty minutes?”

“Think the Senate will delay a whole tribunal for that?” Sixes asked. He had his reasons to be skeptical. Thire had plenty of stories about the Senate.

“They’d better!” General Unduli said sharply, her eyes blazing. Wow. She was pissed.

Nero blinked, a little impressed at her anger as well. “We’ll leave you to it,” he said.

“I thank you gentlemen for your assistance,” the general said, and ended the transmission.

For a few seconds, Sixes and Nero just sat there in silence, the hologram flickering every once in a while. This was a lot.

Had someone broken into the Temple? Was someone impersonating Offee? To what end? Were they after Tano alone, or did they have a larger plan? The bombing had certainly done a number on the Jedi Order’s reputation on Coruscant, and Tano’s running hadn’t improved her position in the Guard’s eyes, either. But she had been set up, hadn’t she? The warehouse, the stranger with the lightsabers but no Force-sensitivity… none of it was adding up.

“Wow,” Nero finally said.

Sixes just nodded, still mired in his thoughts.

“Uh… okay.” Nero was just filling the silence now.

He kept supplying silence to fill.

“I didn’t… when you asked me to look into that, I didn’t…” He trailed off. “She’ll know who it was, right? The real sonuva Hutt responsible for this. She’ll wake up, and they’ll tell the tribunal, and Tano won’t…” The sentence didn’t finish. “They don’t have a lot of cameras in the Temple, you know. I actually have no idea what’s gonna happen to Tano.”

Sixes nodded, slowly. At last, he said, “Good news: we know Saleha likes her.”

-scene break-

DEATH: How are things holding up over there with you freaks?

CrispyDomino: It’s been… weird.

RedBoiiiii: ohhhh yeah :( your commander left

Submarine: She was innocent, though, wasn’t she? They found the real bad guys

CrispyDomino: They did, but not before Tano was almost sentenced to who knows what by the Senate Military Tribunal

high fives: yeah, they found the real guys, some group of anti-Jedi anti-war idiots

Double Trouble: I heard they were following the Senth of Darkness poodoo???

CrispyDomino: ohhhh yeah

high fives: up to their eyeballs in that banthashit

Leafs: Are you kidding me

Leafs: Stupid conspiracy theories and some weirdo who only calls themself “senth” almost got my commander KILLED

Leafs: bc they were butthurt about the war THE JEDI DID NOT START??

DEATH: Well…

Leafs: Please do not, sir, I am aware of the events that transpired at Geonosis 1

d0nut man: no but he has a point, those people are nutso

high fives: it’s still just weird not having her around anymore…

Loopy: Where did she end up?

CrispyDomino: hell if we’re gonna find out

high fives: for all we know she’s on shili idk

Double Trouble: ah

Loopy: well. could be worse?

#1 Boy: I’m sure you’ll find out eventually, once all this blows over

Double Trouble: yeah it’s not like the commander keeping this noodle place a secret

Double Trouble: and he’s sworn loops and elevens to secrecy too

RedBoiiiii: what??

high fives: oh my gods do si do are you still upset about noodles??

Double Trouble: YEAH :(

DEATH: And they will hold to that secrecy

Loopy: Absolutely, sir

#1 Boy: Yep! ^_^

Double Trouble: What does he have on you guys?? Blackmail?? A picture of Loops with short hair??

#1 Boy: actually he’s bribing us :)

Loopy: It’s true, he is bribing us

RedBoiiiii: With what??? Cats?? Noodles??

Loopy: stranger things have happened, sevens…

#1 Boy: those noodles are reeeeeally good… mmmm

Double Trouble: you cruel bastards T_T

d0nut man: dammit now I’m hungry

Okay it's kind of a funky wrap-up to the Wrong Jedi shenanigans bc they are clones and not Jedi, so they don't get all the information their generals do. But. Yeah, blame the Space! Qanon I made up. Anyhoo, there's a couple filler chapters coming up after this, and THEN we can start looking into the Orders arc!

@mercurydancer @23-bears @theultimatesandwich @rndmpeep once again, I have no idea who actually reads these....

[nicad13]

Crossroads: Chapter 5

The Price of Beskar

Summary: "Alright, kiddo, let’s commit some blasphemy."

Rayne skirts the edge of the Way to save Din's life. Her enemy sorcery can only bring him so far, and he has some Dark Moments. Lessons in Mandalorian culture and history are exchanged, and Din must atone to the Child for his past decisions. Rayne revisits a dark place of her own, and Din starts to figure out how to do the "comfort" side of hurt/comfort.

It's a mess.

Notes: Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic before the sequel, which will hopefully be complete by the end of Season 3. Start now so you're ready! AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Another beautiful illustration by @catstanbulite.

Tags/Warnings: whump, hurt/comfort, blackouts, blood/injury, flashbacks, Order 66

Rating: Mature

---

Oh, a storm is threat’ning

My very life today

If I don’t get some shelter

Oh yeah, I’m gonna fade away

War, children, it’s just a shot away

Rolling Stones, Gimme Shelter

---

The deck thumped under her as the Razor Crest’s guns fired on swarming Imps.

Her teeth buzzed in her skull as the engines burned. They sounded good. They sounded strong.

Din’s body twitched between her knees as he seized. He was not good. Already, she was covered in his blood, the back of his helmet heavy against her sternum.

Rayne’s vision grayed out, sound fading to a sharp, high whine as she tied the torn-off sheet strip around the upper part of her left arm with her teeth and her right hand. Blood loss, combined with her earlier efforts at Force-controlling a platoon of Imps, threatened to drain the consciousness from her mind.

Another round of gunfire brought her back.

It was just as well there was no table big enough to put his body on. They couldn’t fall off the floor.

Her eyes rolled to the left and down, catching Din’s son at her side. She knew Din had been in rough shape when they first arrived at her hangar a few days ago, knew he’d been suffering through intermittent headaches, knew that the two shots he’d taken to the back of the head would normally not have phased him. “What happened?” she asked the baby. “Can you show me? What happened before?”

Taking her meaning, the kid leaned into her, wound her shirt into his hands, and closed his eyes.

Rayne saw it all from the kid’s perspective.

Saw his father mow the Imps down with an enormous gun. Saw Gideon shoot his father in the back of the head. Saw Gideon take aim for the cannon battery. Saw the explosion throw his father twenty feet in the air. Saw the Shocktrooper drag his father to cover. Saw her pull her hand away, covered in his father’s blood. Saw her try to save his father’s life.

Saw his father refuse.

Oh Din, you idiot.

Saw his father later, somehow, stagger to the front of a boat, swing the jetpack over his shoulders to clip in, launch himself into the air, snag a TIE fighter with his vambrace whipcord, and get flung across the sky.

Oh Din, you ginormous idiot.

The engines changed in pitch as Beta took evasive action, and Rayne was glad for the extra grav she’d installed in the hold, G-forces holding steady. She took the bed sheet in her teeth again and ripped off another strip. “Ok, buddy, time for the blindfold. Sorry about this.” To her great relief, the kid did not object as she wrapped the strip around his head, looping it around his ears to hold it securely over his eyes. “Please don’t squirm out of this like you squirm around locked doors.” That done, she ripped off one more strip, held one end in her teeth, closed her eyes, wrapped it around her head, and tied it off.

She was blind.

“Alright, kiddo, let’s commit some blasphemy.”

She felt around the bottom edge of the helmet and found the release catch on the right side, breaking the seal around Din’s neck. Reaching down his arms, she grabbed the vambraces at his wrists, pulled his hands up, worked her hands up to his wrists, and used his own hands to lift the helmet from his head.

She set the helmet down to her right, the kid still at her side to her left. She slid her right hand up the back of Din’s head, frowning as she felt a shard of his skull protruding through his scalp, slick under his blood and hair. She wrapped her left hand around the front of his head. Concentrating, she mapped out the damage in her mind, feeling the kid next to her, watching, not interfering, but offering strength where he could.

The ship jumped to hyperspace.

The roar of the engines died away as the Razor Crest split the seams between space and time.

With the noise gone, she could now hear Din’s breathing, shallow and labored and rough. Unmodulated by the helmet. Stupid thoughts crossed her mind.

His head is so round.

I’m glad the engines held up.

He really does need a haircut.

She bit her lip and forced herself to focus. Seeing his fractures in her mind, seeing the swelling at both the front and back of his brain, she bled the Force into him, first draining the swelling, repairing the vascular damage, then shifting her right hand to fit his skull back to the right shape, putting the pieces back together, knitting them closed. She sealed the laceration last, killing off any invasive bacteria, smoothing over the scar.

His breathing stabilized.

His body relaxed, seizures ending with the repair of neural tissue.

She felt the kid sag at her side.

She reached for the helmet to her right, but her hands were numb, and she only ended up pushing it out of reach. The high-pitched whine returned to the center of her head, and she felt her arms and legs go heavy and limp. With her vision already blacked out, she did not have the warning of it narrowing to a pinpoint before it winked out entirely with her consciousness.

Gamma, the bot that had shuttled Din and the baby to the safety of the hold, crouched in the corner and shivered as it watched three living beings lay unconscious in a drying puddle of blood.

---

The first thing Din was aware of was the hum of his ship in hyperspace.

A familiar sound.

A comforting sound.

Few things could hurt him here.

He was safe.

He was just sleeping.

Was he sleeping? He was at a weird angle. He tasted blood in his mouth. He smelled blood. Heavy iron. He turned his head, feeling his hair stick to whatever he was on top of.

No helmet. He felt the rest of his armor weighing him down, but no helmet.

He forced his eyes open and sat up. Looking down, he saw boots that weren’t his at his hips.

Someone was still in them.

Sucking in a breath, he rolled to a crouch, drew his sidearm, and turned.

Goddammit.

Rayne and his son were passed out against the bulkhead, blindfolded. Rayne was soaked in blood. He put his hand to the back of his head, felt a drying, caking mess back there, and realized she was covered in his blood. He saw the bandage on her left arm, soaked with her blood as well.

The world tilted sideways for a moment. He closed his eyes, placed his hands on the floor to steady himself, and opened them again, holstering his sidearm.

He moved toward them, not recalling the last thing he remembered, not caring how they’d all gotten to where they were. The past could wait. He checked his son first, finding no wounds, his breathing and pulse were normal. None of the blood on his robe was his. Din picked him up and put him in his crate.

He turned his attention to Rayne.

Her breathing was shallow; her pulse was thin, but steady. He peeled her shirt off, up and over her head, threading her arms through the holes. One thing that sleeping with a crew member actually managed to make less awkward was getting them out of their clothes to check for blaster wounds. Nothing he hadn’t already seen twice over, and he knew where the old scars were by now. No major wounds other than her arm; most of the blood on her shirt was his, then. He did the same with the leggings, frowning at the bruise rising at her hip. He pulled a tracking fob out of a pocket and set it aside, not thinking about it. He cleaned the blood and dirt off of her as well as he could, treated the wound on her arm with bacta from his medkit, along with the scrapes on her face, hands, elbows, and knees. He felt almost as if he was being piloted from far away, not entirely present in his tasks, disassociated from it all. The one exception was when Rayne tensed at the sting of the bacta, which loosened some of the tension in him, knowing she had enough left in her to at least respond to something. Not knowing where she’d stowed her clothes and not yet comfortable with rummaging around in her stuff, he pulled out one of his shirts, a pair of shorts, and a pair of socks, then set about the task of wrestling her into all of it. At long last, he had her bundled up in the bunk with what was left of the sheet, the blanket, plus an extra blanket for good measure.

Winded, he turned his attention to the puddle of blood smeared on the deck.

A little goes a long way, he told himself, but… still. It looked like a lot. He had no way of telling how much of it was his and how much of it was Rayne’s. He was wiped out. He couldn’t just leave it there, and he still had to get himself squared away, but… still. He put his back to the bulkhead and slid down to the floor next to the bunk, where Rayne had him before. He reached for his helmet, just barely within his arm span, and slipped it over his head. Uh. More blood in there, too. He’d get to it in a minute. Just…

He let his eyes slip closed.

Just for a minute.

Gamma sat in the corner and watched.

---

The ship dropped out of hyperspace.

Din snapped awake.

They coasted for a moment, then jumped back to lightspeed.

Right. Their first decoy stop.

They’d been going in the wrong direction on purpose for five hours.

Five hours? Had he really been sitting on the deck of his own ship, in a puddle of his own blood, for five hours?

He pulled his feet in and pushed himself up to standing. It finally occurred to him to wonder what had happened to put them all in this state of affairs. The fob on the floor caught his eye and he picked it up.

It all came back.

He’d watched from the rooftop as Rayne convinced a Stormtrooper to hand the fob to her, and then he’d fallen like a load of bricks. And then the rest of them had fallen like dominos.

He remembered taking a bolt to the shoulder.

He turned and saw his jetpack on the floor, scraped up and covered in dirt.

He would never remember the two bolts to the back of his head, but he could figure it out well enough. He sighed, putting it all together.

He would deal with the picture the pieces made later. He still had a lot more work to do.

His son was snoring in his crate. Rayne was a quieter sleeper and he had to lean into the bunk and check her pulse at her neck before he was satisfied that she was ok. He turned and sat at the end of it, taking a moment to key his vambrace to receive the biometrics from her wristband. He set it to a light tap-buzz at the back of his wrist synched with her pulse so he would know if anything changed.

He removed their blindfolds. Something in his gut tightened at the sight of them in his hand, the realization that Rayne had taken the time for them before removing his helmet. He felt a mix of relief, gratitude, and betrayal at what she had done. Too exhausted to make any headway with it, he continued with his work.

He changed his son’s robe, dealt with the dried swath of blood on the deck, and then pulled the armor off. Cleaning that was a chore that would keep until later; the blood on it was his own, some of it might have been Rayne’s but the armor was not desecrated with the blood of enemies. Stepping into the fresher, he finally shucked himself out of his blood-soaked clothes, and, removing the helmet, took a look in the mirror.

The image of IG-11 flashed in his vision.

He closed his eyes, counted to ten, and tried again.

Just his own face this time, but the same bloody mess he had been after Nevarro.

He watched as the E-Web cannon battery blew up in his face.

The next time he opened his eyes, he was on the floor, the metal bulkhead cold against the bare skin of his back, arms covering his head.

Get your shit together. He pulled himself up. Don’t look in the mirror. He brushed his teeth to get the taste of blood out of his mouth, closing his eyes until he rinsed the basin so he wouldn’t see it. He forced himself into the cramped shower, got it as hot as he could stand it, and again kept his eyes closed so he wouldn’t see the blood run off. He chanced running his hand over the back of his head and found that things felt normal back there, the odd bump that had been with him for the past week and a half no longer present. When his fingers started to prune up, he shimmied out, dried off, and set about cleaning his helmet out the best he could without looking at what came out of it. When he had resigned himself to the idea of putting it back on over wet hair, his eye happened to catch Rayne’s hairdryer in the rack where he’d stowed it earlier.

Oh thank god.

The one chore in this whole waking hell of a day that would feel good.

The pure frivolousness of warm, blowing air nearly broke him down. He didn’t care. The tears came and he didn’t care. He’d cracked his skull open for the second time in less than two weeks, nearly died of a head injury for the second time in less than two weeks, lost what looked like two pints of blood, apparently got put back together again by an enemy sorcerer who was now passed out in his bunk, probably assisted by his enemy sorcerer child who was also passed out, had changed everyone on board out of blood-soaked clothes, and having dry hair before putting the helmet back on was the best fucking thing to happen to him in decades and he had no more fucks to give about the fact that his face was spewing tears over it.

Rayne was right about needing downtime. He was ready to sleep for a hundred years.

Thoroughly dry, he slipped the helmet back on, stepped out of the fresher, dressed in clean clothes, put his vambraces back on, scooped up all of the blood-soaked items littering the deck, and stuffed them in the clothes unit.

Done.

He turned to the bunk and stopped. Crawling in there with Rayne didn’t feel quite right, at the moment. He needed some space, at least until they had another discussion about helmet rules. Flight deck it was, then. He picked up his son’s crate and headed up the ladder.

He froze when he got to the top to find the bot on the flight deck, jacked into the droid port, flying his ship.

Would this shitshow of a day never end?

The bot turned and greeted him with a chirp.

“Get. Out.” His voice sounded like snapping ice. The bot made a sad-sounding noise as it set the ship to autopilot and jacked out. Din sighed and tried again. “Get out, please.” The bot chirped once more, then headed down the ladder.

Finally, Din put his son’s crate in the starboard jump-seat and eased himself into the pilot chair. Taking the sleeping child into his lap, he strapped himself into the chair so he wouldn’t fall out if it, turned to prop his feet up on the port jump-seat, and eased back.

The blue-white ripple of hyperspace flowed above them.

His body ached, even as his head was finally free from pain.

He could feel his son’s heartbeat through his hand. He could feel Rayne’s pulse through the vambrace on the back of his wrist. As Din dozed off, he realized that the two were perfectly synchronized, Rayne’s heart beating once for every three of the baby’s.

Together, they had saved his life, today.

He wondered if, together, they would be his undoing.

---

She woke up disoriented, not knowing where she was, alarmed at the blurry image of an armor-clad figure seated in a chair at the foot of the bunk. When her brain finally caught up and she realized it was Din, she relaxed, rubbing her eyes. When her vision cleared, she noticed the tension in his shoulders. Her eyes dropped to see that he had drawn his sidearm blaster and was holding it in his lap.

Ok, back to being alarmed.

She sat up and slid so her back was against the rear wall. “How’s the kid?”

“Fine.” His voice was low, menacing.

“The customary response to someone who saved your life is to say ‘Thank you.’“

“You removed my helmet.” In that moment, she saw the cold-blooded killer he often was. He knew she was claustrophobic. She knew he cornered her in here on purpose. A small part of her hated him for it.

She schooled herself back, knowing his reaction came from a place of self-defense, and possibly, some gaps in his memory. She looked at her arms, clad in a shirt that wasn’t hers. “Why am I wearing your clothes?”

His head cocked to the side.

“Where did you wake up?”

“Flight deck.”

“Do you remember how you got up there?”

“… No.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Waking up on the deck with my helmet off.”

“Are blackouts a thing for you?”

“It’s against the Creed.” Rage still drove the words, but his voice cracked with uncertainty.

“You’re telling me you would choose to die for your religion over living for your son?”

Is that what I did before?

Despite the fact that he literally had her backed into a corner, her eyes drilled into him, daring him to tell her she was wrong. Daring him to use the weapon in his hand. He took a deep breath and holstered his sidearm.

His vambrace began its tap-buzz against the back of his wrist once more, set to activate for half an hour after any change in Rayne’s pulse rate, and her heart was hammering, now. It startled him, the memory of setting it only now returning.

And then the rest of it came back.

Running from the Imps. Taking a shot in the shoulder. Waking up on the floor without his helmet on. His jetpack, scraped up and covered in dirt. Cleaning an enormous amount of blood off the deck. Unwrapping blindfolds from her and his son. Changing them both out of blood-soaked clothes. Having a hallucination or two in the fresher.

Out of all that, why had he blacked out all but the most incriminating bit?

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and put his head in his hands, shaking. “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked over the modulator.

Rayne slid forward. The space between Din’s knees and the bunk was enough for her to get her legs out, sit on the edge, and reach for his hands. He accepted, gripping her hands in his, pressing them back against the top of the helmet. Realization, guilt, and confusion rolled off of him in waves.

She let him ride it out, and when it subsided after a minute or two, she pulled his hands away from his head, sitting up. “You had a pre-existing skull fracture.”

“Yes.” He sat back.

“How did it happen?”

“I was standing next to an E-web cannon battery when Gideon fired on it. It detonated.”

“How did you treat it?”

“I let a droid use bacta.”

“What else did you do before it had a chance to heal?”

“I… tethered Gideon’s TIE fighter in mid-air and blew it up.” He tilted his head. “Why do I get the feeling you know all this already?”

“I knew everything except for the bit about the droid. I asked your kid what you did to yourself. I didn’t actually expect an answer, but he gave me one.” She released one of his hands to tap the side of her head with her own. “It was quite a show.” She took his hand again. “I asked you point-blank if your headaches were ok, and you said yes. You lied to me. You don’t get to jeopardize an op like that anymore. You don’t get to withhold information, put me in the position to make life decisions for you, and then play the religion card when I save your life. You have to be honest with me if this is going to work.”

He nodded his understanding. “Is that what he thinks I did before? Does he think I chose an honorable death over living for him?”

“Sure looked like it.”

“Do you understand what it means for me to take this off in the light? To show my face to anyone?”

“Not entirely.”

“When I swore the Creed, I swore my soul to the manda. While we live, it’s a balance of the mind, body, and spirit.” He brought his right hand to his forehead, dropped it to his heart, then back up to the side of his head. “We pass to it when we die to become part of the oversoul. Our collective conscious.”

Rayne smiled. “Sounds suspiciously like the Force.”

Din let out a sharp exhale. “You were born with sensitivity to the Force. Mandalorians have to earn the manda. Live by the Resol’nare. The Six Actions. Wearing the armor is the first action. Our secrecy is our survival. I’ve sworn my soul to the manda. If I break the Resol’nare, if I remove my armor and reveal my face, reveal that secret, I don’t get it back. I become dar’manda.”

“Soulless,” Rayne said.

He tilted his head at her familiarity with the term. “Yes.” He paused there, taking a long sigh. “I thought I was already dead on Nevarro. I was paralyzed from the waist down. I was blind in my left eye. Deaf on the left side. I knew I couldn’t keep breathing for much longer.” His tone was edged, the memory was a powerful one, and she felt it almost as her own, tasting the blood in his mouth as it kept filling, swallowing it back down so as not to drown in the helmet with it. “I knew I was leaving him no matter what anyone did for me and that terrified me. Losing my soul at the same time… dar’manda the moment before joining the manda…” His voice hitched, unable to continue.

“I blindfolded myself. I blindfolded your son. I used your hands to pull the helmet off. I didn’t touch your face.”

“You saved my life without destroying my soul. Thank you.”

“What happens if I have to look you in the eye to save your life?”

Another deep sigh. “He’s my son, now. If it comes down to it, living to be his father is worth the price of my soul.” His voice was heavy.

A small squeak sounded from the bottom of the ladder and they both turned to see the baby with those huge eyes shining, arms up, wanting to be held.

“Ad’ika,” Din pushed back in his chair and got up, sweeping the baby up in his arms. Rayne took the opportunity to escape the confines of the bunk, standing in time to see the baby turn his face into Din’s cowl and let out a sob, tiny fingers digging into the material around his neck.

“Whoa…” She took a step back, one hand at her forehead.

Din did a double-take between her and his son, the memory of Cara’s hands at her own throat clawing at the back of his mind. “What? What’s he doing?”

“It’s ok,” she closed her eyes, running her hand through her hair. “He’s just… angry about it. About Nevarro.” She opened her eyes and held Din’s gaze, brow furrowed. “This kind anger in a Force-sensitive kid… as powerful as he is…” She shook her head. “You have to talk to him. Now.”

The baby let out another sob, and Din tried to soothe him with a hand on his back. “Will he understand?”

She stood in the hold, wearing his clothes, one hand still in her hair, the other at her hip, holding up the shorts that were too loose on her frame, her face a study of worry for his son, and that tightness returned to his chest.

“I think maybe I can help translate.” Not trusting herself to stand, she took a seat in the chair and held her hands out. “Come here, kiddo. Your dad needs to tell you something.” The baby turned to her as Din handed him off and took his own seat at the edge of the bunk. Once again, she met Din’s gaze through the visor. “You need to say the words, but what you feel will be more important. I probably won’t have to do much. Just re-interpret if he misunderstands anything.”

Din nodded as Rayne turned the baby in her lap to face him. Din leaned forward, elbows on his knees so he was closer to eye-level with his son.

And then he closed his eyes and lowered his head, because it was too much to look his son in the eye and say the words at the same time.

“I’m sorry… about before. I thought I was dead. I didn’t choose my religion over you. I didn’t think I had a choice at all. Leaving you was the last thing I wanted. I did everything I could to make sure you wouldn’t be alone. I was… scared. Of all the things that scared me about dying, leaving you alone was the worst. Of all the things I never wanted for you, I never wanted for you to be alone.”

Din’s guilt and sorrow washed over them both, and the baby’s ears flattened against his shoulders, tiny body trembling. Tell him how things will be different, Rayne pushed the thoughts at him. Don’t make any promises you can’t keep, but tell him you love him.

Din once again brought his hands to the top of his head and another wave of guilt rolled off of him as his shoulders shook. “I will always choose you…” His voice choked off, and Rayne was assaulted by simultaneous memories from both of them of the same moment, a vision of Din clad in mis-matched armor, standing before a container of beskar ingots, as the baby was led away.

Oh god, she realized. He did go through with it. He traded the baby for the beskar.

Din’s breathing was labored through the modulator. “I won’t ever forgive myself for that. I won’t ever ask you to forgive me for it. Every time I put this armor on, I…” He broke off again, the pain of the memory gripping him in a visceral way, and the child’s body was rigid in Rayne’s hands. “I do it so I can protect you. It doesn’t belong to me. I bought it with your life. It belongs to you. I belong to you.”

The child sat in the lap of his father’s new friend, the woman he had saved so she could save his father, felt her hands around him, steady him, give him the buoyancy he needed to survive the flood of his father’s guilt, keep him from drowning in his father’s sorrow.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

His father’s voice was raw, and the child knew it was too soon for his father to love. His father was still too damaged, no matter how much he may have wanted to provide it. That part of him simply had not worked for a long time, had shattered apart under the force of a concussion blast while huddled in a bunker, and it would be a while yet before it would work again.

But his father’s new friend was good at fixing things. Had brought new life to their ship, their home. Had kept his father’s life from spilling out of the broken parts of him. Maybe she could find his other broken parts and fix those, too, and then his father could love him.

Maybe she could love him, too.

And so the child reached up to his father, knowing that his father wanted to be better, knowing that his father would no longer betray him, no longer abandon him, hoping that, in time, his father would be able to love him. And when his father swept him up, he cried with happiness. He cried with acceptance. He cried with his own love, that someday might be reciprocated.

Din held his crying son in his arms, tiny body trembling, hearing that the tone in his son’s cries was different but not knowing how. Looking to Rayne with a silent question, her eyes shining, she gave him a nod and a tired smile.

Good enough.

---

Din and the baby retired to the bunk, Din still wiped out from all the blood loss and needing some sleep without the helmet. So long as the door remained closed and the lights off, it was ok for the baby to remain with him.

Rayne was famished, so after finding her clean clothes and changing into them, she fixed herself a huge plate of noodles and meat and settled down at the small table in the hold to eat it, enjoying some time alone and the hum of the ship around her.

The tracking fob keyed to Din and the baby’s chain codes lay on the table before her.

They’d pulled it off.

The cost had almost been insurmountable, but they all managed to hold it together.

Gamma crept up to her, sounding a timid warble.

“Whoa, hey, I forgot all about you. I’m sorry about that. You probably need to get charged up, huh?”

It chirped an affirmative.

Rayne frowned. “You’ve been down here the whole time?”

Yes.

“You saw Din’s face? Without the helmet?”

Yes.

“You have a record of it?”

Yes.

“You can play it back?”

Yes.

She sighed, casting a glance at the closed door of the bunk. “Go grab my spanner, will you?” The bot did as it was told, returning with the tool. She directed it to have a seat on the floor before her so she could open the access panel to its memory core.

“Sorry, buddy. I gotta wipe your memory from launch time.”

Okay.

---

Several hours later, the door to the bunk slid open and Din grunted his way out. He nodded to Rayne as she looked up from her work at the table, having pulled the fob apart, sorting through the pieces. She nodded back and returned to her task.

He headed up the ladder to the galley and warmed up a bowl of soup, slipping the helmet off to down a bottle of water. He had no idea what time it was. Didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that they were safe, his son seemed to have more-or-less forgiven his transgressions, and his head felt a hell of a lot better. He took his time with the soup, his son occupied with sleep, Rayne occupied with the fob, and was somewhat astonished at how good the soup tasted now that he could actually focus on what he was eating.

He still felt woozy from all the blood loss and knew it would be a week or two before that went away, but his head was remarkably clear.

Sometimes you didn’t realize how broken something was until it got fixed.

He stepped onto the flight deck. Another five hours until they dropped out of hyperspace for the second time. They would coast a bit again, then fold back in. They would arrive at Methuselah in about a day.

He headed back down to the hold and joined Rayne at the table. The scrapes on her face were almost gone, responding well to the bacta. “How’s the arm?”

She sat back and looked down to the bandage wrapped just below the Rebel Starbird tattoo. “It’s good. Thanks for taking care of that for me.”

He shrugged. “I owe you a few. Stormtooper bolt?”

“Yeah.”

“I saw the bruise on your hip.”

“Yep. Goes all the way from by butt to my knee, now.”

“Wanna fill me in?”

“You took two bolts to the back of the head, lost consciousness, and your jetpack took you on a nice little joyride before plowing you in the dirt. Gamma got you and the kid back to the ship. I got back a little late. Your kid had to pull me through the door and wound up throwing me into the hull on the other side.”

“Lost some skin somewhere.”

She shrugged. “Dodged a bolt and tripped.”

Satisfied that she was ok, he turned his attention to her work. “How’s it going with the fob?”

“It’s not quite what I expected, but it all makes sense. I’ll be able to work with it. The fact that it doesn’t work on the ship means I got the ship-scrambler right, anyway.”

He nodded. “You were distracted by something before we left. Said we could talk about it later.” He leaned back in his seat. “It’s later.”

She looked at the visor for a few moments, then packed up the fob and all of its pieces into the box she had procured for it. She got up, crossed the hold to the locked drawer he had given her, placed the fob in it, retrieved something else, crossed back, and placed an eight-inch metal cylinder on the table as she sat back down.

Din recognized it as a weapon, but one that he did not understand how to handle, so he refrained from picking it up.

Rayne seemed to look at it with trepidation, not quite knowing where to start.

“Start at the beginning,” Din prompted.

“I was raised at the Jedi temple on Coruscant,” she began. “Our first rite of passage was the Gathering. They took us to a temple where we faced our greatest fears, and if we succeeded, we were able to find our kyber crystal. We then build our first lightsaber around that crystal.” She nodded to the object on the table. “Despite starting early, I wasn’t all that promising, so they wouldn’t let me participate in a Gathering until I was ten. Up until that point, we’re raised by lower-level masters, and the clones hung out with us a lot so we could get used to them. They taught us some Mando’a. They called us ad’ika. We called them ba’vodu. The Jedi Order eschewed family, but the clones were our uncles. Some of us had favorites. Mine was CT-24EGL. Eagle. He called me Mir’sheb verd.”

Din huffed a laugh. “Smartass warrior. Fits.”

She was turned sideways to the table, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, turning a spanner over and over again in her hands. With few exceptions, she had not been particularly emotive in the short time Din had known her, but now her affect seemed especially flat, as if she was reading from a grocery list instead of talking about what was shaping up to be a pivotal moment in her life. He recognized her disassociation, remembered it in the other foundlings growing up, recognized it in himself from how he had described the droid attack on his village to her earlier.

“He never teased me about being a late bloomer. Always said it was better to wait until I was ready and do it right than try too soon and fail. So I finally went when I was ten. I faced down my worst fears, and I succeeded. A yellow crystal lit up in front of me and I picked it up. When we got back to Coruscant, Eagle was the first person I found and I showed it to him. He was at dinner late. I found him in the caf, and… he was proud of me.”

She paused again, turning the spanner over and over again in her hands, gaze focused on the floor.

“And while we were sitting there, eating dinner, talking about my first Jedi rite of passage, Order 66 came through.”

Another pause, and Din took a long, shaky breath.

“He had his helmet on the table and I heard it over the com. He… started to act weird. Something… the Force, told me to run, and I did.” Her hands let go of the spanner and it clattered to the deck. She brought her right hand to the top of her left shoulder, and Din remembered the scar there.

“Your uncle shot you.” His voice was rough.

“Yeah. One second, he’s congratulating me on the most important moment of my ten-year-old life, the next, he’s trying to end it. On a single order. No questions asked.”

She was still outwardly calm, but Din’s vambrace once more began to buzz her pulse against his wrist, sensing the increase in her heart rate. He’d forgotten to turn it off.

“I managed to get out of the caf and crawled up the ventilation shaft to wait things out. I listened to everyone else get slaughtered by the clones. I stayed in that shaft for three days until I thought it was safe to leave.”

“That explains the claustrophobia.”

“Yeah.”

“And the armor thing.”

“Yeah.”

Din suppressed a shiver. “Between my blackout and your phobias, we almost killed each other earlier.”

“I had it under control.”

“I’m glad one of us did.”

“Yeah.” She turned to face the table and picked up the cylinder. “Anyway. I had my crystal, so I eventually built my lightsaber. The traditional weapon of the Jedi.” She indicated the end with the yellow tape around it. “This is the pointy end. Don’t be on it.” She got up, stepped away from the table, and activated the saber.

Din tilted his head in awe.

He never saw a bright, noisy weapon that he didn’t like.

She moved through a couple of positions, and Din noticed how differently she handled it from the sparing saber, like she actually knew what she was doing with this one. She deactivated it and returned to the table. “I’ll give you one guess as to the one and only material a lightsaber can’t cut through.”

“Beskar?”

“Chicken dinner to the man in the shiny hat.”

He allowed himself a small laugh.

“You keep projecting a phrase at me. Enemy sorcerer. Why?”

“You can hear that?”

“You repeat it in your head all the time when I’m right next to you.”

“I’m… sorry. The armorer at Nevarro. She said the Jedi were enemies of Mandalore.”

Rayne nodded. “Our history is… complex. The short version is that many Mandalorian weapons, beskar in particular, were designed to thwart Jedi tactics, use of the Force, and lightsabers. Mandalorian weaponry is what it is as a result of the Jedi.”

“What does that mean for us?”

Rayne shrugged. “Only that you have a better chance at killing me than most.”

“I was thinking the same about you.”

She smiled. “That’s very sweet of you. The trick is, the two are not mutually exclusive. There was, at one time, a Mandalorian Jedi. Tarre Vizsla.”

Vizsla. Din almost choked at the name.

“Like all Jedi, Vizsla built his own lightsaber. Being a Mandalorian, he decided to completely alter the design and make his a mashup between a lightsaber and a vibroblade. It became known as the Darksaber. It bounced around after Vizsla passed and was eventually used as a symbol to unite Mandalore. Have you heard of it at all?”

“No.”

“They keep you under a rock or something?”

“History wasn’t a focus in the Fighting Corps.”

 “Well, you’re gonna to want to brush up. Guess who has the Darksaber now?”

“Gideon.” Din’s voice was ice cold.

“Yeah. I saw it on the news before we left. They broadcasted a video of him beheading three people with it. My lightsaber and your beskar are the only things we have that can stop it.”

---

Rayne came down the ladder after tucking the kid in his crate on the flight deck for the night. He was still wiped out from helping her heal Din and the emotional ordeal after that, so he fell asleep quickly.

She reached the bottom to find Din pulling his shirt off over his helmet and tossing it in the clothes unit, already shed of the beskar, boots, and gloves. He approached with caution, hooking one of her fingers with one of his own. “I… wasn’t sure what you wanted, tonight. I knew what you didn’t want…”

“Thank you.” He was correct in that she had not wanted the shared ritual of removing his armor at the moment. As for what had come after that the two times before, though… 

“I… lost a lot of blood.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure I can-”

“Me neither.” She gave him a wan smile.

He breathed a relieved sigh through the modulator. “Will it be ok for you in here?” He indicated the cramped bunk.

“I’ll be fine.”

He slid in behind her, and the only light came from the control panels out in the hold. He lay a hand on her ribs, unsure of what she wanted, relieved when she took his hand and pulled his arm around her. Only then did it all finally come down on her, and he felt hot tears on his hand as her breath became ragged. He was my uncle. The words pressed into his mind, and he wasn’t sure if she’d meant to do it or not. Why did my uncle try to kill me? She lost it, an angry sob tearing through her, and he could feel her rage buzz through his helmet. He wanted nothing more than to take it off so he could press his head to hers, provide the comfort she needed, at the very least, just be there without wearing the very thing she couldn’t stand to look at or touch in this very moment. He had to settle for tightening his arm around her.

He couldn’t imagine it, to not ever know his own parents, to eke out the most rudimentary kind of family, only for it to turn around and attempt to end his life. Her image of him at the foot of the bunk when she had woken up flashed into his mind, and he saw himself as she had seen him then, another armor-clad figure with a gun, ready to kill her. God, he hated himself for it, felt his stomach turn, knowing he deserved all the pain she threw at him tonight. “I’m sorry,” he said, his own voice wet with tears. “I won’t ever do that again. I won’t ever draw a weapon on you again.”

She had warned him about not making promises he couldn’t keep to his son.

It had not occurred to her to warn him not to make promises he couldn’t keep to her.

It was a promise he would break.

[kybercrystals94]

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 Master List

(Finally compiling all of my Summer of Bad Batch 2024 fills into one place 🙈)

I am thrilled to be an overachiever, filling 28/28 prompts this summer for the event I had the privilege of facilitating, @summer-of-bad-batch 🥰 and I am proud to have worked alongside so many amazing creators this summer to fill prompts in so many unique ways!

Find my list of fills below the cut!

Neon Warfare

Prompts Filled: Week 1 | Main: Water Gun Fight | Alt: "It's not what you think."

Excerpt:

"C'mon, Echo," Wrecker whines, making a grabbing motion with his outstretched hand. "It's water. It's not like it's gonna hurt them." The manchild does have a point. Echo sighs. "Fine. But so help me, you shoot me again with this thing, I'll send it out the airlock."

Eyes Wide Open

Prompts Filled: Week 2 | Alt: Comfort Zone

Excerpt:

"Did you know," Crosshair says, conversationally, "that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?"

Might

Prompts Filled: Week 2 | Main: Injured

Excerpt:

He doesn’t know why it bothers him so intensely, why it feels like an abrasive lapse of memory. He’d seen Echo deal with the same, exact issue as he acclimated to the loss of his own limbs after his rescue from Skako Minor. He’d never thought Echo ridiculous or idiotic for it. In fact, he’d admired the reg’s tenacity, how quickly he corrected and adapted. And yet, here is Crosshair, refusing a cup of caf because he used the wrong hand to claim it. 

A Dangerous Dance

Prompts Filled: Week 3 | Main: "It's just a scratch."

Excerpt:

The Mandalorian trainer pulls a knife from the sheath strapped around his vambrace, and twirls the short blade deftly between his fingers. The man isn’t even looking at the weapon, his eyes following the movements of his sparring clone cadets. If he notices the shaggy headed cadet unabashedly watching him in the far corner, he doesn’t give any indication. 

Anything

Prompts Filled: Week 3 | Alt: "Forget I asked." | Bonus Alternate Prompt: "Can you braid my hair?"

Excerpt:

Crosshair wakes to a snuffling sound, and turns over to find his sister standing next to his bed.. “Omega? What’s wrong?” “I got sick,” Omega mutters, and her breath trembles. She’s crying, softly, quietly. Crosshair reaches over and clicks on the lamp, bathing the room in a warm glow of light. But the warmth does not extend to Omega’s face, her skin pale and eyes red rimmed. She blinks rapidly, and a tear escapes, creating another shiny track down her ashen cheek. She does not look well at all. Of all the times for Hunter and Wrecker to be gone on a supply trip for the island. 

Cadets (Artwork)

Prompts Filled: Week 4 | Main: Cadets

Stolen Time

Prompts Filled: Week 4 | Alt: "You really think you're going without me? Not going to happen."

Excerpt:

He breaks the surface of consciousness with a breathless gasp. When he moves to sit up, a weight on each of his shoulders holds him back. A soothing voice speaks incomprehensibly and close, warm breath on his face. Tech continues to choke down gulps of air, his lungs greedily accepting the panicked doses. Words begin to take shape in the voice above him, and he hears his name, spoken so softly and gently that Tech knows that the speaker loves him. But he doesn’t recognize the voice, although his mind feels thick and muddled. Perhaps he simply cannot remember. 

Local Flavors

Prompts Filled: Week 5 | Main: "You're a bad liar." | Alt: "Need a hand?"

Excerpt:

Crosshair plucks one of the bottles from the basket, holds it up and shakes it. “What the kriff is this stuff?” “Seasoning,” Hunter says. “For cooking.” Crosshair manages to screw off the lid one handed, sniffing at the contents suspiciously. He makes a face. “I do not want this on my food.” Hunter snatches it away from him. “You wouldn’t know good flavor if it bit you in the shebs,” Hunter says.

Letting Go

Prompts Filled: Week 6 | Main: Battle Scars

Excerpt:

Crosshair sits down next to Hunter on the sand. “Omega told me what happened.” “I’m sure she did,” Hunter says. It comes out harsher than he means it to, but he does not try to take it back. It seems that age has worn down the barriers of his emotions, bitterness and hurt leaking through. “She said you were being unreasonable, overbearing, and overprotective,” Crosshair continues. “Not to mention your listening skills need some work, because you only care about your side of the argument.” Hunter’s frown deepens. “Good to know.” “And I said,” Crosshair goes on, as though Hunter hadn’t spoken, “the same thing I said way back when she was only about this big.” He holds out a hand to demonstrate. Hunter rolls his eyes, because they never knew Omega when she was that small, but he gets the point. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I said?” 

A Tiny, Unfamiliar Voice

Prompts Filled: Week 8 | Alt: Lula

Excerpt:

“Are you awake?” a tiny voice whispers. A tiny, young, unfamiliar voice. Wrecker groans. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. He doesn’t want to wake up. Not yet. He feels floaty and heavy all at once. And painless. He’s contentedly numb. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt no pain at all, not in his muscles or his head or his heart…he doesn’t want it to end.

Treacherous Waters

Prompts Filled: Week 6 | Alt: "Get out of my room!" | Week 7 | Main: "Don't avoid the question." | Alt: Getting a Haircut

Excerpt:

Crosshair knows he should be relieved, but somehow he’s tread into more treacherous waters.

Racket

Prompts Filled: Week 8 | Main: Swimming Lessons

Excerpt:

"Oh, look, a little lab scrabber,” Racket sneers when Omega walks into the infirmary with AZI. Omega ignores him, keeping her pace to show she doesn’t care. However, AZI stops to look at the clone sitting on the edge of a medical cot holding an ice pack to a developing black eye. “I must correct you, CT-1051811. Omega is not a lab scrabber. She is a medical assistant.”

Too Young To Grow Up (Drabbles Collection)

Prompts Filled: Week 9 | Main: "Hold still." | Alt: Stargazing | Week 10 | Main: Hugs | Week 11 | Alt: "Yeah, kid, we're fine." | Week 13 | Alt: Crashing Hard

Excerpt:

Moments and memories of Omega growing up on Pabu.

Threat

Prompts Filled: Week 10 | Alt: "Just when were you planning on telling us that?" | Week 11 | Main: "I didn't think I would get this far."

Excerpt:

“Just when were you planning on telling me that you were building a battle droid?”

Nightmares and Demons

Prompts Filled: Bonus Alternate Prompt: Light in the Darkness | Week 12 | Main: Nightmares | Alt: Radio Silence | Week 13: "Stop touching me!" // "I'm not touching you!"

Excerpt:

The girl came again. She knows his name. Speaks with a familiarity he craves. She tells him they are coming. Their brothers. Their brothers are coming. It is only a matter of time. He believes her. He has to believe her. If he doesn’t, he has nothing. Nothing but the poison that the Empire has leached into him. Needles and torture and endless, endless pain. Her promise, void and empty as it is, is like a light in the inky, consuming darkness. A fragile, flickering flame on the end of a match. It burns close to his finger tips, but he won’t let it go.

[221bshrlocked]

Be My Enemy, Be My Remedy

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Reader

Words: 9647 (again, I wish I was sorry but I’m not)

Warnings: Angst and Smut. Rough sex. Breeding kink (sorry not sorry). Touch “kink” due to touch starvation.

Summary: You couldn’t really consider him as a friend, not because you didn’t want him to be but because he never gave you any inclinations for wanting to change your little “happy-hunting” arrangement, whatever that even was. So, that left you as partners...at best. But a mission gone wrong forces the Mandalorian to reevaluate his relationship with you, finally realizing you were not his enemy but the complete opposite.

A/N: Fasten your seatbelts ladies and gentlemen, here is the second Mando fic. I seem to be incapable of writing Smut without Angst, I don’t know why. Please let me know how I’m doing in the comments and how I can improve. Thank you!! Some quick notes: Beskad is a Mandalorian Sword and the Whistling Bird releases small guided munitions from the vambrace (forearm brace). I planned on including some *whispers* weapon porn but I got sidetracked and so expect some beskad and glove smut in the next fic enshallah.

For a bounty hunter who prided himself in never getting distracted from the hunting trade, the Mandalorian sure was preoccupied by the crystal spires reaching farther than the eye could see. You couldn’t blame him though, Christophsis was among the most exquisite of planets and not just those belonging to the Savareen sector. You followed behind and continued to glance next to you to make sure the crib was floating nearby. 

“Where are you you doshing little shabuir? I know you’re around here somewhere.” You whispered to yourself as you kept moving away from the busyness of the noisy bazaar, hoping to the maker that the child wouldn’t wake up from the sharp calls of drunkards and sellers arguing over horribly brewed spotchka. 

“Hey, told you to watch your language around the kid.” The Mandalorian hissed at you from ahead, turning his head slightly towards your narrowed eyes and glaring at you through the visor. Or at least that’s what you thought he was doing. With the way he was currently moving through the quieter streets, you knew he was definitely not happy with where the three of you ended up, let alone your lack of respect for his ‘parenting’ methods. 

“Relax big guy, he’s in his crib dreaming of all the frogs his soft little heart wishes he could eat. Besides, you told me I need to practice my Mando’a.” You motioned towards the crib and rolled your eyes at him, raising an eyebrow when you saw the minuscule shake of his helmet before he looked down at the tracking fob.

“Not around the kid…” You couldn’t help but chuckle at his response because he just had to always get the last word in. Mando hoped his rough response would distract you from the way his body seemed to react to being called ‘big guy.’ He knew what you were referring to and yet he felt goosebumps erupt on his strictly covered skin at the thought of you saying those specific words but under different circumstances. 

“Waadar Ke'sush'.” He hissed more to himself than you and didn’t bother to respond when you asked him what those words meant. 

As you made your way towards the skirts of the town, you felt a pair of eyes boring into your neck and knew instantly the quarry must have known you were here. And you knew the Mandalorian could sense his presence as well when he placed the tracking fob back into his pocket and trailed his hands down to the blaster on his hip. You wished you could ask him why he continued to walk towards the forest but knew better than to question his methods. Any conversation held between the two of you might spook the bounty and the last thing you needed was to make a scene on a planet you weren’t that fond of being on to begin with. 

But it was getting a tad bit annoying once you were far enough past the trees and the Mandalorian continued to walk through the brightly-colored plants. 

“Shouldn’t we-” Before you could finish the question, Mando was turning around and shooting at a large tree not twenty feet behind you. You pushed the crib out of the way before taking out the beskad as well, squinting your eyes to try and see where the wanted Rodian was. 

“Dank farrik!” You swore when you realized the Mandalorian was more likely to get a better shot than you because of the heat-sensors in his helmet. You felt useless, torn between shooting wherever he was and making sure the kid wasn’t harmed in the crossfire. 

“Watch out,” it took you a second too late to realize that Mando was yelling at you and you fell backwards as one of the beams roughly grazed your thigh. As you attempted to wrap a band around the wound, you heard the familiar sound of the crib opening and before you could do anything, the child was already approaching you, his eyes filled with worry as he stretched out his little hand and shut his eyes. 

“Oh no you don’t,” you put the hand down and make quick work of the wound, about to stand up and put the kid back into his crib. 

“Haar'chak,” you looked up as soon as you heard the Mandalorian swear at the top of his lungs, the vocoder not hiding his anger and causing you to lose your equilibrium for a split moment. This was not the time to dwell on the effects his voice had on you or the fact that he was angry at you getting hurt. You wished to dwell on the latter thought for a little bit longer but shook your head to clear the haze his voice placed you under. 

Putting the sharp Mandalorian weapon back into the holster, you realized you were of no use to the Mandalorian now that you were compromised, deciding to make sure the child was safe instead of running after the Rodian with him. But that plan was gone as soon as it came once you looked down and realized why the Mandalorian swore. 

The kid wasn’t next to you. 

In fact, he was nowhere near you.

Turning around, you saw the bounty holding the child against his chest, a knife in one hand and a blaster aimed at the little one’s head in the other. 

“Wait,” you held out your hands against your partner and the quarry, refusing to let anything happen to the kid because of some stupid bounty. And as hard as you tried to dismiss it, you felt hurt at knowing that the Mandalorian was angry because the kid was taken and not because you were hurt. 

“You’re getting soft Mandalorian,” the bounty, Tig Bayantik, smiled as he taunted the man behind you and you hoped he wouldn’t do anything stupid. 

“Let him go,” the growl that emitted from the vocoder could have brought you to your knees under other circumstances, and you turned to look at Mando before returning your focus on the kid. Your heart broke at the thought of him getting hurt because of one simple and stupid mistake you made. A mistake that should cost you your life and not his or his father’s.

“Alright alright, everyone just calm down.” You forced a smile and kept your hands in Tig’s eyesight so he wouldn’t misinterpret your movements. “Let’s solve this like the rational adults we are. Tig, what do you want...besides us not coming after you?” You raised your eyebrows at him, hoping to steer the conversation your way until you trapped him with an offer. An offer you were most definitely going to regret as soon as it left your lips. But there was no other option. The last thing you expected was for something like this to happen. The child was only ever in dangerous situations when one of you was caring for him, never when the two of you were around. This was not ideal and you hated what you were willing to do to ensure his safety. 

“Simple, your chain code for the kid.” He pointed at Mando and smiled when he noticed him shift uncomfortably. 

“Why?” The Mandalorian hissed his question and you sighed annoyingly because since when did he ever question anything that had to do with the little womp rat. 

“Since when do you ask questions Mandalorian?” Tig screamed and held the kid too tightly to your liking, causing you to lean forwards when you heard him cooing and moving his little hands towards you.

“Alright,” hoping he would follow your lead, you reluctantly took the beskad out of its holster and threw it at Mando, ignoring the obvious discomfort shedding off of him. As you asked him to give you the tracking fob, the Mandalorian thought of ten different ways where this could go from bad to worse now that you gave him the main weapon you had on you. He titled his head to the side when you asked him for the tracking fob and reluctantly threw it at you, watching in annoyance as you dropped it to the floor and stomped on it twice until it broke beneath your feet. 

“I’ll do you one better, me for the little womp rat who couldn’t stay in his fucking crib a second longer.” You could see Mando’s little head tilt from your peripheral vision and weren’t sure if it was because he hated that you swore in front of the kid again or because he was most certainly not going to follow along with the sharade and considered the idea incredibly idiotic. Before he could say anything, you took a few steps forward, hands aimed towards the turquoise skies while silently praying to the maker that your hunch would be correct. When you saw Tig’s hands twitch and begin to lower the blaster from the kid, you knew you had him. 

“You must be desperate.” Tig held onto the kid tighter and you hoped he wouldn’t question you anymore because at this point, you were sure you would be the one doing something stupid to get him back. 

“No, I’m just the moof-milker who wasn’t supposed to care about some tinman and his foundling...and yet here I am.” Your admission filled the silent air and you thought you heard the bounty hunter lightly gasp behind you but knew better. Call it wishful thinking but if you were to ever make it alive out of this situation, with no one harmed, you were going to think of finally telling him how you feel. How you’ve felt ever since you joined his clan. No, that wasn’t it. You weren’t part of his clan. You just...were.

“I don’t have a single weapon on me...not even a whistle. Plus, I’ll fetch for a good price on Malachor…” You turned to your partner and held back from smiling once you saw the minuscule nod he threw at you. He couldn’t afford one of the munitions from his whistling bird hitting the kid, but he could use it if you took his place...or so you thought at least. 

“That’s the...they pay in-” As Tig tripped over his words, you held back a sigh of relief because he was finally falling for the trap. 

“That’s right baby, they pay exclusively in Nova Crystals...only a moron would let the opportunity slide from his fingers. Come on, what do you say? Last I heard, I was worth five-” Before you could finish your sentence, Tig was setting the child down on the ground, the blaster instantly aimed at your head so you wouldn’t think of escaping. You waited until the kid ran to the Mandalorian before stepping towards the Rodian in front of you.

“Smart man,” you hissed when he grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back before pulling you flush to his chest, making sure the Mandalorian didn’t have an opening to shoot him. 

“Our business here is finished Mandalorian,” Tig warned the beskar-clad hunter and you instantly felt sorry for him because it was one thing to threaten the kid but a whole other to warn him. As he stepped back and took you with him, you took a deep breath and shut your eyes, praying that if and when the munition hit you, it wouldn’t hurt badly. You snorted loudly before you could silence yourself and the Rodian dug his nails into your forearms. “What’s so funny girly?”

“Girly? Oh you’re dead meat now.” Almost instantly, you heard the Mandalorian fire two small munitions from his vambrace, falling backward in pain when sure enough, one of them broke the skin of your hip right before it hit the bounty in his side. He immediately rolled you down beneath him and was about to shoot you right between your eyes if it weren’t for the Mandalorian running towards the two of you and kicking his head. Your eyes widened in surprise when you realized he fainted from how hard the hit was, gaze instantly landing on the man standing above your battered body. You could tell he was definitely killing you in a thousand different ways but feigned ignorance at the obvious anger, smiling when the green goblin waddled towards you and stretched his hands out again. 

“I thought I told you not to do that,” you warned him again, struggling to stand up and ignoring the heat rushing through your clothes when you felt Mando support your back. He let go when he noticed the way you reacted to him, thanking the maker for the helmet that hid his hurt expression. As you put the child back in his crib and shut it to ensure he wouldn’t get out again, you turned around and found the Mandalorian violently cuffing Tig and forcing him to stand up. He was a little dazed but knew better than to attempt and fight the Mandalorian. If you could feel the rage rolling off of him, then the Rodian was certainly aware of it as well. You kept on glancing at him and noticed the way he was clutching the beskad, a part of you hurt that he didn’t return it to you once he cuffed the bounty. There weren’t any more dangers, to your knowledge, but it still felt like he was purposely ignoring the weapon in his hand. Maybe he just didn’t trust you with it at the moment. You couldn’t blame him if he was reluctant to hand it to you ever again. It was a most valuable position and he was technically crossing a line by allowing you to use it so the fact that you felt the need to give it back to him must have struck a sensitive nerve. As your eyes took in his rigid form sulking and strutting ahead of you, you hated the way you were reacting to him holding onto the beskar sword and shook your head at how absolutely fucked up your mind was for thinking of him using that beskad a little differently on you.

The four of you made your way back to the Razor Crest in silence and you could tell the couple merchants left in the bazaar were staring at you as you made your way through the alleys. But you didn’t care for any of that because you now had another issue at hand. There was no way the Mandalorian wasn’t going to ask about why there is, or was, a bounty on your head. Those on Malachor who wanted you were known across the Outer Rim Territories, not because of the nature of their work but because of the history tied with them. Only a fool with a death wish would mess with the Zabraks and the Mandalorian was no idiot. He’d heard you saying how much you were worth. You knew he would never try and take up that bounty for himself, at least you hoped he wouldn’t. Not after everything you’ve been through.

But there was no way he wasn’t going to ask you to leave. The longer you thought about it, the quicker you realized he was probably going to just leave you on Christophsis. The kid was too important to him and he couldn’t afford losing him. 

Hell, he was too important to you. Both of them were. And you wouldn’t want to take that chance if you were in his place.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of the Crest, clutching at your side and looking around you to make sure no one was following you. You pushed the crib up the ramp and vaguely heard the sound of the carbon freezer going off, muffling the rage of the Rodian who was sure he was going to be richer than the Empire in a matter of hours should he have taken you. 

Reluctance filled your heart and you thought it better to not bother and attempt to get on the ship when you knew its owner no longer welcomed your presence. Looking to the side, you saw a dimly-lit turquoise tree bark on its side facing the lake behind the ship. Barely making it across, you threw yourself down and sighed, opening your eyes and looking out to the different shades of blue coloring the luminescent lake. You weren’t sure how long you were sitting there and you didn’t care. It was too beautiful to let your worries run with you. 

It was bound to happen. 

“What did I say about wasting time we don’t have?” The Mandalorian’s voice broke your daydreams and you jumped at the modulated voice, crying in pain when the gash at your hips oozed out more blood. 

“Pfassk!” Hearing him swear beneath his breath before getting down on his knees to get a better look at the wound gave you butterflies in your stomach and you thought back to what happened earlier with the kid. Maybe he did care if you got hurt after all. 

“It isn’t bad. The bacta spray will take care of this.” He grabbed your arm and helped you to your feet, his visor turning away from you when he met your eyes. 

“You mean...o-on the ship?” You wished you didn’t sound so helpless but the thought of not being turned away from him put you at ease and you hoped he wasn’t just going to help you get back on your feet before leaving you. He wasn’t that cruel...

“No in the cantina.” His response was instant and you couldn’t hold back the laughter from bubbling up your throat even if you tried. 

“Did- did you just make a joke? Maker, you...hah, you actually made a joke. Did I hit myself on the head or did you j-”

“Enough,” his grasp tightened around your upper arm and you swallowed the lump in your throat when his gruff voice hit your core. As soon as you went up the ramp, Mando was shutting it behind him, pushing you towards your cot in the back before leaving for the cockpit. You didn’t know what else to do so you decided to sit there until he returned. The bacta spray was in his quarters and there was no way in hell you were going to go there. You were barely hanging by a thread and feared how he’d react if he found you going through his things. 

The bounty hunter, on the other hand, purposely left you there for a few moments to try and get himself together. As he plotted the course to Nevarro, and made sure everything was in place, he thought back to what you were willing to do to ensure the kid’s safety. And he wished he didn’t feel his heart swell with anticipation following your confession. Sure he knew you care for the child, you’d proven on many occasions that you have. But hearing you admit you cared about him stirred something into his chest, a feeling he purposely ignored these past few months of having you on the ship. A feeling which he tried his hardest not to humor because as far as he knew, you were strictly business partners, and nothing more. Hell, the two of you barely considered yourselves as that considering how often you headbutted during the hunts. He was forced to bring you on board because a pair of extra eyes were necessary to make sure the kid was safe. Had anyone asked him weeks ago about what he thought of you, he would have said he considered you as an acquaintance, since the word ‘enemy’ would have been a little too harsh. 

Of course that would have been a blatant lie because this same feeling residing in the pit of his stomach grew every time he saw you interact with the child. Something about seeing you switch from being a deadly bounty hunter to a caring m-, a caring woman, made his chest swell with need and...dare he say, hope. It was a feeling unlike any other.

A feeling which quickly turned into a deep yearning when he finally noticed the effect he had on you as he tried to help you onto the Crest. He felt guilt wash over him because the purpose of the heat sensors was to track his bounties and not to fill his eyes with your heated skin and warm c-

A loud crash brought him out of his haze and as he descended the stairs and looked towards your cot, dread filled his soul. You must have lost more blood than he initially thought because you were lying on the ground with the child attempting to move out of his crib.

In an instant, he was carrying you into the makeshift bed, head shaking when he looked at you and saw you deliriously giggling at him. 

“Must I almost die for you to finally remember I-” You attempted to joke to put him at ease but regretted it immediately when you realized it had the opposite effect on him. 

“Shut up.” He left you sitting on the bed before bringing the kid to his quarters, warning him not to get out of his crib before aggressively grabbing the kit and returning to your side. 

“Take your shirt off.” He barked out the command without giving too much thought to it and winced when he realized how careful he must be when he’s talking to you, especially now when you looked so weak and...fuck. No. He can’t think like that. 

“P-pardon?” You were visibly shaking at the sudden request and wished you weren’t thinking of-

“Do you not speak Basic anymore? Take the kriffing shirt off.” You flushed under his gaze and looked away from him as you tried to remove the ripped article of clothing. When you hissed and lowered your arm, Mando sighed in annoyance because of course you wouldn’t be able to raise your arm.

“Not all of us can hide the pain behind a mask Mando, I just ne-” He didn’t let you finish your comment, setting everything aside and softly grabbing the hem of your shirt. You forgot how to breathe for a moment, looking at him quizzically when he remained unmoving for a few seconds. It occurred to you that he was probably waiting for your permission and you nodded slightly before looking everywhere else but him. Mando tried his hardest to control his reaction at seeing your soft skin and he was sure he was doing a good job until he saw your nipples harden behind the chest band. 

Clearing his throat once, Mando stood up and helped you take your shoes off before preparing the bacta spray. “Will you...can you remove your pants?” His question was filled with reluctance and you wished with all your heart you could tease him about his tone but didn’t trust how he’d react to you. 

“I-I’m sorry I- can’t. It hurts to bend d-”

“Okay.” For maker knows what time that day, Mando cut you off and moved closer to you, willing himself to take deep breaths as he unzipped the front of your pants and held them at your hips. As you raised yourself to help him get the pants off, you couldn’t help but gasp as soon as you felt his gloved hands make contact with your skin. Mando stopped moving and kept his visor away from your face towards the medical supplies on the bed to give you some form of privacy. He could hear your heartbeat elevate, could feel your skin growing hotter beneath his touch, could almost smell the scent of your arousal sticking to the humid air. But he chose to ignore it, all of it. 

Slowly pulling the pants off, he maneuvered you around until you were facing towards the wall.

“This might hurt a bit Ad'ika.” The endearment left his lips before he could stop himself and he felt you still under his touch. 

“What- what does that mean?” Your voice was weaker than usual and he didn’t know he could feel any guiltier than before but the way you responded to his touch and his voice had him growing hard in his pants and if it weren’t for the fact that you entrusted him with caring for you, he would have pushed you down to the bed and swallowed those little sighs and whimpers until you begged him to stop. 

“I’ll tell you later.” The Mandalorian was never one to avoid such simple questions and you knew he could definitely see goosebumps growing across your skin once you realized why he might be refusing to tell you now. 

You felt the cold sting of the bacta spray spread across your thigh and grabbed the nearest object to you which so happened to be his forearm. Shutting your eyes harder than intended, you hissed out in pain when you felt him mirror your actions and tighten his fingers around your wrist. 

“Ni'm Ni ceta, Cyar'ika.” He whispered as he moved you around to face him, not giving you a chance to adjust to the position as he sprayed your hip. You didn’t let go of his arm once and felt hot tears rolling down your cheeks the more he pressed the medication into the open gash across your hip. He continued to whisper in Mando’a and you found it more soothing than you liked to admit even though you understood absolutely nothing of what he was saying. 

“M-mando please...I can’t- s-stop ple-” You cried out when the bacta spray hit the deepest corner of the cut, hands instantly moving to his shoulder and fisting into his cowl before unintentionally pulling him closer to you. Mando placed the top of his helmet against your forehead, willing himself to continue and care for you even though his touch was only bringing you pain in that instant. He almost shook his head when he noticed what he was doing, the gesture going completely unnoticed by you because he never told you what it meant in his culture to lean one’s head against another’s. He enjoyed the moment and whispered his apologies the harder you began to shake in his arms.

“Gedet'ye Cyare, I’m almost done. Take a deep breath for me,” he waited until you sucked in as much air as you could before applying the bacta spray to the last corner of the wound, setting it down and staring into the gash until he saw it slowly closing. You weren’t sure how long he sat there looking at you but you knew he could see the effect he had on you because his visor moved back and forth from the wound to where your thighs shifted. Once he was sure the skin was almost healed, he stood up and stepped away from you, already missing the heat of your skin touching his clothed armor. 

“Vor entye,” you weren’t sure why you felt the need to thank him in his mother tongue and hoped he wouldn’t dwell too much on it as you attempted to stand up. As you held out your arms to keep your balance, the Mandalorian was next to you in the blink of an eye, holding onto your waist to prevent you from falling over.

“You need to get some rest.” He half-yelled at you and you wished he wasn’t standing so close to you because one more rough command and you were going to fall on your knees and beg him to fuck your mouth. 

“No, I need to use the refresher.” You were surprised by how steady your voice came out and refused to be distracted by the way his fingers continued to twitch against your bruised hips.

“You can barely stand without my help.” Mando was frustrated beyond measure and recalled back to what he was thinking of when he was in the cockpit. A slow realization came to him and he stepped away from you when he knew it was never anger that bugged him whenever you challenged his commands, but frustration. More particularly, sexual frustration. Because if there was ever a time you looked absolutely divine, it was when you were fuming and yelling at him at the top of your lungs. And for some odd reason, he loved seeing you stand up to him. 

“I am using the refresher. I feel sweaty and disgusting and wet a-” You probably shouldn’t have said that last bit because Mando was letting go of you and collecting the supplies, not bothering to look back at you as he unlocked his cot and set the kit aside before checking on the kid. 

You mentally smacked yourself at the ridiculous word vomit and grabbed the nearest dry shirt and undergarments before wobbling to the refresher. Once the Mandalorian was sure you were in the refresher, he took the child to his little space near your cot and rubbed behind his ears until he fell asleep. He kept on looking at the door of the refresher, a part of him worried you’d slip and hit your head if it became too foggy in there. 

He was finally allowing his thoughts to become less hostile and worried when he picked up on a faint groan. Standing against the refresher door, he remained silent and shook his head when he heard you moan a string of ‘fucks’ a few times before something fell. 

“Pfassk,” shutting the curtain around the child, the Mandalorian walked to his cot and began to strip out of his armor. He refused to dwell too much on what he was about to do and the meaning behind his actions. Before long, Mando was standing in the middle of the Crest as nude as the day he was born and he took a deep, calming breath before taking off his helmet and setting it on the ground. Walking to the control box, he shut the lights off and ignored your sudden cries at losing sight of the room.

He approached the refresher and hoped what he was about to do wouldn’t pull your relationship apart, whatever that relationship was. Unlocking the door, he waited at the foot of the small room before stepping in, the heat of your shower already making him lose his mind. 

“Mando?” Your voice came out hoarse and he dug his nails into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from jumping on you right then and there. 

“Hmm.”

“Why...w-what are you doing?” He hated how much fear was laced in your words and realized you might completely misunderstand his actions. 

“Making sure you won’t fall and die on me.” The Mandalorian hoped his voice emitted some semblance of control and when you said nothing, he panicked and thought of the worst. Unbeknownst to him, you were struggling for a response not because you wanted him to leave but because he wasn’t wearing his mask. He chose to take his mask off and be in the same room as you. True the lights were off and you couldn’t see even a foot ahead of you but it was still a big deal, even more so for him. And maker, his voice was smoother than the finest Opaline Creed honey. You weren’t sure what you expected it to sound like but you genuinely thought the vocoder was what made it sound so guttural. Turns out, it was already smooth and deep and was just intensified through the helmet. You felt your legs shaking at the knowledge of hearing that same voice whispering the filthiest things in your ears and instantly decided to move away from that grey area.

“T-thank you.” The soft exclamation shot through his spine and he didn’t bother to slow his movements as he pushed open the door of the even smaller privy and stepped through. Years of adapting to the mask as well as walking around in the darkness of his ship without it allowed him to see where you were standing. He could just make out the shape of your curves and held back a moan when the water hit his tired muscles. You refused to move an inch, afraid to break whatever spell fell over the two of you and allowed you to be in close proximity. The bounty hunter rarely articulated his inner thoughts and emotions so anything you could say might genuinely spook him. 

When your hand fell from your chest to try and readjust the heat of the water, it accidentally trailed over his skin and you gasped when it finally occurred to you that yes, he was very much as naked as you. His mask was not the only thing that was off. You weren’t sure what that meant for him or for you apart from the fact that he felt the need to strip off his armor, physically and metaphorically, to ensure your safety. 

“M-mando…”

“Mesh'la, if you keep calling for me with that sinful voice, I- I am not sure I will be able to restrain myself.” For the first time since you’d joined him on the ship, Mando was losing his patience and control, and he hoped his words wouldn’t scare you away. He never sounded so...breathy? Was that even the right word? It took you a few longer moments to finally register what his words meant and you set the soap on the shelf before stepping towards him. You could sense the moment he acknowledged just how close you were to him because he finally let himself react to your heat and gasp at knowing you were within arm’s reach.

“T-then don’t…” The words were left hanging in the damp air around you and you thought you crossed a line which he so obviously sounded like he didn’t wish to move past.

But Mando was on you in the blink of an eye, grabbing your hips and pushing you roughly until your back hit the cold wall, the feeling of his wet skin sliding against yours turning you on way more than it should. Before you could have any time to react to the sudden movement, Mando was leaning down and hoisting you up against the cool metal, moaning against your cheeks when your legs crossed behind his back and pulled his achingly hard cock to your heated core. 

“Mando, oh fuck- I...y-you’re-” You wrapped your arms arond his neck and felt the soft hair at the nape of his neck tickle your skin. You couldn’t hold back even if you tried, fingers instantly fisting in his hair and finding it much longer than you thought it would be. Mando groaned and felt himself growing harder as you bucked your hips against him and the thought of finally sheathing himself inside you drove him mad with lust. He felt how warm your cunt is and his knees almost gave out when for a moment, he brushed against your clit and felt you whimper beneath him.

“Ad'ika, I- I need you...I burn for you. Please, sweet girl, will you let me have you? I can feel you pulling me in...can smell your wetness calling for me.” You were sure you died and joined the stars because the man before you rarely spoke and here he was spilling his heart’s deepest desires unabashedly and rather enthusiastically. You threw your head back as he bucked his hips against you and bit down on your neck, smiling when you knew you’d wake up to numerous bruises and marks coloring your skin and showing the universe whom you belonged to.

“Please...pl-please, I'm yours Mando, do what you want with me. T-take whatever you want, ohh ffuh- fuck me until I...till I can’t feel anything but your cock. Kriffing hell I-” Mando couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. He knew he should prepare you for him. He knew he should make sure he wasn’t forcing you into anything. But your words nudged at that primal lust he reserved for you and in that moment, only one thing mattered. 

Making sure he marked every single inch of you until he didn’t know where he ended and you began. 

With as much focus as he could muster up, Mando trailed one of his hands down your thighs and took himself in his hand, jerking the head of his cock against your wet slit and feeling you shiver at his ministrations. Bracing his feet better against the warm floor, Mando ceased to breathe as he thrust harshly inside you, swallowing your moans as he brought his lips against yours. The two of you couldn’t move a muscle for a few seconds and Mando thanked the maker you weren’t trying to meet his hips because he was sure he would cum right then and there should you clench any harder around him. You couldn’t get enough of the way his tongue danced against your lips and you tried your hardest to keep kissing him for as long as possible. But then he was pulling away and nipping at your neck, and you swore he was going to be the death of you because you never pictured him with a beard and now you were feeling it rubbing against your already hyper-sensitive skin.

“Mand-” You whimpered into his lips once more and felt him become more aggressive by the second.

“None of that...my name is- it’s Din. Remember it, memorize it...fucking say it as you take my cock into that wet, tight cunt of yours. I-I want you to scream my name as I fuck you sweet girl...I want to hear these walls shaking with how much I pleasure you.” You couldn’t wrap your head around what he’d just willingly allowed you to know. It was too much to take in and you felt tears rolling down your cheeks as you realized what this man has done for you in the span of a few hours. Din faintly heard you sniff  and hoped he wasn’t hurting you in any way. 

“Din,” he curled into you as soon as his name left your lips, unable to stop himself from pulling out and plunging back into you time and again just to hear you whisper his name in his ears. He was intoxicated by the little sounds you were emitting, squeezing your thighs and making sure you were holding yourself up as he began to pound into you until the only sounds left in the small room were his skin slapping against yours and the running water. 

“Oh- gah...D-Din, I-” You couldn’t form a proper sentence even if you tried, fingers digging into his back as you felt his cock hit near your cervix. Before you knew it, you were clenching around him, screaming his name as you arched your back and came on his dick. Din growled when he felt you squeeze his cock, his hips stuttering for a moment before he continued to fuck you with abandon, carrying you over the edge once more until you were a moaning mess. 

“Fuck, ah Cyare...you’re everything I dreamed of a-and so much kriffing better...I- I want to brand you darling...I want to leave my mark on every single one of your holes. So, fucking, good for me,” Din couldn’t believ what he was saying because a part of him felt guilty for using such filthy language with you. But he didn’t want to stop, he wanted you to know how much you affected him. He yearned for you and wished with all his being to become one with you in every single possible way.

“Din, Din...oh pfassk- cum for me. Cum for me please, fill me up...let me feel you hot and deep inside me.” You begged for him and prayed to the stars he wouldn’t be turned off by what you were asking of him. 

“Mesh'la...you- is that what you want? You want me to cum inside this sweet little cunt? Want to walk around with my seed leaking down your thighs- ah fuck, you’re a dream. A kriffing dream...and you’re all mine. Mine to fuck when I please, mine to mark- ah by the gods woman...mine to fucking breed when I feel like it.” Din was no longer in control of himself, grinding his teeth before he leaned down and attacked the skin of your chest. You clenched around him when you felt his teeth nip at your nipples a little harder than you liked. But you didn’t have the heart to tell him to go easier on you. It was intoxicating how much he wanted you and you didn’t want this to end because now that you’ve had a taste of how much of a generous lover he is, you didn’ want to give it up, even if it meant having purple and blue spots coloring your body the following day. 

“Yes, yes...Din, ‘m all yours. Please-” He wasn’t sure if it was your desperate pleas that forced him to cross that threshold or if it was how sinfully warm your cunt felt as he thrust into you time and again. But it didn’t matter because Din was close to losing his mind as he stilled all his motions, cock pulsating and shooting his seed so deep inside you he was sure you were going to have another kid running around the ship. In all honesty, the Mandalorian was not sure he wanted to have another child but the image of your grown belly was engraved into his mind now and he didn’t know if he could ever stop himself from bending you over every part of the ship, at any given moment in time, and breeding you until you couldn’t feel anything but his hot cum filling your insides. 

You were gasping for air at this point, leaning down and sucking on his Adam's apple just to get a rise out of him. You smiled when he unintentionally jutted against you and somehow managed to push his hot seed deeper inside you. Maybe he was more touch-starved than you initially thought...

“Mine. All mine,” he whispered right before slowly setting you down on the ground and you hissed when you felt him pull out, the sudden emptiness making you wish he could stay inside you just a little while longer. 

“Come on, it’s going to get cold soon.” His words seemed calculated and you almost got a whiplash from how quickly he managed to compose himself. As he shut the water off and stepped out, you were met with a thousand doubts and the Mandalorian must have sensed your reluctance because he grabbed your arm and forced you to get out of the privy, quickly wrapping a towel around you before opening the door of the refresher and pulling you along with him.

A quick look at the child’s curtain and Din knew he was still fast asleep. Not knowing what to say after your activities, Mando unlocked the door to his quarters and turned around to face you, taking hold of your towel and softly passing it over your wet skin until he was sure you were dry enough to not catch anything. You waited patiently until he dried himself off and stood there in silence, hoping he wasn’t going to turn you away. 

You felt a faint touch smoothing through your fingers before engulfing the palm of your hand and you let yourself smile at the thought of Din being so shy with you even after the last hour or so. You stepped closer to him and rested your head on his chest, rubbing your cheeks on him before kissing across the scarred expanse of his skin. Din was having a hard time, in more ways than one, keeping himself in check but feeling your lips leave open-mouthed kisses on him broke the thin thread he was hanging by. 

Before you could say anything, Din was leaning down and carrying you in his arms, immediately taking your lips into his as he kneeled down and stepped into his cot. He quickly shut the door of the semi-private corner in hopes of not waking the kid. Now that he knew how loud you were capable of screaming, he wasn’t planning on terrifying the child and making him think he was hurting you in some way. 

“Din-” You melted into his arms as his fingers massaged down your arms, stilling when they reached your navel before slowly pushing your thighs open. 

“Cyare...the things I want to do to you. You make me want to lose control.” His admission twisted your stomach and you turned your head to the side to avoid his words because as much as you enjoyed hearing how much you affected him, it was embarrassing to listen to him praise you in such a way when up until hours ago, he barely managed to keep a conversation for more than five minutes. Din noticed the shift in your body language and retracted his fingers, choosing to lay them on the covers beneath you so you didn’t feel too overwhelmed with his presence.

“Did I offend you sweet girl?” He grinned against your cheeks before laying lazy kisses across your clavicle, smiling when he coaxed more needy moans out of you. 

“N-no, no it’s...I- I’m just not used to-” You tripped over your words and wished he wasn’t distracting you with his lips so you could try and tell him what you were thinking of.

“Being told you’re a good girl?” Mando could tell he struck a nerve because you shifted your thighs and arched your back against him when his hand shot to your legs to keep them from closing. 

“I- uhh, that’s n-not wha-”

“Come on Mesh'la, since when do you get so tongue tied while talking to me?” Din knew he was pushing all your buttons and wished you could finally lose it and try to challenge him because he was as ready as he’d ever be now that he sort of knew where you stood with him.

“Din, I don’t want you t- to think that I...that you need to do...this, because I...I can’t bear the thought of you pushing me away if you...oh maker, if you regret this tomorrow.” 

Whatever the Mandalorian thought you were going to say, he was certainly not expecting such a nervous response to his actions. He wished he wasn’t so hostile with you since you joined him but he was only trying to protect the kid, and himself. The fact that you thought he was with you out of pity and not because of how much he wanted you was preposterous and as much as he wanted to ease all your worries away, he couldn’t deny how hard he became just from hearing your small voice telling him to not regret sleeping with you. 

Without giving you any warning, Din pulled away from you, grabbing your hips aggressively before turning you on your stomach. You barely had any time to react as he forced you on your knees and shoved his hands into your hair to pull you against him. Your hands shot to his calloused ones and grabbed onto them like your life depended on it, whimpering and shaking in his arms as you felt his cock slide across your wet slit.

“Feel how much I want you Cyar'ika, how much I crave being inside this sweet cunt,” Din shoved three fingers inside your pussy and growled when he felt his cum mixed with your wetness and rolling down his palm. “You drive me mad with lust baby and there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this universe, that will ever convince me to not want you.” 

“D-din…” You cried his name as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, not bothering to let up as he felt you reach your peak and gush down his hand onto the covers. You tried to grab his wrist and beg him to stop but he didn’t, couldn’t if he tried. Letting go of your hair, he slapped the hand grabbing at his wrist away before wrapping those same fingers around your throat, pushing you back against his chest as he continued to finger you until the only sounds he heard were your desperate pleas for him to slow down

“That’s right, scream my name sweet girl. Fuck...I could smell your cunt. L-let me have a taste, please.” Not bothering to wait for a response, Din pushed you down and laid between your thighs, immediately descending on your heated slit like a parched man in the middle of Tatooine looking for a drink of water. Your hands shot to his hair and pulled on it as soon as you felt his beard tickle the inside of your thighs. He was being rough, he knew he was being overbearing and a little too much. But he didn’t know how to respond to your doubts so he thought it best to show you just how much he needed you.

Din groaned as he licked and sucked on your clit and when you tried to push him away, he clasped his hands above your navel and kept you close to him, not caring that your thighs were crushing his head as he took your clit between his lips and roughly swiped his tongue on it.

“Ahh D-din I can’t…please n-no more-”

“You’ll take what I give you Mesh'la,” Din let go of you and kneeled above you for a few moments to allow you to catch your breath. When he could hear your heart rate almost return to normal, he once again turned you around on your stomach before raising your hips up against him. Spitting on his fingers, he jerked his cock a few times before repeating the action and rubbing it across your pussy, chuckling when you tried to lean away from him.

“Don’t even try to run away from me. You asked me if I really wanted to fuck you so, here is my answer. Take my cock like the sweet little girl you are,” nudging your wet lips with the painfully hard head of his dick, Din snapped his hips forward until he was completely sheathed inside you, his chest shaking with anticipation at the thought of being able to fuck you again. 

“Oh kriffing hell you feel so tight around me, so wet and tight and perfect. Can you feel me Cyar'ika? Can you feel how much I burn for you, how much I need you- oh maker, you’re better than what I’ve dreamed of.” He didn’t care what that last admission implied because if it meant putting you at ease then he’d say it over and over again until you believed him. As he thrust into you relentlessly, you didn’t know what else to do except bite down on your forearms and beg for him, not sure if you wanted him to slow down or fuck into you harder. 

“Ner...all mine. Don’t want anyone else, ne-never wanted anyone else. You’re it for me Mesh'la. Oh fuck, I could feel you pulling me in deeper sweet girl.” The Mandalorian could feel you shaking beneath him and his chest filled with shameless pride at the thought of knowing he was the one bringing you this much pleasure. He forced himself to keep his eyes open so he could see your dimly-lit body obeying his every command. When he saw you biting down on your hands, he fell forward on top of you and brushed your hair to the side, biting at your shoulder blades as he rutted against you.

“Your sounds belong to me...your sighs, your moans, your fucking pleas. They belong to me so don’t fucking hold back.” Din growled his commands into your neck before wrapping one arm across your sternum while the other maintained its violent hold on your hips to help you meet his thrusts. He pulled back up again and took you with him, continuing to whisper in your ears as he felt your cunt squeezing his cock before pushing it out. Your whole body convulsed in his arms and Din couldn’t believe what he felt rolling down his thighs. He maintained his hold on you as he rammed his dick inside you again, barely managing to turn your head around so he could kiss you. 

And as he swallowed your whimpers, he marveled at how much you were willing to give him, feeling his heart skip a beat when he realized you have placed complete trust into his hands and allowed him to do what he wanted. The desperation of wanting to be with you in every possible way drove him mad and he barely recognized his own self when he pulled from your mouth and breathed heavily against your cheek.

“Fuck, ah kriffing hell- I don’t want to leave this cunt...want to fill it up with my cum till you can’t fucking breathe from how full you are. Fucking beautiful, letting me touch you, brand you...breed this tight pussy over and over again.”

“Din I- please...cum for me, I want to f-feel you cum inside me- I need you to- I can’t wait. Oh maker I l-lah ahh-” Din lost his rhythm as soon as he heard what you almost said to him, pushing you down beneath him as he shoved his cock a few times inside you before you felt him pulse against you, hot streams of his cum painting your walls and driving you over the edge one more time before completely stilling. His hips continued to buck against you and you knew he was trying his hardest to ensure you wouldn’t lose a single drop of his seed. 

The two of you fell over and you hissed when Din pulled out and turned you over, immediately pushing his softening dick back inside you once he found a comfortable position. You laid your head against his chest and smiled when you heard his heart beat against your cheeks. The two of you sat in silence, with Din drawing patterns on your shoulders while you kissed the scars painting his skin. 

It was a while later when you heard him sigh once that you knew what he wanted to say but was reluctant to admit.

“Go ahead, I know you want to ask.” You whispered to him, hoping any loud voice would break the blissful haze and make him turn you away, even though he told you there was no chance of him ever letting you go now.

“I didn’t want to presume I had a right to ask.” He leaned down and kissed your head before wiping away the wet hair from your face. 

“You have the right to do anything you want with me, Din.” The Mandalorian was surprised by how matter-of-fact your admission sounded and he couldn’t understand how you made such an amount of trust sound so easy and straightforward. 

“What do the Zabraks want with you, Cyar'ika? There are only a few of them around so you must have done something deserving of their attention.” He didn’t want to make it seem like he was judging you and hoped you didn’t misunderstand why he wanted to know. 

“I- I may or may not have found an ancient “artifact” that belonged to an important ancestor of theirs...and I may or may not have given it to-” You didn’t know if you should tell him about the mutual friend and felt your chest tighten when he urged you to continue. 

“To whom?”

“Ahsoka Tano.” His silence made you nervous and you were about to ask him if he was angry at you for not saying anything but he returned to massaging your back before speaking up again. 

“That’s why she recognized you.” You heard his smile when he spoke and felt at ease immediately because he really was much softer than he let on.

“You noticed that did you,” you chuckled against him and hummed in pleasure when he pulled you up to kiss him. 

“Did you mean that?” Din asked as he continued to touch every inch of your skin he had access to.

“Hmm?”

“That I have the right to-” He couldn’t finish the sentence because while he knew he meant every word he said, he wasn’t too sure about what you wanted from him. 

“Yes, Mando.” Din frowned at your use of his nickname and rolled you under him, ignoring the way you whined as he slipped out of you. 

“Don’t...please, sweet girl. Please say my name...when we’re alone.” There were so many promises hiding behind his request and you weren’t sure what you were supposed to say at such a heartfelt admittance. 

“Din, I-”

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Anything you want with me, from me...I’m yours Din, always.” You laid your hands on his cheeks and pulled him to your mouth, swirling your tongue against his before tightening your grip around him as you felt him nudge at your entrance. 

“Mesh'la...Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni nu’ru'kir. A Ni vaabir.” His voice was soft as he whispered those words against your lips and you wished to ask him what he was saying but decided to bug him about it later. Right now, you wanted to enjoy the moment and feel his warm skin slide against yours. A part of you, a very small part, hoped he would have a slower stamina because you weren’t sure if you were able to do anything else in the next few hours. But you knew, in your heart, that you would give him anything, and all of you, even if he didn’t ask you to. 

Translation (which are not always accurate but I tried):

Doshing - A “derogatory” modifier

Shabuir - extreme insult; "jerk", but much stronger

Waadar Ke'sush' - Pay attention. 

Haar'chak - Damn it!

Moof-milker - A term for a dimwitted individual

Pfassk - An adaptable expletive

Ad'ika - Little one

Ni'm Ni ceta, Cyar'ika. - I’m sorry.

Cyar'ika - Darling/Sweetheart

Gedet'ye - Please.

Cyare - Beloved

Vor entye - Thank you

Mesh'la - Beautiful

Ner - Mine

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. Ni nu’ru'kir.  A Ni vaabir. - I love you. I shouldn’t. But I do.

[spoofymcgee]

you said close your eyes and just believe - a codykin fic

Day 6: Wings AU  fic name from Come With Me by Chxarlotte The first thing Cody thinks when he sees Anakin Skywalker is that he looks like a peacock. It’s an odd thought, as most of what Cody remembers from the few pictures he’s seen of the birds is their tails, and the enthusiasm Ponds had had about painting eye-like feathers on the inside of his vambraces, where they wouldn’t be seen and couldn’t be damaged. He’s never seen their wings before. It might be the glossy, elegant blue of the middle section, matching the color of their bodies that makes him think it, despite the tawny primaries and the white-and-black pattern of the secondaries. If he’s being honest, though, it’s his behavior. Skywalker walks like a man who thinks he’s never been wrong about anything. Arrogance drips from the tips of his boots to the soft curls of his blond hair, and it makes Cody want to punch him, just a little. By his side, he can hear the slight, worried creak of armor that means Rex shares his worries. Skywalker struts up to them, looking like not a word of the other Jedi’s lecture is making it into his empty little head. “–still can’t understand how you could possibly think that was a good idea, Anakin,” Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi is saying, hands tucked into his sleeves. “I mean, what would you have done if it had decided it wasn’t in the market for riders, actually, and wanted that meal it was promised?” “Obi-Wan, please,” Skywalker says, an out of place smugness coating the words. “Can we do this later?”

“I suppose,” Cody’s general huffs, stopping a little away from them. “You would be the Commander, then?” he asks, suddenly all charm. “It’s very nice to meet you.” “...nice to meet you too, general?” Cody tries, a little off balance. “Would you mind terribly if I asked for your name?” Kenobi asks, looking slightly worried. “I’m afraid they left it out of your file, for some reason.” “Cody,” he says slowly. “This is Captain Rex, of the 501st, which General Skywalker will be leading.” “Awesome,” Skywalker says, grinning at him. Cody’s heart thumps in his chest; he’s unfairly handsome, despite the swagger. He tells it to shut up, he doesn’t have time for crushes on stupid natborn officers. “We’re gonna crush it, guys.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Rex signs in the corner of Cody’s HUD display. The ‘orders unclear’ sign is messy, meant to be done from the chest rather than the hip, but he gets the gist.

Cody shrugs, as slight as he can. “We’ll be done with preparations and ready to ship out within four hours, sirs,” he says, deciding to just ignore Skywalker’s strange euphemisms. “Excellent,” Kenobi says. “Come, Anakin, we should notify the Council.” They’re odd, Cody thinks, watching them walk away. Still, maybe that’s just what Jedi are like. He doesn’t have any reason to hate them. “I’m doomed, aren’t I?” Rex asks dourly, double-tapping his vambrace to switch to intra-helmet comms. “I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Cody says. It is absolutely that bad. Cody can feel his feathers trying to ruffle under his backplate. His skin is crawling as the list scrolls through the half of Shadow Squadron killed today. ‘Matchstick’, it reads next, bright yellow. He’d thought Skywalker was something of an idiot, but as a Jeid, had assumed he’d either be competent or at least have others keeping him in check. He thinks he should have known; what else do you get but a disaster when you put a moron in charge of hundreds of lives? And now people were dead because Skywalker couldn’t see farther than the nose of his own Y-wing when it came to command. Fuck. “Commander?” Kenobi asks from right behind him. Cody jumps, feathers flaring painfully beneath his armor. “Sir,” he says stiffly, turning. “Ah,” the Jedi says, catching sight of the screen he’s been staring at. “I’m sorry for your loss, Cody.” What does he say in response to that? Thank you? For what? “Yes, sir.” Kenobi nods, looking as vaguely awkward as Cody feels. “Do you know whether I could convince one of the chefs to lend me a plate to take up to Anakin? He’s refusing to eat.” “I’m not sure,” Cody tells him, though he’s sure if it was Kenobi asking then Sott would be delighted to scrounge up a boatload of them. Skywalker deserves to go hungry if he’s that pig-headed. “Oh. Thank you anyways, I suppose,” Kenobi says, looking a little disappointed. “I’ll find some ration bars, I think. Enjoy your meal, Cody.” It takes him far too long to notice it, in retrospect. The full situation doesn’t hit him until he’s on the wrong end of a comm conference, watching Pong Krell pontificate over a plan that’s going to get hundreds of troopers killed. Fear is chilling along Cody’s spine as no one does anything, not even Rex, standing there with his head bowed nearly to his chestplate. “Sir, with all due respect–” he interrupts finally, stepping forward. “Nobody asked for your input, clone,” Krell says nastily, turning to glare at him. Cody watches one of the Besalisk’s hands drift closer and closer to his lightsaber with the detached gaze of someone watching an avalanche crumble down over their head. “Don’t talk to Commander Cody that way,” Skywalker says. “What’s your problem, Krell? Even I can see that this is a stupid plan. We were hoping it was going to get better, but clearly it only goes downhill from here.” “You think you can do better, boy?” Krell sneers, fingers closing around the hilt. “No,” Skywalker says, with surprising honesty. “But I’m entirely certain that Rex could, so why don’t you fucking ask him?” Krell inhales sharply, flushing a bruised shade of purple. His four wings, vulture-black, flare up behind him. “Are you saying you believe this useless hunk of organic material aping at sentience is smarter than I am, child?” Anakin draws back like he’s been slapped. “Wow, what the fuck. You need to be out of this room eight minutes ago, Krell. I’m sorry, Commander Cody, but I have to go place a call to the Council.” “I knew they shouldn’t have put you in charge of anything, Skywalker. Going crying to your master at the first uncomfortable truth,” Krell says, lip curling up in a snarl. “You only think they’re real people because you need to in order to believe the same thing about yourself, little slave-boy.” Anakin freezes, fingers going rigid on the comm controls. “At least I’m not some gravel maggot with a glow stick far enough up my ass that I can’t recognize a person when I see one,” he says quietly, with a low, burning rage that makes Cody’s stomach curdle. Krell growls angrily, pulling his ‘sabers off his belt. Cody’s close enough to see Anakin’s feathers ruffle as he raises his wings defensively. Behind you, Cody signs as fast as he can. Anakin meets the first lightsaber with his own, ducking under the second and dancing farther away, mouth dragging downwards in a frown. He’s just blocking, backing himself up against the wall. Cody’s not sure what he’s doing until the bolt comes into frame, searing red against the constant dusk of Umbara. It catches Krell on the temple as he turns to intercept it, too slowly. He sways for a minute before falling, kicking up a ring of dust when he hits the ground. Anakin ducks forward to check his pulse, breathing hard. “Rex, was that a stun shot?” “It should have been,” Cody’s brother answers, standing solid. His wings betray his worry, blue primaries trembling. “He’s dead,” Skywalker tells him, rising from the corpse. “Besalisks have arteries at their temples, like humans,” Cody says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Even a mid-powered stun shot from that close is deadly.” “We can wipe the feed,” Anakin says, tossing his lightsaber to the side and moving close to harry Rex’s blaster out of his grip. “Say I did it, that he knocked the lightsaber out of my hand and I took your blaster. It was self-defense.” “They’ll say you provoked him,” Rex tells him, staring down at his hands. “No,” Cody says, loud enough that they both look up. “There’s two squads of droids coming over the field. Get a channel to your patrols, tell them that there’s an emergency on the other side of camp and they all need to get over there, stat. We’ll get rid of the call recording and say Krell got killed in the attack. Shoot him again with one of their blasters and they won’t be able to tell it was one of ours that killed him. This close, they can’t differentiate between pre- and post-mortem injuries.” Anakin looks at him with something that might be adoration. “Yes, sir,” he says, and warmth coils just under Cody’s lungs, sweet and extraordinarily out of place. “Go,” Cody tells him, fingers drifting for the controls. “Stay safe, both of you.” Rex hugs him painfully tight the next time they’re alone together, and Cody doesn’t comment on the tears soaking his shoulder, just rubs his back and lets his little brother cry. He notices it more, from then on. Most of the Jedi are good about it, which makes it a little easier to breathe. General Windu will always look to Ponds for input before making a statement on any topic involving troop movements or battle plans. Ponds is confident when he speaks on the subjects, which puts the waver of insecurity in nearly every Jedi’s voice in sharp contrast. Some hide it better than others, but it’s terrifying to notice all the same. They pair up with General Billaba’s battalion for a campaign in the Outer Rim, and Cody catches Grey quizzing her on military protocol and troop formations late at night. She’s doing fairly well, but– Not perfect. She doesn’t know regulations that Cody has engraved on his bones, misses a question on battle patterns that Cody had written on the inside of his skull by the time he was seven. She’s in charge of thousands of lives, and she’s got so much left to learn. There’s a scream bubbling up at the base of Cody’s throat, and he leaves before it can claw its way out of his mouth. Cody wakes up early one morning they’re with the 501st, preparing for an attack on Castell. He’d made plans to go to the small arms range with Rex, and they finish early enough that he has time to stop in the mess to grab firstmeal before he has to get to the Negotiator’s bridge and check their course. Rex splits off to go sit with his officers once they get their food, waving Cody goodbye with a half a roll of insta-bread stuffed in his mouth. He looks like a chipmunk, and Cody pearl-clutches at being abandoned for a moment before waving back. He makes his way over to an empty table in the corner of the room and only realizes that General Skywalker is sitting there when it’s too late to turn back. “Hey, Cody,” the Jedi greets, looking up from the pad he’s been staring at for far too long, by the way his eyes are puffy and bloodshot. “Did you want to sit here?” Cody nods, and drops his tray on the tabletop, careful to avoid the towering stack of datapads on Skywalker’s half of the table. “Are you getting off third shift too?” he asks, after a minute of silence. “Hm? Oh, no, I’m on second,” Skywalker answers distractedly, scrolling a little farther down on whatever he’s reading. “Rex said we should be on separate ones, in case of an emergency.” “Makes sense,” Cody says, but Anakin is already absorbed back into his ‘pad, mumbling under his breath, so he finishes his meal quietly and heads off to get a head start on his own work. Cody’s exhausted by the time he gets off shift, and seriously considering foregoing dinner and just heading back to his bunk to sleep. The 501st chefs are canny, though, and also apparently either getting much better supplies than the rest of them or just actual miracle workers because the food they’re putting out looks much more appetizing than this morning’s. He grabs a plateful and heads back to the table he’d sat at earlier. The food smells like it has real spices in it, and that alone is enough to keep the tips of Cody’s wings from dragging on the ground. Anakin is still there. He’s laid out on a bench, wings spilling over the sides and puddling across the floor like twin lakes of feathers, glinting gold and blue in the light. Another ‘pad, this one marked with the GAR symbol is suspended precariously above his face on the tips of his fingers, and he looks three minutes from falling asleep. There are four new empty cups lined up neatly on the table, along with an empty napkin blotched with grease. “You’re going to give yourself a nosebleed if that drops,” Cody says, setting down his tray and snatching the datapad out of the air before it can do just that when Anakin startles at the sound of his voice. “Cody! I didn’t see you come over!” “Shift just changes,” Cody tells him. “You’re on, I think. Have you slept at all?” “I took an accidental nap about an hour ago?” Anakin answers, looking sheepish, though not nearly as much as he should. “It’s okay, I’ll take a stim pack or something. Draw on the Force, if I really need it. Obi-Wan’ll lecture me again, but this is important enough that he won’t really mean it.” “What’s ‘this’?” Cody asks, turning the datapad over. It’s covered in numbers and names. He swipes down to see the title, the text of it not much larger than that of the body of the report. ‘Skills, Abilities and Specializations of Infantry Battalions’. “I’m still learning,” Anakin says after a moment, voice cracking a little. “And I mess up a lot. More than Rex can make up for, more than anyone can. And it’s not enough, I know, but I’m trying.” Cody nods, pretending that he isn’t choking up a little. “Okay. Okay. Come on, Charger’s on this shift and he makes the best caf. Can’t have a Jedi falling asleep on the bridge, bad for morale.” Anakin pulls his wings into some semblance of order, catching up to Cody on unsteady legs. “Thanks,” he says, and neither of them acknowledge the tears at the corners of their eyes. Obi-Wan is leaning on the balcony railing above the bridge when Cody finds him, watching the stars streaking past with unfocused eyes. Cody knows the protocol for this and waits quietly next to him, falling into parade rest. It’s not long before Obi-Wan blinks, shaking off whatever vision he’d been seeing and turns away from the depths of space. “My apologies,” he says, smiling a little wanly. “Something I can help you with, Cody?” “I have a question, sir, if you don’t mind,” Cody says slowly, leaning his forearms against the railing next to his general. “Of course,” Obi-Wan agrees immediately, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his wings, long and tawny. “You can always ask me anything, commander.” “Why,” Cody starts, pausing to figure out how to phrase it. “How do you know so much about war? More than any other general. You ask me, sure, and I didn’t realize at first because you’re still learning the protocol, same as all the rest, but you know how to command an army.” Obi-Wan is silent for a long moment, head dipping down towards his chest. Cody starts to think that he’s not going to answer, and then he speaks. “Have you ever heard of the planet Melida/Daan, commander?” Cody thinks back. “Maybe? It’s in the Outer Rim, right? There was a civil war that they taught us about, ended by a third faction made up of all the kids of the two warring populations.” “Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees. “When I was a padawan, my master and I were assigned a mission to the planet. I–ended up remaining to aid the Young in their efforts. My master came back for me, once he’d returned the injured Jedi we came to retrieve to the Temple on Coruscant.” Cody digests this. “You fought in a war. When you were Ahsoka’s age?” Obi-Wan winces. “Padawanship lasts for several years, often well into young adulthood. But yes, I was roughly that old. Perhaps a little younger.” Cody feels something break in his ribcage. Breathing suddenly feels like inhaling static, and he can feel his secondaries pricking painfully beneath his bodyglove. It suddenly seems less of a failure that none of the Jedi are prepared to lead this war. They weren’t expecting to; they’re peacekeepers. There was no reason for them to know anything about leading an army until a year ago. Cody has had his whole life to prepare for this. “Fuck,” he says quietly. “Quite,” Obi-Wan agrees. “We’re–Cody, we’re trying. But we need you, all of you. None of us were ready for this.” “Yeah, I’m starting to get that,” Cody says roughly. Cody has never quite understood why Rex is so devoted to his Jedi. Anakin is alright, he supposes, for all that he hasn’t quite grown out of his obnoxious arrogance. He’s settled into it more, turned it mostly into the rightfully earned confidence of someone who’s proven to everyone who matters that they can stand on their own two feet and take whatever the universe dishes out. But Cody’s never understood what could earn the undying loyalty that the 501st seems to have for their general. He got an inkling that day on Umbara, staring through the blue static at a staggering willingness to sacrifice and pride enough to build an empire, but nothing quite like this. Anakin leans against the door, cradling the crying toddler in his arms. Her mother’s body is cooling down the hall and there’s a bleeding graze on his side from the hail of blasterfire the rebels had turned on him when he’d dove back down the hallway at the little girl’s cry. He’s breathing heavily, pressing his chin to the top of the baby’s head. Her hair is plastered to her forehead by blood and sweat. He wipes it back with calloused fingers and starts soothing her. Cody takes inventory of the safe room while Anakin sings the girl to sleep with a low and raspy voice, the words foreign to his ears. “Are there any wet wipes in there?” he calls softly, a few minutes after she’s gone quiet. “Not here, no,” Cody tells him, keeping his voice low and reaching for his utility belt to pull out the little packet there and hand it to him. “Thank you,” Anakin says, starting to clean off the child’s forehead. “It’s a terrible thing, to wake up with blood on your skin and know that it belongs to your mother. I can spare her that, at least.” “You sound like you’re speaking from personal experience,” Cody says, before he can stop the words from coming out. Anakin’s hands still for a moment. “Maybe I am. I don’t like to think about it. A grieving Jedi can do terrible things, and I have a very close friend to thank for the fact that I didn’t. One body was heavy enough to bury.” Chills crawl up Cody’s spine, and he leans back against the wall, staying quiet as Anakin piles the shock blankets into a nest for the child. “Can I ask you something, commander?” Anakin says quietly, retrieving a ration bar and coming to sit beside him. “Okay,” Cody agrees cautiously. “Why do you. You get scared sometimes, of me. Why is that?” he asks. “Like just now. You go all brown and dull in the Force, so I can tell, even though you never look like it.” Cody feels a hysterical laugh bubble up in the back of his throat and he shoves it down, hard. “You’re a terrifying person, sometimes,” he says instead. “You didn’t know?” “Padmé said the same thing, once,” Anakin tells him, peeling open the wrapper. “I don’t. I don’t try to be. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’ll try to be better about that.” “It’s not always bad,” Cody says, fingers brushing against Anakin’s. “Just. You could kill someone with your mind in at least seven different ways. And when that’s directed at droids trying to kill us, that’s good. But, y’know. It’s still a little scary, even if it is also kind of hot.” Cody pauses, assessing what he’s just said. “Huh. I think I have a concussion.” “I got that impression,” Anakin says, but he’s smiling. “I’ll get you some meds, give me a second.” He’s not gone for long, but Cody’s side goes cold, and he leans his head on Anakin’s shoulder when he comes back, taking the pills with a swallow of water from the bottle that comes with them. “Could you put your wing around me?” he requests, the words odd in his mouth, like some stupider, braver Cody hidden in his brain and only released by head trauma is speaking them. “I’m cold.” “Sure,” Anakin says, after a moment’s hesitation. The feathers are exactly as soft as Cody had thought they would be. “...will you let me groom yours? They look kind of mussed.” That seems reasonable, so he stretches one out into Anakin’s lap and tries not to shiver at the feeling of fingers combing through his feathers “Can I ask you a question, Cody?” Anakin says, after a minute, frowning down at his wing. “Mhn? Yeah, I guess. M’sleepy, though.” “That’s okay. You can go to sleep, then,” Anakin tells him. “No, what do you want to know?” Cody insists, shifting further into his side. “Okay. Um, I guess I’m just wondering why your wing muscles are. They feel like you don’t fly? Rex wears his wings out most of the time, and I’ve seen him and some of the other troopers soaring around the training rooms every now and then,” Anakin says. “Can’t,” Cody tells him, eyelids slipping shut. “What?” Anakin asks. “Never learned,” Cody elaborates, doing his best not to slur the words. “Didn’t have any reason to. Only CTs. Can’t do aerial maneuvers, too risky. They’ve got. Smaller wings n’stuff. G’night.” He thinks there’s an outraged huff from Anakin at his answer but can’t bring himself to care, already falling asleep. They’re found not long after, and the 501st has shipped out to shore leave a couple of systems away by the time Cody is coherent again. The 212th is going off in a completely different direction, onto another mission because the majority of their troops weren’t needed for this one in the end. He tries not to think about what he said that night, and does his best not to be hurt when Anakin doesn’t look his way at all in strategy meetings. It doesn’t matter. The dust on Ando is thick and cloying, bad for Human lungs, so they’d had to stay on the ships rather than setting up base on the planet, which had made it much harder to attack. Goings were slow because of it, despite the Resolute and her troopers accompanying them in the assault, but they’d broken enemy lines yesterday and retrieved their mission objective, so they’re going back to Coruscant to patch up their ships once they muster up the power to break free of orbit from the uninhabited planet next to Ando. Cody is tired when he wakes, earlier than he’d have liked, body wired into four hours of sleep by the last three weeks. He stretches his wings as far as they’ll go, and gets out of bed. He makes it through getting dressed and is halfway done brushing his teeth before there’s a knock on his door. It opens onto Anakin standing there, shirtless. Cody chokes on his toothpaste. “What are you doing here?” he asks, once his airways are no longer clogged by minty foam. “And where is your clothing?” “Shirts aren’t good for flying!” Anakin tells him, far too bubbly for this early in the morning. “You’re going flying?” Cody asks, frowning. “Where? And why does it require you to stop here first?” “We’re going flying,” Anakin corrects, spreading his wings. “At least. I hope we are? That’s what I’m here to ask.” “I told you, I don’t know how to,” Cody says, trying to ignore the way his cheeks heat up at the statement. Shame tastes like disappointment and mint, he learns. “That’s why I’m going to teach you!” Anakin tells him, tucking his wings and sidling into the room. “It’s not that hard, I promise. I didn’t learn until I was ten.” “Why not?” Cody asks. Anakin’s smile flickers. “I wasn’t allowed to. But that’s not the point, come on! We need to stretch before.” Cody’s still hesitant, and it must show on his face, because Anakin goes serious. “Cody. I promise, it’ll be okay. The mess hall on deck four is closed for ‘maintenance’, so no one else will be there. Trust me?” “Okay,” Cody says, and reaches for the hem of his shirt. The mess hall is drafty, the portholes lining the walls letting in some of the cold of space. Usually it’s heated, but there’s no use warming rooms that aren’t being used. They stretch together, and Cody does his best not to notice the way Anakin’s shoulders ripple as he swings his arms back and forth. He fails, of course, because they’re very impressive shoulders, but he can always blame the flush in his cheeks on the cold. “Okay, so how do we do this?” he asks, once they’ve finished stretching. His wings are already a little sore, unused to being free for so long. “Do I have to stand on a table?” “One of the good things about skimping on ship construction,” Anakin tells him, a stunning smile flashing onto his face, “Is that you leave out purely decorative ceilings, which means the support beams are exposed.” “Fuck you,” Cody says, once he deciphers the words. “Absolutely not.” It is, Cody realizes, a very long drop. Farther than he’d thought, even, which is impressive. “I hate you,” he tells Anakin, balancing on the edge. “So much.” It’s warmer up here, the system turned on recently, not having had long enough to heat the entire space. They’ll stay closer to the top so they don’t have to work their wings quite as hard, but this will be more of a lesson in gliding than anything else. “Love you too, commander,” Anakin says, and then stiffens. The tips of his ears go highlighter pink. “Uh. So this is how you hold your wings.” He demonstrates, keeping up a steady flow of helpful chatter that conveniently doesn’t allow Cody to get a word in edgewise. His tertials are green, Cody notes absently. Emerald and aquamarine and every shade between them, fading easily into the muscles of his back. They’re beautiful, in a totally different way than the pattern of his secondaries or the gold of his primaries. They shimmer the same way that the royal blue feathers caught in the middle do, but Cody can’t seem to focus on just one long enough to decide which is prettiest. “Okay, ready?” Anakin asks, rolling his shoulders. “No,” Cody deadpans, stretching. Anakin laughs, sweet and burbling. “C’mon, Cody, you can do this!” he says. “I’ll catch you if you fall, I promise.” I already have, he thinks, but takes a deep breath, and then drops. Flying is– It’s everything. The air in his feathers feels like joy looks, embossed in a loving smile. The burn of his wings as they lift him higher feels like remembering something he didn’t know he’d forgotten. When he lands again, he thinks for a second he might cry. Anakin is across from him, wind-mussed and breathing just as hard as he is. Before he can think better of it, before the bravery can drain away, he walks forward and cups Anakin’s face in his hands. “Can I kiss you,” he asks, and rejoices when it’s answered with a nod. He presses flying into his lips against Anakin’s, all the feelings welling up inside of him and pumping through his heart fast enough that he worries it might burst. When he pulls back, Anakin’s eyes look like starlight in the darkness, and Cody wraps his wings around them both and pulls him back in. 

[no-droids]

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings:  There is rough sex in this.  THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS.  Do NOT read if that offends you.  There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet).  Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp.  At least you’re in a good mood. 

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them.  Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy.  Acting a complete fool.  Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point.  He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison.  He’s restless, though, continuing to act out.  At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs.  Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head.  The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now.  You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night.  The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing.  But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.  

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says.  And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy.  The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad. 

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle.  It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that.  As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass.  You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand.  “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side.  Short, but not unkind.  “Push through.  You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him.  His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths.  Weirdly, it works wonders for you.  Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm. 

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice.  “Good.  You’re… hitting harder than yesterday.  That’s… fuck.  Good.”

“Good?”  You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid.  Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib.  You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types.  Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels.  He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage. 

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you.  A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth.  “Keep your arm down like I told you.  That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides.  But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back.  “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed.  Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience.  You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more.  “Stop that!  My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?”  He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest.  “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment.  Din steps back and hits his chest again.  “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again.  You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick.  He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today.  It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare.  He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much.  It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him.  He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl.  Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick.  It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself.  Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone.  He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring.  He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit.  The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking.  You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this.  You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should.  Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears.  You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope.  Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly.  You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach.  Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless.  You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass.  It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage.  Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly.  You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs.  You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too.  Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it.  You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind.  You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face.  You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react.  “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter.  He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it.  Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second.  But no—he’s—

“Perfect.  Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way.  “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be.  They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight.  It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery.  You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp.  Biting.  Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position.  His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time.  You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh.  Take.  Cock.  So.  Fucking.  Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips.  You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you.  You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis.  The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over.  You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize.  You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once.  He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind. 

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is.  Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.  The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?”  You’re able to hear him grit from above you.  “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this?  When I just.  H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do.  The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him.  Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him.  His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name. 

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you.  You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—”  Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay?  Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?”  He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath.  “Good.”

And… it’s true.  It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing.  So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it.  The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways.  Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers.  In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back.  Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm.  Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch.  You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you.  It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time.  The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body.  Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings.  There’s not a solid word for it, not really.  If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too.  Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest.  There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you.  “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish.  “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay?  If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?”  You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter.  Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow.  “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling.  “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly.  “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit. 

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles.  “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?”  He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile.  More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly.  “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short.  You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost.  Uncertain.  It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame.  It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet.  This quiet is… natural.  Warm, and.  Free.  Fleeting, allowed to roam.  In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling.  “He said you have… brown eyes.  And a… a strong bone structure, striking features.  A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair.  And, uh.  He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless. 

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap.  “That you’re an open book.  Behind a metal wall.  And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes.  And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and.  And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety.  But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator.  “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason.  “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead.  Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you.  Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight.  “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body.  “The kid hasn’t eaten all day.  Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat.  What do you want?  There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check.  “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him.  You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him.  So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you.  You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit.  “Don’t inhale it.  Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire.  You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone.  The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself.  But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking.  Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy.  Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you.  It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you.  You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself.  Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you.  That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate.  You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening.  It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but.  Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice.  Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial.  In a way.  More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment.  It’s nice.  You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come.  The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough.  The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute.  The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either.  A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile.  What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit.  They’re hypnotic, the flames.  Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it.  Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance.  The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7.  They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach.  Something you can touch.  Interact with.  Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one.  That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today.  How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low.  Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again.  The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back.  You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare.  Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet.  After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward.  The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it.  Embarrassment instantly floods you.  “Oh.  Shit.  I’m so stupid.  I’m sor—”

Only he��s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back.  Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done.  Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be.  He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him.  You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator.  The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this.  “Just need a few hours.  Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days.  Shit.  You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether.  It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold.  You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks.  He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon.  Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you.  Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately.  “You’re fucking… soaked.  I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head.  “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good.  It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue.  “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum.  You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants.  “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit.  “What I need is for you to cum.  From now on, you’ll tell me.  Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth.  “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless.  He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all.  Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch.  He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise.  His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet.  At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it.  The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing.  His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat.  His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt.  “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming.  Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon.  Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours.  The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture.  Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him.  You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks.  His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself.  “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again.  This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense.  The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky.  He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality.  Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck.  You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress.  “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will.  Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week.  “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

[arduadastra]

69’ing with din but with him on top??? Yes??

This ran away with me because, this prompt? DELICIOUS. It starts real smutty but it ended softly. I have no regrets. It's been a while since I wrote smut so enjoy my filth fest!

Warnings: Slight Dom/Sub, Oral (F and M receiving) swearing, reader being bratty and after sex fluff.

Want something? Ask me here! I write Din, Javi, Ezra, Max P, Frankie, Oberyn and Whiskey.

1.6K - I mean...who knew I was such a hoe for dom Din?

MAJOR NSFW

What an awful fucking day.

Din had sent you out to the local market to pick up food for the next hyperspace jump and somehow you had come back with less than you started with.

When you got there, which took an hour because your speeder had broken down, you realised you had half the credits you actually needed because the other half was still on the ship.

To make matters worse, some twi'lek asshole decided to run into you which made you drop half the fruit you had bought and smash it on the ground below.

As you trekked back, indignant and defeated, you were seething. How can one person royally fuck up that bad? At a simple task nonetheless?

God, Mando was gonna be pissed.

As the ramp lowered you stood, shouldering the few remaining items you could actually buy and you see him waiting for you. He’s got the child cradled in one arm and another on his hip.

You’d almost laugh at the posture if you weren’t so pissed off.

“What took you so long?”

You laughed humourlessly and shoved past him, he grunts and plants his feet, “Hey!”

You swing around, dropping your bag on the floor and point at him, finger hitting his chest plate, “It’s your fault! You said you’d fixed the speeder.”

He says nothing, just drops the child to the ground and stands up straight. “It fucking broke within ten minutes, I had to walk the rest of the way.” You continue, voice rising, “THEN this asshole ran into me and I dropped everything. Didn’t even get much in the first place because I left half the fucking credits here!”

You curse and tug at your hair, walking away from him now, “Fuck, I didn’t even get those cookies you wanted!" You kicked the crest wall and winced at the pain that shot up your leg.

Mando, as always, was a silent observer of your meltdown. He never spoke unless he had to and in all the years you had known him, you’re not sure he’s ever witnessed an outburst from you.

It had just been a shitty day.

“And!” You continue, pointing at him, “You decided that landing on a planet that’s 1000 degrees in the shade was somehow a good plan. I could barely breathe out there, you didn’t think to check the ground temperature, idiot?!”

That got his attention. Immediately you knew you’d fucked up. 

It’s one thing to yell at him but to insult his planning skills? His intelligence? Yeah, that’s game over.

He tilts his head slightly before pressing his vambrace, closing the ramp. He then takes three very measured steps towards you as you back away, your legs hitting the bunk. He stares at you for a long time. His chest barely moves and you suddenly understand why so many cower in the face of him.

His voice is deadly, “Is that anyway to speak to me, adika?”

You sit, “No.” You don’t apologise though, you won’t give him the satisfaction.

He nods once, noting your lack of apology. He is a wall of beskar and silent rage. His voice continues, deeper even through the helmet’s filter “You think I can’t fix a speeder?"

You shake your head.

He crosses his arms, even from a distance he’s an imposing force and you feel yourself heat at the display of dominance, “You think can speak to me like that? Call me an idiot?”

You look down, loving the heat of his gaze on you. You squeeze your thighs together “I was angry. I didn’t mean it."

He leans in at that, a hand bracing on the bed beside you and another coming up to rest at the back of your neck, tilting it and baring you to him. 

He rumbles in your ear, “So how are you gonna make it up to me?"

You whimper and grab at his bicep, “Anything, I’ll do anything. I’ll be good.”

You hear him chuckle darkly, “You better be.”

You lie back, hair fanning across the bed as you undo your shirt and drop it to the floor. You see his helmet tilt down at your exposed breasts and you groan, “Touch me, please.” Your hands reach for him but he shakes his head, his eyes still focused on your chest. “That would be rewarding you Mesh'la, you haven’t earn't me yet.”

He does begin to take off his beskar though, standing above you as he slowly strips and helpless to do anything but watch. He removes the lower half of his flight suit and you feel yourself flood at the sight of his hard cock.

He takes himself in his hand and groans, tilting his head back and exposing the olive-skinned line of his throat. You can’t help but move your hand downwards at the sight but he catches you.

Quickly, he grips your hand and pins it above your head, the other still running against his dick, “uh uh…good girls listen to orders. So strip, but don’t you dare touch yourself.” 

Maker, you loved it when he told you what to do. 

You pulled down the rest of your clothing and couldn’t help the shiver that ran up your spine as you saw his cock glisten at the action.

“Please, please let me-“

“What? What do you want?”

You whine, “Your cock, please Mando.”

He stops, and brackets himself above you, hand hovering on the light switch, “Say my name.”

You moan, “Din.” 

He clicks the switch.

You gasp at the sudden loss of sight and feel Din moving above you. You also hear the familiar hiss of a helmet being removed and you crane yourself upwards for a kiss. You feel him graze his stubbled jaw across your face, you ache to feel his lips. Din kissed like a man crazed and you needed it.

It never comes.

Instead, you feel him smile against your cheek before flipping himself over, his cock suddenly slipping between your lips. You groan as he thrusts downwards and you suck hard, “You said you wanted my cock mesh’la.”

You feel his hair fall forward against your mound and you whimper around the thickness in your mouth. You feel his hot breath fan your wet clit and you rise your hips to feel more but he lifts away. You grip his waist.

He pushes further into your mouth and you exhale harshly as he starts his rhythm. It's punishing and bruising and you feel him in your throat. You’re powerless below him.

You love it. 

And you know he does too.

He grunts above you, hand fisting in the sheets while the other runs up your thigh, he teases the apex and you kick your leg out.

He grips your ankle with a firm hand and groans as you swirl your tongue around his head, precum bursting out as you do, “Maker. Good girl, such a good girl for me.”

His finger enters you suddenly and you release him from your mouth with a cry, absolutely soaking his fingers in the process. You hear him suck on them when he takes them out and you moan at the image. 

It’s moments like this you wished you could see his face. You wonder what he would look like with your arousal all over his chin, how his eyes would darken as he entered you. You imagine him with dark eyes, there’s no way a man like Din doesn’t have dark eyes. You run your hands up and down his chest, flight suit still covering most of him but your feel the hard planes of muscle under your fingertips and you just wish he would fucking touch you already.

No sooner did you think that he speaks roughly, “I think you’ve apologised enough Cyar’ika.” and spears your pussy with his tongue.

You cry again and he thrusts his cock in your mouth to shut you up. Din is relentless, all those years with a helmet would make you think he would be timid when it came to eating you out.

You couldn’t be more wrong. He was a man possessed as he gripped your thighs and spread you below him and you feel the heat sear in your gut at the hungry display.

He turns his head and sucks a bruise into your thigh, nose brushing your folds and you whine at the burn of his moustache against your sensitive core, “that’s it, cum for me. Cum for your riduur.”

You hadn’t heard that last word before but it sets you off as he laps at your release, moaning around his cock in the process.

“Shit, Shit I-I” Din gasps and you feel his own orgasm fill your mouth, swallowing it down and letting him go with a loud 'pop.’

You gasp and hear him flop next to you, head still down by your feet. After a few minutes catching your breath you lean up on your forearms, looking down at where you assume his face to be, “What did that mean?”

Din stays silent a fraction too long and you raise an eyebrow, “Din?”

“Mhmm.”

You roll your eyes and prod him in the leg, “That word! What did it mean?”

You hear him shuffle around and soon his head is next to yours. While you can’t see him you can tell he’s stalling, “Means a lot of things.”

You wait, turning your head ever so slightly towards him and you feel his breath fan your face, “tell me.”

His hand comes up and grazes your cheek as he softly presses a kiss to your lips and murmurs, “it can mean partner but...” He kisses you again, “I’d like it to mean spouse .”

Your heart soars, “As in?”

“Husband and wife. If you’d like that.”

You kiss him back, hard and press him onto his back, “I’d definitely like that. Riduur”

Din smiles.

---------------------------

Tagged: @evyiione