#thoughts from hyperspace

[archieimagines]

touching din | din djarin

Summary: The three times that Din bends his own rules and engages in physical touch. 

his primary love languages are acts of service and physical touch. i will die on this hill. i started this one just to indulge in the thoughts of touching his lovely face. it’s been in the works for a while and although i know it’s far from perfect, i’m glad that it finally gets to see the light of day! warnings: bad language, potential incoherence? idk i’m very tired but i hope you like it tags: plenty of fluff, plenty of indulgent, sfw touching, and then a good handful of angst. rollercoaster central. this takes place over a period of time, so part of it comes after finding out grogu’s name, which is why he’s referred to as many things! word count: 4650 written by: archie support me on ko-fi!

The travelling between planets would’ve been excruciating if not for your life partner and your adoptive child. The three of you made rather an unorthodox family. A runaway from Corellia, a Mandalorian and a… a sweet ball of green. An unorthodox family, indeed, but loving.

The Child chirped and bubbled away on your lap, apparently having a conversation with you while you sat in the pilot seat. You listened attentively, made agreeing noises at all the right moments, the lights of hyperspace travel filling the cabin with slow flashes. He really was so cute. You’d tell him it often, and you’d tell him that Din thought so too, even if he’d never say it. That much was obvious.

It was in the way he carried him, the way he protected him. The occasional pat to his head, or the quiet rub to his long ears as he slept. He wasn’t the type to openly say it, but it was clear, and that was what counted.

The Child reached out to the knob atop the gearstick, fingers wiggling.

“Baby, no. We have to always ask Din about the ship, hm?” You bounced him gently on your knee in an effort to ease the sad coos- but there was no need. A gloved hand reached around you, exposed fingertips closing on the ball. It was unscrewed and placed into the waiting green hands, content whirs and chatters soon filling the air.

The warmth in your chest grew into a smile as you dropped your head back, peering up at the helmeted man that stood just out of sight. “That’s a yes, then?”

A nod. “That’s a yes.”

“I didn’t hear you come up.”

He nudged his head to the Child, voice soft, ���You were having an important conversation.”

And then he did what you loved.

He reached a slow hand out and stroked it over the top of your head, coming to a gentle hold at the nape of your neck, and leaned in. Your eyes fell closed as the cool beskar met between your brows, and you didn’t need to see him to know his eyes were closed too.

A beskar kiss.

You heard a soft sigh through his voice modulator. This was the way his people would show love. He made no move to break away, even from the awkward angle at which he leant. He savoured the moment, breathed with you, his thumb running back and forth over your skin. You weren’t sure if he could feel the goosebumps that his touch rose every time, his fingertips slipping into the lower roots of your hair.

He loved to touch you, you could tell. It wasn’t easy, and these moments were few and far between with his action-packed lifestyle, but the tenderness of these touches clearly meant so much to him. To you.

Without disturbing the occupied bundle on your lap, you reached for Din’s other hand. It hung by his side until you took it in your own, slowly raising it to place your kiss on the knuckles of his fingers. You kept it there a while, backs of his fingers to your lips, his helmet pressed to your forehead. The warmth of those digits filled a void left by the cold beskar. The warmth of human touch.

Long moments slipped by as you absorbed it until you became self-conscious. He hadn’t pulled away, but you weren’t even sure how he’d felt about it with his covered expression, so you let out a resigned sigh and lowered his hand.

But he surprised you.

His fingers opened up instead, laying delicately on the side of your jaw, his similar hold on the back of your neck still in place.

His thumb reached out to meet the corner of your lips, before tentatively, almost shyly, brushing over the centre of them.

He wanted more.

You were only too happy to oblige, lips raising into a delicate peak, placing a tender kiss to the pad of his thumb. Soon, he shifted, placing his index finger there instead. Then his middle. Each of his fingers tapped to your lips, and you made sure to place your affection on the tip of each one, giving in to the urge to smile.

He loved this.

You heard the tinned sound of a sigh before his fingers slipped away once again, soon followed by his reluctant leaning away.

He stood tall above where you sat, visor staying fixed on you. He was just looking. Just peaceful. You shone an easy smile, somehow both cosy and breathless from the moment.

His helmet turned towards the green being on your lap.

He blinked up at Din, and soon, a confused coo filled the cabin.

Din shrugged one shoulder. “You’ll get it when you’re older.” And with that, he settled back into the passenger seat, arms crossing over his chest. “Rest up,” he called, presumably to the pair of you. “We’ll touch down for fuel in six hours.”

Din’s bunk was the epitome of comfort. Cramped, yes. Warm, yes. Especially with two bodies. It’d easily become stuffy in there with the panel sealed while the pair of you shared his thin mattress, and you’d always wondered how he managed to keep his helmet on even in that environment. Or perhaps… He couldn’t feel the stuffiness because of the beskar. Or maybe… He was just always stuffy in there, used to closed air.

Your eyes raised from where you’d had them closed, cheek pressed to the chest of his flight suit to mimic sleep. Early mornings after a long, well-deserved sleep often came like this, and there was something so soul-healing about laying there to absorb his calm, peaceful presence before getting up for what would likely be another day of action.

Watching his visor for long moments, working out if he was still sleeping or looking back at you- it had become somewhat of a hobby. Sometimes, you had convinced yourself, if you looked hard enough, you could see the slightest shape beneath the vision slot of his helmet.

You weren’t sure if they were really there. But, in the dim light of the bunk, you could swear the bridge of his nose casted a shadow that caused a darker shadow inside the mask. His lashes were dark and long, and they fluttered slowly as his eyes closed in steady blinks, looking back at you with such leisure.

But then… Had you made that up?

You squinted, straining your eyes until you were sure— yes, you’d made it up. He was still sleeping.

But it didn’t hurt to imagine he had long lashes and a strong nose, perhaps even a strong brow to match. It didn’t hurt to imagine you could see the faintest outlines of the man you love.

Sated, you turned your cheek back to his chest, eyes falling closed to mimic his slumber. Or at least—

“Morning.”

— What you thought was slumber. 

His voice was groggy in the modulator; that intimate morning voice. Deeper, softer than usual.

It brought a smile to your lips. “Morning, my love. You were awake?”

“I have been for a while.” His arm tightened snug around your body in his hold, half atop his. “I like to watch you wake up.”

A soft laugh. “Not creepy, hm?”

“Not even a little bit.”

Silence lapsed with his low tone. All was quiet. Not the whirring of the ship, not the sounds of the forest he’d landed the Crest in the clearing of. Only the delicate air of his breathing inside his mask, catching in the voice modulator so quietly that ordinarily, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

The thought stirred a deep intimacy in your chest. No one else would get to hear this. No one else would get to lay with him like this, press against his armour-free body like this. You splayed a hand over the cloth of his chest, toes wiggling from an uncontainable contentment with how your leg rested over his. Not an ounce of beskar between the two of you.

But yet… 

Gentle fingertips trailed upwards, over his upper chest, swirling delicate patterns in the creases of his fabric. Your eyes remained closed, focusing everything on him, the warmth that met your touch when you worked past the collar of the flight suit, meeting the skin of his neck.

It wasn’t the first time you’d touched him so. Of course, after this long together, you’d been intimate many a time-- You were both human, after all... But the helmet had always stayed on.

Your fingertips splayed over his throat, and it vibrated with his low hum.

It was no secret by now. He loved to be touched.

You could just imagine him there beneath the visor, eyes closed, brow relaxed. His face caught in a long moment of calm where it was often riddled with worry, or effort from the fighting. Bringing him such serenity like this was the least you could do for him, showing him that he’s loved. So, so loved.

Slowly, your touch crept just a little further up, seeking his jaw. But as your knuckles knocked the edge of his helmet, a gentle hand closed around your wrist in warning. He didn’t need to speak.

Your voice was the softest murmur. “I won’t take it off. Can I just- Feel you?”

He didn’t move, not for a while. You raised your eyes, peering up at him from where you were nestled in his chest, as if you could possibly read his facial expressions.

His hold eased, thumb lazily rubbing over your veins before letting go, and you found a buzz of warmth in your chest. He trusted you with his most precious boundary. Silently, you vowed to always protect that trust.

Delicate fingers worked upwards, feeling for hair from his chin. But, a soft gasp- There was no beard. The gentle prickle of cropped hairs caught your fingerprints as they swiped along his jaw, and you marvelled at it.

“You shave?” The words came out with a soft, amused breath of disbelief, eyes rounded in surprise. For some reason, it’d always made sense that he’d be bearded, long-haired. He had no reason to shave, knowing that no one would ever see, but now that you knew, it clicked.

Of course he’d shave. Din was a particularly thorough person, he was always driving himself forward to do a perfect job of his work: of course he’d take care of himself too.

“If it grows too long, it’s uncomfortable. Catches in the modulator.”

“Ah,” you hummed, brushing along the ridge of his jaw in the confined space. There was something about feeling his jaw move as he spoke, verifying that he really was human, really did have goings-on behind the mask that shielded him from the world. There wasn’t much room in there to move freely, only your fingers able to reach his face, but it was comfortable. You could feel the soft sway of his breath on your touch. “What colour is it?”

“Black. Brown, black.”

You hummed, eyes fixed on his visor lazily, though you weren’t really looking at him. You were visualising as you studied the contours of his lower face, mapping him out as best as you could in your mind, nails brushing through the stubble on his cheek. They trailed towards the corner of his lips, where you noticed the strands got longer. A moustache?

The smile that lifted your face was automatic, beaming at the realisation. You followed the direction of it, above his upper lip, soon finding a little sparse patch on his philtrum. Your eyes drifted closed, imagining the way it might feel to kiss him now that you knew this; how his facial hair would scratch your upper lip, your chin. Perhaps it would be almost sore on your skin if you kissed him long enough, hot enough--

His lips raised to press a real kiss to the centre of your fingers. Slow, shy, even a little clumsy.

A rich gasp pulled from your throat. It was electric to feel his lips on your skin, pressing the affection directly onto you, after these long years of going without.

You let your fingertips lower, finally feeling the shape of his lips, that subtle cupid’s bow as it raised into yet another peck, slow and tender against your touch. Your brows drew together, fighting the emotion that welled up in you, trying to make you cry. You weren’t all too sure why-- this was just- so much. It was so much, to feel him like this, to receive his first kisses like this. Something you’d never even imagined you could have.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured against your fingertips, tone almost a caress. His own fingers raised to brush at the corner of your eye. One must’ve slipped out.

You didn’t even know he was looking at you. Your lashes fluttered open, gaze meeting where you imagined his eyes would be. “I can’t help it,” you whispered. “You’re perfect.”

He’d lied to you. He’d massively, irrevocably, intentionally lied to you.

Your jaw ached from your grit teeth as you fought back angry fires in your heart, determined not to cry until you’d pulled your family safely off this forsaken, evil planet.

Din had been tasked with a mission of political undertones involving the spice market. He was masking as a bounty hunter to get information, so this time, the importance was in keeping the right people alive.

Of course, it didn’t work, and those people were now trying to kill you.

Your fingers trembled as you fought against the clock and the jolts of blasters firing at the ship to strap Grogu into his passenger seat. Your eyes were bleary, but you had to focus, secure him in safely. You wouldn’t take anyone’s safety for granted after this stupid stunt.

“Get her in the sky!” Din shouted up through the hatch, pushing his voice so loudly against the fighting and blasters below that it almost outgrew the modulator, his real voice peeking through. 

Grogu’s sweet eyes peered up at you, giving a questioning gurgle. The poor thing had no idea what was going on, was probably terrified by it all, and even your demeanour on top of it, but you didn’t have time to explain.

“We need to go!”

You buckled the baby in tightly and fought your emotions to ruffle a quick hand atop his head, hoping to soothe him even a small degree before falling into the pilot’s seat, specifically buckling yourself in, and jamming the engine on with jerky movements. 

The Crest resisted you, far too old and rickety by now to be good for quick getaways with a cold engine, but with some slow drags, turbulence from knocking through trees and extra laser blasts from below, she was finally in the air.

You heard the distinctive sound of fighting downstairs, someone being kicked off the ramp at an easy 400 feet altitude, and then the mechanical sound of the ship being closed off again. 

The ladder creaked with Din’s climbing, and you didn’t look back to him as he collapsed into the other passenger seat, not ready to talk to him yet. You were still seething, and wouldn’t engage with him until you’d pulled up safely out of the planet’s atmosphere.

Long moments of quiet dragged by. He knew you by now. He didn’t need to see more than the square set of your shoulders to know that he shouldn’t speak yet unless he wanted to upset you more. That, and you still didn’t look at him even as the minutes neared a full hour, focused on getting to the nearest hyperspace route.

He glanced to Grogu, who sat there blinking, clueless as he could be. He must’ve known something was going on, even if he didn’t know what exactly Din had done.

Din reached a gloved hand out, petting lightly on the green boy’s head. He still didn’t speak.

Eventually, your frustrated fires ebbed into a more containable state, you shifted the Crest into light speed, and unbuckled your belt with a heaved sigh. “Downstairs, Din.”

You stood, instructed Grogu not to touch a thing, headed down the hatch, and pointedly avoided looking at Din the whole time.

The body of the ship was chaos. Lazed burns in everything the three of you owned, strewn across the floor and torn from the struggle. Clearly, he’d really had to put up a fight. 

It was his own fault.

Boot on metal as he stepped onto the floor beside you. You finally looked at him.

You didn’t need to see his face to know he was exhausted. It was in the way he held himself, the way his arms just hung there by his sides, strong shoulders visibly slouched to the trained eye.

You reeled on him. “Why didn’t you let me in on it?”

Silence.

“Less of that, Din. Speak to me, I need to understand.”

There was a pause before his voice came. Firm, but gentle, as if pointedly trying to keep the peace. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand.” You pulled an upturned crate closer and planted yourself on it, trying to keep the buzz in your veins under control, but your tone was clipped nonetheless as you gestured to a crate nearby. “Go ahead, let’s hear it.”

He sighed and tugged the crate over, perched on the corner of it opposite you. His knees were parted and elbows on his thighs, hands clasped together as he thought through his facts. The best way to make you see that he’d done the right thing.

“I couldn’t tell you my true location because if you knew, your presence would have soiled the plan.”

“So you’re telling me I’m a hindrance.”

“No.”

“That’s certainly what it sounds like-”

“It needed full discretion to work. I’d told them-”

“I can keep fucking secrets, Din.”

“I know you can.”

“So you lied? Told me you were on the other side of town? How was I supposed to get to you if something went wrong?”

He sighed, his head dropping forwards in exasperation. “I told you to stay on the ship.”

“That’s not always possible. You know it’s not! Hunters still have fobs fixed onto Grogu, Din, there’s no escaping that!”

“I couldn’t have you interrupting or we’d all be dead. I’d told them I was alone- no, look at me.”

Your jaw was aching from how you grit your teeth as you forced yourself to look up at that visor, the weight of frustrated tears brimming at your waterline. You gave a small nod.

“Listen,” he started. “I’d told them I came alone. If you’d known my location, you would have interrupted.”

“To save your skin? Yeah, I would.”

“Exactly. We’d both be dead, and the hunters would take the kid.”

“You think I can take care of him without you? We don’t stand a chance without you around, Din.”

He paused. Quiet lapsed, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Sometimes, he really gave nothing away, and it was infuriating. He didn’t let you in. He would rarely open up to you about what was going on inside that beskar that hid everything from you. Everything.

Sometimes, you were sure you didn’t even know the man you were committed to. He held so much of the power in this setup. He knew everything about you, everything was done by his thinking, and yet he didn’t need to disclose much at all. He’d keep you in the dark about everything.

What he was feeling, what he was thinking… Hell, even when he smiled at you he kept it to himself. You’d grown to handle those, but this, actively lying to you. As if you couldn’t follow instructions. As if you couldn’t be trusted.

You sighed as the drops in your eyes welled up enough to fall over your cheeks. You pulled yourself off the crate and approached the ladder to the cabin, calling over your shoulder. “Go clean up or something,” you sniffled, “I need a minute away from you.”

The clang of footsteps behind you, a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey. Look at me.”

“I can’t, Din.”

“Why not?”

Such a simple question, such an impossible answer. You closed your eyes, struggling to pick out words that might illustrate what’s going on inside. The ache that sank your chest, that made your throat feel heavy with uncried frustrations. None of this was okay. Perhaps after you’d cooled down, you’d be able to see that mask as anything other than a barrier between you, that keeps him safe from your eyes. But for now, you couldn’t bare it. You scrambled to express it, but all you could let out was a strained “It hurts.”

Another moment of silence. Then, carefully, “What hurts?”

Clearly, he didn’t mean for his words to bring on the tidal wave of emotions and thoughts that you’d been keeping at bay.

“This, Din. All of this! Living in a ship, wondering if I’m gonna make it back in every time I step out of it, and not even being in on missions that risk your life! It’s like you’re cut off from me. Like we just live in the same space and I’m just there to entertain you. But it’s- it’s-!” You heaved a sigh, head buzzing with the force of the thoughts that were spilling out. They were so honest and raw from brewing for far too long. They must’ve been sharp as they came out, they must’ve hit him like a ton of bricks.

But of course, that damned beskar hid everything.

“It’s hard to be with a man who doesn’t trust me.”

For once, his voice rose. “I trust you more than anyone in the gal-!”

“You almost died because you didn’t trust me enough to let me in! You’d rather die than trust me!”

“That’s not how I-”

“That’s what your actions are telling me, Din. They always do. You never tell me what you’re thinking. I have to guess, but I can’t even read your fucking face. I live my life in question marks because you don’t even give me the option to-”

“You know I can’t show you my face.”

A deep breath left you, shaky and tired. So much pressure had alleviated in your head, like you’d finally emptied the contents of your mind onto a platter before him. And now that you could see it too, heard what you’d said, you felt almost ashamed for it.

Criticising the beskar was too far. That was his way of life, and had nothing to do with how he felt towards you. For sure, it was frustrating sometimes for you didn’t even know what your life partner looked like, but his culture was part of him. And you loved him.

“I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-- What are you doing?”

He reached by you to snatch some fabric from a nook, and he folded it into a long strip without so much as a word.

“I’m- I’m trying to apologise-”

“You don’t have to. How can you trust a man you can’t see, right? We’ve been together so long, and you still don’t know who I am.”

You were stunned beneath the guilt that crashed over you. He took your words in so deeply, and fed them back to you plainly. You could see how you must’ve hurt him, with sentiments like this.

Your eyes welled with tears again. Whatever had come over you had clearly wanted to hurt him, but that wasn’t you. Your thoughts were too chaotic to pinpoint, swarmed with hurt and pain that was only now built on by the fact that you’d treated him so terribly. You’d sworn to him long ago that you accepted his Mandalorian binds, loved them even, but you’d let them get in the way with one incident.

“Don’t cry,” he spoke, modulated voice gentle. “I’m- I’m understanding you.” A calloused thumb brushed along your outer lashes to pause any tears that wanted to fall. “Let me help.”

And there was darkness.

He tied his makeshift blindfold behind your head in a loose knot, keeping your eyes in darkness. “Din? What is this?”

He kept quiet, and you heard shifting, something being placed aside.

“Why do you never-”

You cut yourself off when his hands took your wrists and lifted them gently, until your palms splayed on his stubbled cheeks. He gave a long sigh, and you imagined he’d closed his eyes.

Your heart jolted. He was here before you, bare, no helmet. When he spoke, his voice rang out clear and pure, the true timbre of his voice without modulation.

“I said, I trust you more than anyone in the galaxy.” His face moved with his words beneath your touch. “I’d move planets for you.”

He left you breathless. You dove at the chance, fingers tracing over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. It stood high and strong, just like you’d always imagined.

“This… This isn’t risky? I didn’t mean to offen-”

“You didn’t offend me. I know it’s hard, I feel it too.” He guided your hands to his lips, and he placed gentle kisses to your fingers.

The lump in your throat welled up again, your nose stinging from the tears that you tried to hold back. The thought of him struggling with his culture simply because he wanted to be close to you. “You do?”

“You know how many times I wanted to take it off? This seems… This is the best way. I’m not breaking any rules.”

You gave a watery, sniffly laugh. “This is the way?”

A hum of humour. “This is the way.”

You let your touch wander over his face, mapping it as well as you could. The curve of his eyelids, the strength of his browbone. He breathed softly, and you could feel the air on your palms as it pushed through.

You wove your fingertips into his hairline, pushing his locks back and bunching them up in your grasp behind his head. It was surprisingly long with unruly waves, and so, so soft.

He leaned in with a sigh until his forehead met yours, hands falling to their home on your waist.

And before you knew it, his lips were on yours. His warm, sweet lips fit perfectly against yours, and your head spun. It was so much, feeling him so close after nearly losing him, arguing with him, and your first kiss in the long years of being his. The first actual kiss.

He was unsure and clumsy in his affection, a little hesitant.

Clearly, this was his first one ever.

You let a hand trail to his jaw, guiding with a gentle touch. He soon settled in, became more confident in his kiss, even if it was still clumsy.

And it was perfect. The determined nibbles to your lips, the soft scratch of his moustache on your upper lip, the way he tugged you closer even as you were pressed against the ladder.

When it finally slowed to a stop, he murmured softly, so much closer than he’d ever been. The sound reached deep inside your mind to soothe your soul and make you crave more of his kiss. “I won’t ever treat you like that again. I’ll give you full disclosure of my missions, every single one. Alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed, breathless and flustered, “On one condition.”

“Hm?” He was clearly lost in this touch, so starved for so long, and it showed in his voice. He was utterly entranced with this new feeling, someone else’s fingers on his skin, words the last thing on his mind.

“We do this more often.”

A low laugh rumbled in his chest, nose nudging on the tip of yours. “Deal.”

[youngmasterwisdomperson]

Faster-than-light space travel as a concept is fun to me because everything we’ve observed in the stars is how the universe was a long-ass time ago, so in a sci-fi setting where FTL tech was just invented, there could be all sorts of crazy developments that could be found by traveling through hyperspace or whatever. Try to visit a star system, whoops it isn’t there anymore. Try to go close-ish to a nebula, whoops there’s a bunch more stars here now and this trip is more dangerous than we estimated. Or better yet, a planet with intelligent life on it, the light caused by which won’t reach earth by normal means for about another million years. Thought you’d be going to an ocean planet, turns out it’s got small continents and terrestrial life now. Huge amounts of space travel would be based in predicting what the star systems you see will probably be like in such and such many years, and hoping you predicted correctly when you finally make the jump. Actually, with an FTL engine, one could theoretically take advantage of the speed of light to travel a certain number of light years away from our solar system and study it from afar, as a way of observing the history of our planetary system from before humankind even existed! How wild is that?

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

INEVITABLE [3]

din djarin x female!reader

warnings: language, mentions of the slave trade, canon violence, blood and injuries, PTSD flashback, mention of torture

word count: 6,183

Summary: It was like fate or destiny had planned from the beginning for you to be on the run from the law. With the words ‘I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold’ adorning your rib cage you always wondered what was worse: Knowing you were bound to being wanted or realizing your soulmate was a cursed bounty hunter. You had a mission to finish and no bounty hunter, soulmate or not, was going to stop you.

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03: CALL IT FATE, DESTINY, CALL IT LUCK

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"luck is my middle name. mind you, my first name is Bad."

⏤terry pratchett

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Every blow to his body made you flinch as if you had been hit yourself. Blood splattered into the air, raining down into the already formed pool, and your cries of desperation had morphed into moans of mourning. Rough fingers dug into your cheeks holding you in place and keeping you from turning away from the assault. Lips pressed against the shell of your ear. Poisonous words hissed out in a voice that made your blood run cold.

‘No, no. You keep watching. I want to make sure this lesson sticks. I want to make sure you know who you belong to.’

You startled awake with a gasp⏤ eyes wide and searching for Viktor. His cruel, cold laugh lingering at the back of your mind. But, he was nowhere to be seen. You weren’t in his palace. The cockpit surrounding you was silent. The lines of hyperspace casting a soft, blue light on everything it touched. The Mandalorian. A breath of relief left you as you sunk in your seat. You were safe. Well, maybe not safe. You didn’t exactly trust your new captor. 

The room was empty save for you and as you sat up you realized the binders were gone from your wrists. Now, you trusted Mando even less. Who in their right mind captures a bounty and then leaves them unrestricted in their ship’s cockpit? You jumped up, staying quiet, and stepped over to glance over the blinking control panel. You were no pilot, but you knew the basics in case of emergency⏤ not that you’d ever put those skills to the test. How hard could it be? You pressed a button and when nothing happened you hit it twice more.

“It’s locked.”

You cried out in surprise and spun. Mando had climbed up the ladder right outside the open cockpit door but he only rose enough to rest his arm on the floor. You set a hand to your chest to try and calm your racing heart. “Maker, bucket head. You’re quiet.”

“You’re not.” He replied, then tilted his head. “Come down.”

Mando disappeared from view and you huffed in annoyance at how cool and collected the guy seemed. You rushed forward, sliding down the ladder, and when your boots hit the floor you spun to give him a piece of your mind⏤ determined to get under his skin. However, your eyes landed on the small, green child sitting on top of a crate now staring at you while his father rummaged through a weapons locker. Mando shifted enough that you were able to see your firearm hanging in the locker.

“Hey, that’s mine.” You barked. You had only gotten a step closer when Mando turned around and hit a button on his vambrace to close the doors. The tell tale sound of a lock being clicked into place. “Give it back.”

“Why do you only have one slug?” Mando asked.

“Why did you take off my binders?” You countered. It wasn’t something you expected to be answered, you just wanted to answer his question with a question.

The man shrugged. “You looked uncomfortable.” You blinked in surprise. “Where did you get the slugthrower?”

“It was…” His first answer had caught you so off guard that you nearly answered his own without thought. You caught yourself at the last minute and shook your head. “I found it at the bottom of a cereal box. I’m trying to collect the whole set.”

Mando sighed irritably and you took that as a victory. Although as great as it felt annoying Mando and getting a rise out of him, you realized that these moments you called ‘victories’ could possibly add up until the Manalorian snapped and murdered you. This scenario was like any other involving a bounty hunter. You had a person to escape from, and though it was a bit unconventional than your usual situation, you were nothing if not flexible.

“Alright Mando,” You crossed your arms and placed emphasis on the name he told you to call him, “What do you want?” He tilted his head and you shrugged. “Everybody wants something. What’s your price? What do I have to pay to get you to crush my fob and taxi me to Corellia?”

“Corellia?”

“It’s next on my list.”

“Why are you⏤”

You forced a frustrated laugh. “Why does it matter? Just tell me what you want and I’ll⏤”

“I already told you, I want answers.” He replied sharply. A soft coo came from the child, and Mando drifted closer to you. “I want to know who you are. I need to know.”

It was confusing as to why he seemed so desperate for something that had nothing to do with him. You rolled through the facts you had gathered. If rumors were true, Mandalorians were all about honor. You had saved his son⏤ sort of. He could’ve done it himself with that jetpack, but you hoped the intention was enough in this case. He didn’t shove you in carbonite, he let you sleep in his cockpit, removed the binders… Even now, he made no move to detain you. Did the Mandalorian want to help you? Was that it? Maybe he wanted to help you, to settle any debt he thought he may owe you, but he wanted to know he wasn’t aiding the scum of the galaxy. 

“You’re not a slave trader.” Mando said. He nodded in your direction, “Not with that collar.”

Your eyes widened, hand shooting up to touch the metal welded around your neck, and gaped, “How… You don’t know that.” You pushed the words out firmly. Nobody assumed the gold choker was what it truly was. “It’s a necklace, bucket head. You⏤”

“No, it’s not.” He replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not with those scars. Nobody claws at a necklace.” 

Mando’s words were jarring. It would’ve been easier to handle him just punching your lights out. There was a slight tremble in your hands and you forced them into fists at your side to compensate. How had he even noticed? Nobody looked close enough to puzzle that out. They saw gold and assumed wealth. Any normal slave’s collar was made of scrap parts. Plus, Viktor had ensured that most of the marks you left had been healed properly. The only ones who hadn’t just lingered right under the band itself.

“Fine.” You forced all your emotions into the back of your head, out of the light, where it wouldn’t been seen or felt. You absolutely hated that this man was able to so easily get under your skin.“I’m a slave seeking revenge, Mando. Searching the galaxy for the man who used to own me so I can put a slug in his head.” He remained a statue as always. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“If it’s the truth, then yes.”

“Well, it is.” Sort of. More or less. That was the quick description of your mission, at least.

“Then why are you visiting cantinas? I can’t imagine a slave trader who is rich enough to decorate his slaves in gold would be hanging around the places you’re searching.”

Again, the Mandalorian wasn’t wrong. Viktor would never set foot in a public cantina, and you knew exactly where he was. Canto Bight. The issue was, in order to get to him you needed to find the ‘Reaper’ for information. Otherwise you’d never get close enough to pull the trigger.

“You’re right.” You said slowly.

Mando tilted his head. “Then who are you looking for?”

“A guy.”

“That’s vague.”

“Yeah,” You snorted, “It’s almost as if I’m being vague on purpose to avoid connecting to you in any way. Funny, huh?”

The cargo hold was filled with an uncomfortable silence. You couldn’t see the Mandalorian’s eyes, but you could feel his heavy gaze cutting straight through you. Growing up the way you did, born from a slave and raised with only one destiny for yourself, you had gotten used to being seen but not acknowledged. The places you worked equated you to a house plant or a piece of furniture.

Then Viktor saw you. He saw you. And the words scrawled on your ribs made you precious to him. He got some sick kick out of owning something fated to another. You joined a collection of others and you were no longer a piece of furniture to be ignored, but rather you were a trophy. An item to be seen and not touched. Admired but not connected to. As Mando guessed, Viktor dressed you in gold and flaunted you to every ne'er do well who visited him. That was your life for years, and it hadn’t changed until six months ago.

Six months ago you ran and your face decorated bounty pucks all over the galaxy, but you felt invisible. Nobody, save for a bounty hunter here or there, sought you out. You were a stranger on the street, a random face in the crowd, and you could live with that. It was better than the alternative.

Right now though? Standing in front of the Mandalorian you felt seen. Mando was actively seeing you at this moment, taking in details nobody had noticed before, and it unnerved you. He wasn’t looking at you like house decor or a trophy. He wasn’t looking at you like you were his next pay day like the other hunters had. Mando was treating you like another living soul and it bothered you that the sensation felt so foreign. How could a man who hid behind a wall of metal see you so clearly?

“If I told you that you could trust me,” Mando said slowly, hesitantly, “Would you believe me?”

“No. But it’s cute that you asked.”

Mando took a step toward you and your confidence faltered. You stumbled back a half step and spat a curse at yourself in your head. If he noticed your slip up, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he heaved a sigh. “I’ll take you to Corellia, with the promise of safe passage, on one condition.” You nodded. “When I drop you off, you don’t contact me again. This? This never happened. We never met. I’ll crush your fob and tell the guild you weren’t worth my time.”

You snorted in amusement. “Deal. That’s a win-win situation for me, bucket head.”

Maybe you weren’t the unluckiest son of a bitch on this side of the galaxy.

Din was tiptoeing through a minefield. And, the only person he had to blame for being stuck here was himself. He shouldn’t have kept you on the ship. Kriff, he shouldn’t have brought you on in the first place. Din should’ve shot you a quick ‘thanks for the help’ and left you behind in Bespin. But, no. Like the karking idiot he was, he brought you along and worse he spoke to you.

There was still a lot he didn’t know. He’d be foolish to think otherwise, but he felt a tinge of truth with your admittance a day earlier. For years, for most of his life, he cursed his soulmark and he loathed the idea of ever meeting his criminal soulmate. Now, he knew differently. Not a criminal, just a person seeking vengeance. Din was aware that a bulk of the galaxy would still consider someone with plans of homicide to be a criminal, but from where he sat Din could hardly judge. He was by no means a good man, without sin, and he had very recent memories of mowing down Imperial after Imperial for the sake of his son. So, your half truth didn’t shock him or fill him with disgust.

No, what Din felt disgusted over was the knowledge that his soulmate had been wronged. The word ‘wronged’ didn’t even begin to cover the atrocity you must have endured. His soulmate. You had been a slave, treated as such by society and owned by some bastard, and that made every single molecule of his body vibrate with rage. 

Mandalorians' belief in soulmates was by no means unique. They were very much like the rest of the galaxy in their reverence for the words. Maybe the one trait Mandalorians shared with the majority.

However, Aq Vetina was different. The culture nearly worshiped the concept of soulmates⏤ saw it as a true blessing and treated it as such. Din didn’t have a lot of memories of his home world. Didn’t have a lot of memories of his parents either. The memories he did have though he treasured, and one of the more prominent ones was this: his parents were soulmates. The reality of soulmarks was more dim than most would like to believe. Soulmates didn’t always end up together. For hundreds of different variables, but just because fate had scrawled words on a person’s skin didn’t mean it guaranteed them a happy ending.

His parents adored one another. Din remembered that. He grew up in a house filled and overflowing with love. An emotion as strong as that wasn’t easily forgotten. Hell, it felt like it was ingrained into his own soul. Tangled with his DNA. When Din lost his parents, he lost everything. Including his culture. The one comfort Din always took was who his soulmate would be. He knew he’d have a soulmark once he hit puberty, with both parents bearing it the chances of him not having one was incredibly low, and though it bothered him his parents would never see his mark he’d still take comfort in it. Just as every man from Aq Vetina before him, just as his father had, he’d find his soulmate and shower them with every ounce of love and adoration he could squeeze from his being. Din would find his soulmate and he would have a family once more. He’d have that love again.

There was no doubt of the love and care his Mandalorian buir and teacher had for him. Din owed the man everything. But the love was different. Not worse, not better, but different.

When his words formed on his skin, Din had never felt such joy and had never felt it turn sour so quickly. It was why the insult of who he thought his soulmate would be stung even worse. It felt like the last bit of his culture, the last shred of his parents he had left, was being taken. Insulted. Spat on. He spent years after convincing himself that a soulmate wouldn’t be worth his time and he was better on his own. Din didn’t seek relationships beyond flings and one night stands across the galaxy because any relationship would be a sad ghost in comparison to the memory of what his parents had. A reminder of what fate took from him.

Now, he sat in the same ship as his soulmate and it felt like so many of his years were wasted on an assumption.

Din was angry that his first words to you were a threat.

He was angry you grew up with that on your skin.

He was angry the mystery and excitement of having a soulmate had been taken from you as well.

He was angry you were treated as lesser than by the people surrounding you.

He was angry that someone had the audacity to put a collar around your neck.

Din was fucking angry.

It burned through his veins and had him seeing red. He was no stranger to anger, but this was overwhelming. And, the worst of it, the thing that made him burn alive from the inside out was the anger he had for himself.

Din never sought you out. He mentally and emotionally tossed you aside without even an attempt to understand. Din gave up on you. His soulmate.

The only thing keeping him from exploding and destroying everything in his radius was the depressing and mellowing thought of his father. His father would be so disappointed in him. His mother would be so disappointed in him. His buir would be disappointed in him. 

Din’s spiraling mind tried to comfort itself. It told him that he was doing better now. He knew better now. He was going to get you to where you needed to go and tell Karga to drop the bounty. He’d separate himself from you and then he’d never have to think of you again. You’d be better off without him. All those thoughts only worsened his shame.

What else could he do? It wasn’t just a thought. It was a prayer to the universe, to fate who got them stuck like this to begin with. What else could he do? Din wasn’t the wide eyed little boy starstruck at the notion of a soulmate anymore. The years had changed him into someone that didn’t deserve that. That left him pleading as he sat in the cockpit fuming silently. What else could he do?

The answer given to him was the sound of your feet climbing the ladder to meet him. He huffed out a quiet sigh and when you entered his peripherals he questioned your presence, more gruff than he intended, “What?”

“Maker, relax.” You dropped into the passenger seat with a scoff. Din cursed himself. Again. “Your kid fell asleep downstairs and I’m not desperate enough to start talking to your walls.” He stayed silent and you let out a chuckle. “Although, maybe your walls would be a better conversationalist.”

“You should sleep.” Din replied. It was his best case scenario right now.

“Not tired.” You slouched in your seat, finding a comfortable spot, “So what’s your kid’s deal? You have a mid-life crisis and find the closest kid to adopt?”

You were annoying. You never shut up. Din liked the sound of your voice way too much.

“No.”

“Then how’d you end up with him?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s still two days until we reach Corellia.”

Din shouldn’t answer. The less he knew about you, and the less you knew about him, the better. He should keep his mouth shut, get you to the world you wanted, and speed away as fast as he could. Travel to the clear other side of the galaxy. He knew all of this, and yet his mouth opened. “He was a bounty.”

Fuck.

“Seriously?” You chuckled. “Why would there be a bounty on a kid?”

“It’s hard to explain.” And Din really didn’t want to. “Empire wanted him.”

You hummed and he was caught off guard when you didn’t ask any further questions on his vague statement. He was surprised further when you chuckled, “Good for you.”

Din turned in his seat to look at you. “I turned him in.”

“And then obviously went back for him, I’m guessing. Since he’s, you know, here.”

“That doesn’t change what I did⏤”

“We’re all assholes and it’s human nature that the first thing our brains think to do, our instinct, is sometimes selfish and stupid. It happens.” You said without missing a beat. “The only thing that matters at the end of the day is if you’re willing to fix what you fucked up and the conscious decision you make from there.” Din could only stare at you in response as your words rolled around in his head. You said it so simply, like an offhand comment or passing thought, but it felt so profound to him. You shrugged. “I know, I know. I can be inspirational sometimes. It happens.”

Din found his lips twitching up into a small smile and he forced himself to look away. The only safe spot to stare was the control panel. You stayed silent and Din realized that if he focused hard enough he could see your reflection in the glass panel that sat in front of you. Without any attention on you, without the business of a conversation, Din watched your features soften. There was a melancholy in your gaze that stirred something in his chest. 

“I can…” Din began and your eyes darted to look his way while he stayed facing forward, “I can remove that for you.”

“Huh?”

Din spun in his chair so he faced you, and he motioned to your neck where that damned collar sat. “That. I can remove it. If you’d like.”

Your eyes widened marginally and the surprise dissipated as quickly as it came. You shook your head. “No. I don’t want it off.”

“You don’t…” Din tilted his head in confusion. “Why wouldn’t you want it off?”

“It’s a story for another day.” You mumbled.

“But, I don’t understand.” Din blurted before he could reign it back. Never, ever would anybody in the entire galaxy claim him to be the nosy type of person. Din kept to himself and expected others to respect him in that same way. Silence never bothered him. Yet, that same sensation that stirred in his chest, urged him to learn more. It was the most unfamiliar feeling he’s ever had.

You shook your head. “You never take your armor off, right? Even when it’d be more comfortable to shed it all?”

“My armor is not the same as a slave collar.” Din bristled.

“You wear your armor because it stands for something. It represents a part of you, and carries a belief.” You replied sharply. “Right now, this collar serves the exact same purpose for me.  So, no, I don’t see a difference.”

Din leaned back and found himself speechless. That was all true of his armor, but he couldn’t fathom a person feeling similarly to the kind of metal soldered to your neck. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on his elbows. “I chose to wear this armor. I put it on willingly.”

“Who says I didn’t choose to put this collar on? Who said I wasn’t willing?” You replied and Din found himself floored again. The melancholy in your eyes hardened and turned to something sharp, mean, and cold. “You can find a sense of protection, of belonging, and what once brought you comfort can just as easily turn into a prison.” You stood up abruptly and Din’s gaze followed you. You motioned to him, “Are you telling me that beskar never feels like a prison?”

You turned on your heel and left. Din didn’t understand how easily you were able to spin him in place. The question you left him with felt like a blow to the chest. Din stiffened in his seat and shook his head. He needed to get you off this ship as quickly as he could.

“You’re kind of a weird kid, you know that?” You were laying on your stomach in the cargo hold, kicking your legs in the air, while leaning on one fist. The child, Grogu, sat in front of you munching on a ration bar that you had scavenged for him in all the the Mandalorian’s supply. You hadn’t asked permission, but you figured Mando couldn’t be upset at you for feeding his child. “Not because you’re green with giant ears. I have no issue with that.” You continued. “You’re just an oddball. In a good way, I mean.”

The boy babbled between bites and you nodded your head as he spoke.

“Mhmm.” You agreed to whatever he was saying. “Yeah. Yeah. Tell me about it.”

Three days on this ship with the Mandalorian and his son hadn’t been the worst thing in the galaxy. You were fed, you had a place to sleep, and the walking tin can hadn’t murdered you. It had been a while since you came away with this many wins back to back. The last bit of real tension you dealt with was when Mando offered to take the golden band around your neck off. You hadn’t meant to take it so personal or make it personal back. You must have seriously pissed the guy off though because since then he had maybe only spoken a total of ten words to you. Even when you tried to egg him into an argument. You found you missed talking to him which meant you must have been more desperate for interaction than you thought. Why else would you crave to hear his voice? 

You could always apologize for comparing his armor to your collar. The dig had been a guess. An attempt to get under his skin as he had gotten under yours. You pushed yourself up off the floor to sit criss cross and your hand drifted to the gold band around your neck. It’d be nice to have it off, but you couldn’t yet. Not until you dealt with Viktor. For now, you would just have to daydream about the day you’d walk around with a bare neck.

“I’m sorry.”

The sound of the modulated voice had you whip around in surprise, eyes wide and heart racing. Mando was leaning against the wall behind you. He must have come from the kitchen area or fresher, but considering you thought he had been up in the cockpit it really caught you off guard.

“Maker, how are you that silent? You’re basically covered in pots and pans.”

“Practice.” Mando shrugged. His hands were resting on his belt. “I’m sorry about,” He paused and nodded toward you, “you know.”

Your hand fell from your neck. “Why are you apologizing? That was like 48 hours ago.”

“We’ll be landing in Coreilla soon. It’s now or never.”

“Okay.” You mumbled. It surprised you again when the child waddled from around you and crawled into your lap. You scratched his head while he continued to eat. “I’m sorry too then. I didn’t have to drag your armor into it.”

“You weren’t wrong.”

Your eyes widened at his admission, and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it. There was an energy between you and the Mandalorian you couldn’t quite explain. The close quarters made you naturally want to bond, but from experience you knew that was a poor plan. Plus, Mando didn’t seem all that interested in starting up any kind of friendship. Which made sense. You’d be out of his life soon enough. You just wondered if you had gone too long without any real social interaction. Back when you were with Viktor, he had others in his collection that you had grown close to⏤ like sisters. You missed being social.

Before you could think of a bridging conversation, Mando pushed off the wall and climbed up into the cockpit. You blew out a breath of air as soon as he was out of view then glanced down at the kid in your lap.

“Why is your dad so hard to talk to?” You asked. “I can talk to anyone and anything, but that beskar may as well be a wall.” Grogu babbled another string of nonsense and you nodded. “Yeah, I mean he probably doesn’t make a habit of befriending quarries, huh?”

It was fine. It didn’t matter.

And, a few hours later when the ship was landed on the tarmac and the ramp was lowering you repeated those phrases to yourself again. 

“Well, uh, thanks.” You nodded. Mando had given you back your weapons and he now stood inside the cargo hold with his son in his arms while you drifted down the ramp. You paused at the bottom. “It’s been fun, bucket head.”

Mando didn’t reply, but Grogu did offer you a wave which you cheerily returned. With one last nod, and a mocking salute, you spun on your heel and began to tread away. You had only gotten a few feet from the ship when you heard Mando call out after you. The sound of his voice calling out your name grinding your feet to a halt.

“Just…Be careful.” Mando said tensely. 

“I always try.” You replied with a grin and a shrug.

As you continued to leave, your stomach churned in discomfort. The Corellia shipyard was dreary and gray which could sour anyone’s mood. When you reached the gates, the overwhelming urge to look back slammed into you. In fact, you nearly turned on instinct alone. A moment of weakness born from a desperation to connect to someone again. Shoving it as deep down into yourself as you could, burying it with the bloody memories and traumas in the graveyard of your mind, you pushed forward deeper into the city of Corellia. 

It took you only ten minutes to travel through the city and find the first cantina of many. By time you arrived thoughts of the Mandalorian had been successfully shelved and you were seriously craving a strong drink. The bartender was kind and cheerful, the opposite of how this city of Corellia looked, and after he poured you a drink you drifted to a back table. 

You decided this was going to be your least favorite world. Even in comparison with Jakku. Never before had entering a city filled you with such dread and distaste. Like a cloud of darkness had rolled over your mind to match the stormy clouds above the city itself. You were honestly just in shock that there could be a place worse than Jakku. That rolled into the realization that the galaxy was a big place and you still had a lot of ground to cover. There was a chance you had yet to see the worst this universe had to offer. That only worsened your misery.

Something solid, something you unfortunately recognized as the end of a blaster, pressed against your spine. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold.”

Fate just couldn’t give you a fucking break could it?

With a sigh, you turned around and began to mumble your usual spiel, “Would you really arrest your⏤” The words died in your mouth as your eyes landed on the man standing behind you. A Nikto wearing a grin filled only with malice and eyes that shone with rage. One who gripped the blaster tight in one hand while his other hung loosely at his side with three missing fingers. You grimaced, “Oh, my luck can’t possibly be this bad…”

Din was pacing the cargo hold while Grogu watched him curiously from the cot. Already he had climbed up to the cockpit just to immediately come down twice. He wanted to leave this kriffing planet. Why couldn’t he leave this kriffing planet? He mumbled a string of curses after the rhetoric question. Of course he knew why. 

“This is a bad idea.” Din scoffed aloud. Grogu chirped and his feet came to a stop so he could stare at the kid. His son. Saving Grogu had been a bad idea too. A life changing one at that. That didn’t make it any less important that he went through with the rescue. Din had gambled, taken a chance, and his pay out had been worth more than he could’ve ever imagined. Could he take a gamble on you?

Considering how quickly he had given up on you years prior, taking a gamble was the least he could do.

Din sighed and grabbed his satchel to place Grogu in before hurrying off the ship. He didn’t have a plan. Then again, he rarely did. What would he say to you? Admit that he was your soulmate? Din probably should have done that three days ago. But with the way you had blown off the idea of soulmates, he had a high suspicion that telling you the truth would only worsen the situation. Besides, he was not interested in exploring the soulmate relationship further. Din didn’t deserve that. What he could do, what he owed you, was help in your mission. If he told you the truth, you wouldn’t let him help. If he kept it to himself, then maybe he could help you meet your goals and put you on a path to a better life. One you deserved.

There. Plan made.

Din knew he needed to find a cantina but he wasn’t sure which you’d be in since there were a few in this city. He picked the closest one and hoped for the best. 

The hand knotted in your hair roughly threw you back to the asphalt ground of the alley behind the cantina. You landed on your back, the air briefly leaving you, and you stared up at Nivor. With a wince, you spoke, “You know, for only having two fingers you got a pretty tight grip.”

A boot slammed into the side of your rib cage before Nivor knelt down and pressed his knee against your sternum. Your hands reached out to claw at him, shove him off, but he grabbed your wrists with his one good hand and pinned it to the ground above your head.

“You always have something to say.” Nivor spat. “Don’t know why Viktor liked you so much.”

“You and me both.” You replied.

He applied more pressure to your chest with his knee and you clenched your teeth to bite back a moan. Nivor chuckled, “He wants you back.”

“I’m aware.” You snapped, breathless.

“Told him I’d bring you back, but I don’t think he’d mind a few missing pieces.”

“Wrong.” You glared up at him. “You bring me back less than whole and he’ll rip your head off.”

Nivor shook his head, “You’re overestimating your worth, little bird.” Your glare deepened at the nickname. “Viktor’s found a new favorite plaything.” The Nikto pulled a vibroblade from his belt. “Besides, you owe me some parts.”

“Is this about the fingers thing?” You replied. “That was an accident. I wasn’t trying to shoot off half your hand, I was trying to kill you.” You couldn’t help but paste on a smug smirk. “So really you should be thankful.”

“What is it they say? A leg for a leg.” Nivor dragged the blade up from your knee to your hip. Not deep enough to cut through your clothes, but enough to make you uncomfortable. “An eye for an eye.” The blade kissed the skin of your cheekbone as it circled around your eye softly. “How about a hand for three fingers?!”

You shook your head. “The math is not adding up there, buddy.”

With a cry of anger, Nivor lifted the blade in the air and at the motion his knee lifted off your chest. Using the window of opportunity, you rolled into him as hard as you could and he fell back on his ass. However, though his grip had loosened some, he still had a tight hold on one of your wrists and it kept you from running. You tried to twist out of his grip to avoid the blade he was swinging wildly now, and your free hand shot to grab your own dagger. Nivor was stronger than you gave him credit for, and once he gained his footing he was able to yank you back to the ground. The dagger you managed to grab clattered away from your grip when your chest slammed into the asphalt and a cry of pain slipped from your lips as Nivor twisted your arm back to keep you pinned down. Now, his knee dug into your spine.

You tried to reach around and grab him, but your fingers only grazed the leather of his jacket.

“For that, you’re losing your whole arm.” Nivor chuckled. 

His blade pressed into your shoulder and panic flooded your entire body. No, no, no. This was your dominant arm. This injury would put an abrupt end to your mission and that was only if you survived it. Between blood loss and Nivor choosing a grimy alley to operate, your chances were slim. With another scream, you tried to shake your entire body in a poor attempt to knock him off of you, but you only felt his blade begin to dig in deeper. Heat flare in your shoulder as Nivor deliberately sunk it in as slowly as possible. 

“Stop!” The plea left your lips and you immediately felt shame for begging this man for mercy. You heard his chuckle, the blade sunk a bit deeper, then with the familiar sound of a blaster going off the weight suddenly fell from your back. You were gasping for air, your heart still pounding as you felt hot blood drip down your back and shoulder, and when you glanced to the side you saw Nivor slumped to the ground. The sinister light in his eyes was gone and his features were slack. There was still smoke rising from the blaster burn in his back.

You turned the opposite way, whipped your head in that direction more like, and there stood the Mandalorian now holstering his weapon. You had tucked his memory away, sure you’d never see him again, but now you felt so relieved to be wrong. Seeing that shine of silver may as well have been the glowing end of a long tunnel. The little green child, resting in his bag by his side, lifted his hand and gave you a small wave.

With the arm that wasn’t numb with pain, you waved back.

taglist:

@onceinamando @hrtsforpascal @lil-dragon-draws @harriedandharassed @aheadfullofsteverogers @elfamosotoga @the-anchored-sailor-girl @garbo-lesbo @moonlqghts @stokeholdsblog @morks-watermelon @http-onie @chonkercatto @xalphafox @pedrojoe @zarahbronstein @cockscombkingdom @ale0m @shelbyteller @fallinallinmendes @grandtheoristpeach @perilous-pasta @love-the-abyss @kneelforloki @insomniac-nerd-posts-things

a/n: this was supposed to be my silly, funny, light hearted story, but the reader in this grabbed me by the shirt collar and went 'bitch nah'. soooooo here we are :)

[toska-writes]

Hello!

In your 'Random Headcannons' you talked a bit about Rex falling asleep and I was wondering if you could write a fic about it? Maybe the reader finds him sleeping somewhere, joins him, then more and more join until it's a big pile of people on the floor and someone walks by and is like "What the??" If you can't, that's okie dokie.

Have a lovely day,

-V

I loved writing this so much! Hope you enjoy!

“Can’t beat ‘em, Join ‘em”

Summary: Over taken by sleep the only thing you wanted to do next was to close your eyes- no matter where that may be

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN Reader (platonic!)

Warning: None just tooth rotting fluff!

Word count: 1117

Notes: loved this one! But I should really follow suit and go to bed myself!

The only noise aboard the Dominator was the quiet hum of the ship currently going through hyperspace and the small noise of the lights.

Everyone aboard seemed to disappear- this normally happened after longer missions and frankly all you wanted to do was get to your room a take a fat nap.

You feet dragged on the floor as you practically leaned against the wall.

You could have been asleep an hour ago if Kix didn’t think it was necessary that you stoped in the med bay first. In your book it wasn’t broken if you could still move it.

You groaned as you turned yet another hallway, this ship wasn’t this big when you boarded it mere rotations ago. Was it?

There was a small alcove just up ahead, you nearly missed the small noises that came hidden behind the wall.

You were already walking that way why not just take a quick peek- maybe it could be a wonderful place to just rest your eyes for a moment.

Someone clearly had the same idea as you. You came to a stop and leaned up against a corner was none other than captain Rex.

His mouth hung slightly open and his arms were crossed tightly on his chest. Rex looked almost peaceful, the lines that were normally engraved into his forehead seemed to disappear masked by sleep.

You let out a small chuckle just watching the captain, it wouldn’t hurt anyone if you joined him right?

Plus if Rex was sleeping you knew that you better be too. This was the longest time you ever seen him with his eyes closed, excluding when he was sighing and scolding the domino twins or when he was unconscious.

Some of his upper armor was tossed to the side a little bit away from him. Taking the free spot you saw your limbs almost thanked you as you started to try and snuggle up by Rex.

He stirred for a second and opened one sleepy eye to look in your direction.

“I’m sorry go back to sleep please.” You whispered squeezing your way between his arm and his torso.

He threw a careless arm over you pulling you in and mumbled a very unintelligible “Night kid.”

Your head now rested on his chest, the slow constant pounding of his heart lulled you almost to sleep. The warmth that radiated off of all the clones was perfect compared to the coolness of the floors and wall.

Sleep welcomed you like it never had before and you gratefully took it. Wrapped in the dark blanket of sleep.

Fives practically leaned all his weight onto his brother that walked next to him. Echo trying to keep both of them up was having a little bit of trouble.

After this mission the duo decided to get a celebratory snack- but not accounting for the fatigue it also brought along that snack was slipping further and further away.

As they turned another corner what stoped Echo right in his tracks was a pair of legs that stuck out .

He heard Fives groan as well as he immediately reached for his blaster, hoping that he didn’t need to take it out of the holster.

He really just wanted to sleep. Was that too much to ask?

Now coming around the corner was a sight to behold. The captain and commander were practically passed out on the ground.

Echo looked up to see what Fives thought of all this and was met with a small smirk that said it all.

With a small nod from his brother Echo took out his data pad and quickly snapped a photo giggling slightly.

“So are we just going to leave them there or…” Echo trailed off putting the data pad away but Fives already had a plan of his own.

He started to take off some of his armor as well then sunk to the floor. Searching for a second he seemed to find the perfect spot on the floor with his head resting in Rex’s lap.

“If you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em vod.” Fives yawned and then gestured for Echo.

Echo didn’t have the energy to say anything more, clearly you all needed sleep if neither of you stirred when Fives joined the group.

Echo found his own spot between yours and Rex’s legs with his own head nearly touching Fives.

Behind him Echo felt you shift a little praying to the maker he didn’t wake you up. But all you did was pull him into you tighter with your free arm.

Small snores now filled the hall from a very tired commander, captain, and two arc troopers huddled together on the floor.

Anakin was finally released from the med bay. It was strange though that he has yet to run into anyone else.

He stared out the window for a second, the stars that shot swiftly passed put him into a daze. He wobbled for a moment realizing just how tired he was.

Anakin turned down a corridor, just wanting to see if you made it back to your quarters ok before returning to his own. Sure he could comm you but if that woke you up he’d never hear the end of it.

He made a few more turns, now all he wished was for the lights to go out and he could be peacefully tucked into bed where nothing could bother him.

“What the-“

As he turned once again his path was now blocked. In the middle of the halls he found many troopers asleep? They had to be, many of their mouths hung open and everyone seemed to be cuddled up together. Snores- some louder (*cough cough Hardcase) echoed through the vacant hall.

Anakin came a few steps closer, a large smile decorated his face as he found most of the 501st together here in this corridor

Towards the back he noticed you and Rex and the peaceful expressions sleep painted over your faces was enough to put him at ease.

Stepping over a few troopers and nearly dodging a arm to the shin by Jesse Anakin found a nice corner spot where he could comfortably lay his head on your shoulder.

He was happy in this moment. Truly happy. Many people he cared so much about for better or for worse seemed almost at ease here together.

They’d have to start a tradition for the next campaigns to come- this was a wonderful way to make sure many of the soldiers got the sleep they deserved.

But for now the only thing anyone had to worry about was falling asleep. That or trying to figure out how to get through the hallway.

—————————————————————

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @thereforepizza

[rainydaydream-gal18]

Oooo, what about how The Bad Batch would react to catching you singing to yourself? I feel like that would be cute.

(The Bad Batch) He Catches You Singing

Author's Note: In celebration of season 2 starting, here we go! I'm sooooo excited!!!! No worries, though! There are no spoilers here!

Hunter: He was seated in his chair, eyes scrunched shut as he mulled over the most recent mission.  It was a habit.  He thought about everything that went right, everything that went wrong, and everything that went downright ugly.

The Bad Batch made a quick getaway, thanks to Tech��s rather chaotic but skilled piloting.  Things were quieting down aboard the Marauder as it flew through hyperspace.

Hunter let out a sigh, leaning farther back in his seat.

A small sound caught his attention.  The way it rose and fell in a pleasant, rhythmic way was unmistakably a song.  Hunter held his breath and focused.  It was you.

You were singing a song to yourself as you moseyed down the hall.

It was such a simple thing, but the small act of joy brought a smile to his face.  He rested his head against the back of the chair and just listened, the lines of his features smoothing out as the tension began to leave him.

If there was an opportune moment later, he’d ask about it and chuckle at your sheepish reaction.

Wrecker: He rounded a corner aboard the Marauder, hearing the barely-audible sound grow louder as he entered the space where you were doing routine tasks and singing to yourself.  You were so in the zone that you didn’t notice his approach.

It wasn’t often that Wrecker’s presence went unnoticed, so he took advantage of the moment to just hang back.  A soft lopsided grin adorned his face as he admired the way you swayed back and forth, just enjoying a second in your own little world.

So cute, he thought.

Then, after he had the precious moment of appreciation, he couldn’t help but join in.  He waited for the right moment when you hit the chorus and burst into the room with a huge smile.  Was he singing off-key?  A little.  Did either of you care?  Not one bit.

Tech:  “Vital functions of the ship seem to be operating suitably,” he said aloud to himself.  His nose was buried in a data pad as he walked down the exit ramp.  Just in time, too.  It was only a matter of letting Hunter know so he could assemble the team and get them onboard.

His boots landed on grass, and Tech turned every which way in hopes of spotting the sergeant, or any of his teammates for that matter.  He felt a rush of familiarity at the sight of you waiting patiently a little ways away from the ship.  A breeze swept through, carrying your voice to his ears.  Tech adjusted his goggles while he listened, the corner of his lips turning up in a soft smile only reserved for you.  Eventually, you turned around to see him standing there, and you suddenly felt embarrassed.

“Yikes…Hi.”

“Hi,” he chuckled.

Echo:  Singing?  At this hour?  Echo couldn’t understand how you could be so cheerful, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t lift his mood even a tiny bit first thing in the morning.  He even held back his usual grumbles and complaints to whoever was listening, just so he could hear you from down the hall a little clearer.

Before long, he was smiling.  You had that effect on him, he noticed.  He’d find himself smiling at the strangest of times, and it always felt weird.  It felt like ages since the days he’d smile for no reason.

He followed the sound of your voice, pausing at the entryway to observe you putting on a concert for yourself.  You’d pause every few minutes or so to sip your caf before resuming the tune.  It was very endearing to see you so content.  When you finally noticed him standing there, you clamped your mouth shut, giving him an apologetic look.

“Sorry, Echo.  Am I bothering you?”

He shifted his stance, folding his arms.  “Not at all.”  Humor crept into his tone.  “Please, don’t stop on my account. ”

Crosshair:  When he first heard your voice through the wall, he just about rolled his eyes, but not out of disdain.  You and your unbridled joy.  It was actually quite endearing, even if the way you expressed it was very different from how he would.  It fascinated him.

He lingered in the hall a while longer, enveloped in shadow, as you began singing a different tune entirely.  It was softer, slower.  Crosshair didn’t realize just how intently he was listening until you rounded the corner and nearly bumped into him.

“Oh, Crosshair,” you said in surprise.

He knew that you were still nervous around him.  Seeing you all flustered, he couldn’t resist having a little fun with it.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing.  Just- nothing.”

He smirked before thinking twice.  You’d just started to warm up to him, and he realized just how much he wanted that to continue.  So, he wiped the infuriating smirk and flickered his eyes down to meet yours.

“You have a nice voice.”

And with that, he walked away.

[zoeykallus]

Hello hun, if it's possible do you think you could write a headcanon for the clones where they react to getting rescued by their s/o after getting captured by the enemy?

The clones can be of your choosing, but please do add Kix. I love him so much, he has my whole heart 🥺💕

I wrote about the other way around before. But this is an interesting take. Let me see 😊

Clones of my choosing? Interesting...

Kix/Rex/Fives/Tech x Reader - Who's The Hero?

Warnings: Slightly Angsty/Mostly Fluffy/A Bit Of Humor (I guess)

______________

What Happened:

Your clone partner has been captured by the enemy. But you won't leave him behind. You sneak behind enemy lines, you have a plan. You find your beloved in a cell. Here is his reaction…

______________

Kix

You have no idea if the plan will work, but Kix is definitely worth the risk.

You say softly, yet peppery, "Tadaaa! Your hero has arrived!"

He looks at you as if you were a ghost when you appear at the cell door.

"What the... How... Why are you... You should-"

Raising your brows, you ask dryly, "Do you need more time to finish that sentence?"

Kix huffs, "Mesh'la, you shouldn't be here, it's too dangerous."

You shrug and operate the keypad on the cell to open it.

You cock an eyebrow and say, "Oh, I know. Tons of droids out there. Wasn't so easy to find a sneak path. But who else is going to come rescue you? Did you really think I was going to leave you here to rot?"

He smirks and steps out of the cell.

"Well, to be honest, I didn't think anyone would come at all. Clones are expendable."

"Not to me," you say softly and give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

For a brief moment he looks deep into your eyes and finally says, "Who am I kidding, I had a feeling you would come. I know you can be counted on".

With an affectionate, soft smile, you say, "I will always come for you".

"Usually I'm the one saving people, you know, as a medic and a soldier"

You smirk at him and say softly, "You still are my hero, Kix, always will be"

Kix expression softens a little.

"Okay, Mesh'la, I take your word for it"

You grab his hand and say, "Now come on, we have to hurry before they discover our escape vehicle."

Rex

"Hey you, you look lonely in your cell".

Rex jumps up from his seat.

"How did you get in here! You shouldn't be here!"

"Yeah, I'm glad to see you too" you say dryly and open the cell.

"Cyare, that was stupid of you."

You frown critically and look at him.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I didn't mean-"

Your gaze silences him. You give him hand signals to show him to follow you silently. You creep back the way you came in, to the shuttle hidden in a nearby patch of woods.

"Cyare…"

You just booted up the engine and have to wait a few more seconds for it to start before you can take off. You turn to him and see how meekly he looks at you.

"Thank you for coming here for me."

You smile.

"You would have done the same, Rex"

He nods and says, "Of course. Still, I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I was just so startled to see you here."

You sit down in the pilot's seat and he sits next to you in the copilot's seat.

"Because you care about me, I know you always do."

As the shuttle lifts off, and you hurry into space and on a hyperspace jump home, you feel a tension fall from you and breathe a deep sigh of relief. You have Rex safely with you again. As if to confirm your thought, one of his hands grasps yours, gently but firmly. He gently squeezes your fingers and smiles at you as you look at him.

"I missed you," you say softly.

"I missed you even more"

Fives

"It's about time you showed up," he says impatiently.

You look at him, puzzled.

"You're not at all surprised to see me here?"

Fives smirks, "I know you, sweet Mesh'la, you know it's dangerous, you know basically no one wants you to put yourself in danger, especially not for me, but you're more stubborn than a defiant Bantha."

You snort.

"You could at least pretend to be happy. Well, so much for the surprise"

He chuckles.

"My dear, would you rather I hadn't expected you and assumed you'd abandon me?"

You think for a second as you open the cell door and finally shake your head with a pout.

He comes toward you smiling and says, "There you go. And don't get me wrong, I'm overjoyed that you're here, so stop pouting, love."

Placing a kiss on your forehead, he finally says, "Let's get out of here before we both end up in that cell."

Tech

He sits there like a heap of misery, they have taken away his belt with the datapad and his tools, his weapons too, of course. As Tech sits there, he looks pretty lost.

"Hey Genius," you say quietly, trying to get his attention.

Tech looks up in surprise.

"Cyare!"

He jumps up and comes to the cell door. Tech looks relieved and worried at the same time.

"Are you sure no one saw you?" he asks tensely.

"I am," you say confidently.

He sighs with relief and says, "It's good to see you, my dear."

"Likewise," you return with a smile.

As you open the cell door, Tech explains in his matter-of-fact way, "I have weighed and calculated some options, but have come to the conclusion that my situation is hopeless without outside help. In a way, I had already mentally prepared myself to die here."

You frown and look at him reprovingly.

"I don't want to hear anything like that!"

Puzzled, he looks at you.

"The other day you told me to always tell you what's on my mind whenever I feel like I need to get something off my chest."

"I- yes, that's true of course, Tech, sorry, I didn't mean it that way. I just don't want you to give up on yourself."

"I didn't, I knew you'd come."

You say, "Just now, you said you expected to die in here."

He raises a finger and says, "In fact, in case you got caught and killed yourself, which was highly likely."

"You do have an incredible amount of faith in me" you say sarcastically with a small humorless smirk.

Again he raises his finger, "This has nothing to do with trust or faith, I was merely calculating probabilities"

Shaking your head you look up at him, "My dearest genius, sometimes you might want to try listening to your gut more."

As again his finger goes up in the air, and he opens his mouth, you encircle the finger with your hand so that it's in your fist. He looks at you puzzled and falls silent.

You say, "Enough. Let's go get you out of here, sweetheart"

"Good idea, my love"

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaws

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@starwarsnerd111

[grievedeeply]

Can I request a Cal x reader, where they were both working for Saw but got split up during the job on Coruscant. So we know that in rogue one Saw was hanging out on Jedha, so what if reader is out in the descent hearing to Saw’s place but runs into Cal instead? Idk I just need some Cal in my life. Thank you so much 💜

i'm loving all of these cal requests!!! this is such a cute idea :") hope you enjoy!

gn!reader | tws: death, SPOILERS FOR THE BEGINNING OF JEDI SURVIVOR + JOIN MY NEW TAGLIST!!!

you're here, we're here — cal kestis

you wondered if working for saw gererra was the right thing to do. of course, he fought for something bigger than himself, but you knew of the consequences of this sort of thing. if you were to be captured by the empire, you'd be killed. they'd keep it quiet, but you knew your death would come swift if the imperials were to get their hands on you.

you were scared of death. wasn't everyone, to some extent? you wondered what the afterlife would hold for you. was there even an afterlife at all? the act of dying wasn't what scared you, not really. it was mostly leaving those you loved behind. gabs, the twins, bravo. you met them all through saw gererra, and that was your favorite part about working for him. the people. their kindness and generosity, their determination to make the galaxy a better place. not just for themselves but for everyone around them. it was good to see something other than hate and cruelty remained.

they were your family.

until they weren't.

the job on coruscant had gone horribly wrong, in the end. what was supposed to be a simple extraction of information turned into a firefight.. and before you knew it, more than half of your squad was gone. in the confusion, you'd gotten split up from cal, bode and bravo, and you could only assume they were all dead, too.

lately, saw had been hanging out on jedha. even before your mission, he had started setting up some operations there despite the ever growing imperial presence.

so.. you returned to jedha completely empty handed, and down an entire team. your family. gabs, the twins.. you watched them die, struck down like they were nothing. they had names, they had lives and friends and they were loved. but no one understood that. all the empire saw was insurgency. all that inquisitor saw was cal, the one who had gotten away from her all those years ago.

you remembered the look on saw's face once you stepped inside. his grin immediately dropped and without a moment's hesitation, he took you by your shoulders and pulled you into his arms. you couldn't cry, not anymore. the entire time you were maneuvering through the streets of coruscant your eyes were welling with tears. the tie fighters shot at you as you escaped the planet and went into the stars.. and by the time you were in hyperspace, your face was soaked in tears. you sobbed the entire time, all the way up until your arrival at jedha, days later. you couldn't risk leading the empire back to saw, so you took a few rotations on some backwater planet to collect your thoughts— but what was left to think about?

you thought of gabs. her smile, her strange sense of humor that somehow always made you laugh. the twins and their insatiable appetite.. and the warm hugs they provided you when you were feeling down. bravo, who gave the best advice out of anyone on the crew. bode, your sparring partner. cal.. your best friend.

cal.. he was smart. 'he could've gotten out,' you told yourself. if he was captured he could've escaped. he was talented, he was brave. he was kind.. so kind. you remembered his hands on your arms, running them up and down your skin as a way to calm you, to ground you into the moment. it was a routine before you went out together. he would smile that same, big dumb grin, and reassure you that everything would be okay.

but that wasn't the case. not this time.

cal was gone. his beautiful.. gentle smile was gone. you would never see him again. he was dead or captured and you were the only one that made it out. he deserved to see the galaxy at a better state. he deserved to live. he deserved to grow old. thoughts of him and the rest plagued your mind like a curse, and no matter how many times you tried to push them and what happened away, they would come crawling back.

your work on jedha was light. saw was giving you time to recover, letting you decide if you even wanted to go back into the field in the first place. not only had his operation suffered a major loss.. but so had you. you had to watch it happen. until you made your choice, he had you doing whatever you needed or wanted. you could choose to sit around if you needed to. he had plenty of people to cover for everything. he knew you needed your space, so.. sit around you did.

you'd take walks occasionally, go to nearby cliffsides and listen to the stormtroopers beneath you chatter about whatever was going on in their lives. the familiar hum of their electro riot batons went in and out of your mind. they spoke of promotions, of their coworkers and their bosses, their plans, how much they hated jedha and wished they were stationed somewhere else.. but as they talked.. you envied them.

they were blinded to the empire's cruelty and injustices, but you? you had lost to them. these people knew nothing about the kindness your friends, your family, had shown. they would get what was coming to them.. but for now, you took solace in their stupidity.

this was one of those trips. you stood from your spot on the cliff, brushing off your pants with your hands, watching as dust fell from them back onto the sandy rocks underneath you. the stormtroopers were so oblivious to their surroundings, it almost made you laugh. you turned your back to them, ready to begin up the path you had come down before.

the trek was a decently long one. it was enough time away from base to clear your head and let your thoughts sit for awhile, and that was okay with you. you let yourself mourn through this walk.. and that was okay.

you groaned as you pushed yourself up onto the ledge, making steady progress towards base. you wondered if there was an easier way to get back.. but this distance was something you enjoyed. the silence was nice. it was good to be on your own sometimes, even if plenty of people had offered to come with you, you always turned them down. you knew they were concerned, but you needed time to be by yourself.

you brought yourself to your feet after climbing up, kicking a few of the rocks underneath your feet over the edge of the cliff. you looked down at the ground below you, wondering how far the drop was. you were surprised you hadn't slipped off, yet. you chuckled to yourself at the thought. you knew that, if cal were by your side, he would save you with his force magic. no matter how much strain it might put on him.. he would do it. there was no doubt in your mind.

but cal wasn't around.

a chirp in the distance, coming from the direction you were heading. you furrowed your brow. this path was supposed to be clear. who would saw send out at this time anyways? the sun was setting in the distance, the hues of pink and orange blending into the desert out beneath the cliffs. had he planned some sort of covert operation—

you stopped in your tracks. a droid..

cal's droid.

you'd recognize those colors anywhere. he stared up at you for a few moments before rushing towards you, climbing up your legs to rest on your shoulders. bd-1's head rubbed against your cheek almost as though he were some sort of animal. you grinned, leaning towards him as your hands reached for him. you took him off of your shoulder, holding him in front of you.

you frowned. how had he gotten here? did cal make it out? that wasn't possible. you would've heard something from him by now, anything—

"buddy, wait up!" you heard a voice call from down the canyon, and you froze, eyes wide. cal's voice. were you hallucinating? was this a dream or a nightmare? were you dead? why would bd-1 be here if you were dead?

before you could think on it any further, cal slid around the corner and turned to face you. his expression immediately softened as soon as he laid his eyes on you, and bd-1 slowly slinked out of your hands and back onto the ground, ready to watch your reunion.

he let out a shaky breath, one that even he could barely hear. his head felt so loud. after you'd gotten separated from the rest, he thought you were dead. he normally tried to stay as positive as possible.. you were clever, intelligent and knew just how to survive.. but it was a feeling in his gut that he couldn't shake that you didn't make it out.

he blinked a few times before he took a few hesitant steps towards you. your eyes filled with tears as you stared at him. he was real, he was in front of you. he was alive. before you knew it, cal's arms were wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his chest for a tight hug.

a soft sob escaped his lips, but he nuzzled his face into your neck, and all you could do was return the gesture. his crying pulled you back into reality. he was alive. he was okay.

it felt like an eternity, trapped in each others arms, soaking in the warmth that filled your chest as you reveled in his presence. you never wanted him to pull away, afraid that if he did he would disappear into the sunset behind him. but he pulled away, his hands resting on your shoulders as they always did.. and he stared deep into your eyes.

he pressed his forehead to yours, his fingers ran circles over your skin. what he always did to keep you calm.. and you couldn't help but cry. you let your eyes close, your hands reaching out for the fabric of his shirt. he was alive, and that was all you cared about. despite the insurmountable loss you'd faced that day, cal was alive and in front of you.

"i'm so happy to see you." you heard him say, and you nodded. his voice was coarse, rough against his throat. had he cried as much as you had? had he struggled with adapting to a life without you? without everyone? he'd mourned for you. you took his hands off of your shoulders, taking them in your own. this time, your thumbs ran over the back of his palms, caressing him as though he was about to break.

"cal.." you whispered out his name, your lips pressed into a thin line to prevent yourself from crying. his hands found your face, pulling you closer.

your heart ached in your chest, your breathing heavy. you let him touch you, both of you falling completely silent. finally, you opened your eyes, only to be met with his staring back at you.

he'd been looking at you all this time. desperation filled his vision, and his lips pressed to yours in a gentle, warm kiss. it didn't last for very long, and you resisted the urge to pull him back in as soon as his lips left yours. "i'm sorry," cal muttered, averting his gaze from you to look at the floor. "i don't know what came over me." he chuckled, breathless, feeling incredibly awkward as he sunk into himself. his cheeks were a bright red. he could feel the heat against his skin.

though, when he returned his eyes to you, you wore a smile. your face, still covered in tear stains, had a genuinely happy expression written on it for the first time in a long time.

you never thought you'd think of him in this way, but as you thought on it, you supposed you already had. you yearned for him in a way you did for no one else. you wanted him by your side. you swallowed, embarrassed.

"it's okay," you reassured him verbally before taking his hands in your own once more. they were rough, but surprisingly gentle. "i.. didn't exactly mind." you told him, glancing away from him as you spoke. it was strange to be this vulnerable, but you were glad it was with cal and no one else. he was so special.

he cared so much for people.. for you.

"really?" he asked without missing a beat, a youthfulness in his voice you had never heard before. you nodded, and he kissed your forehead, a sign of relief escaping his lips. he thought he had ruined everything between the two of you before even getting to talk to you.

"why.. why didn't you tell me?" you asked after a brief moments hesitation. of course, you were glad he was alive and in front of you, but you couldn't help but to ask. cal sighed, "i tried. comms were out. i tried to track you. i didn't find anything and i thought-" he paused, licking his lips. his throat suddenly felt dry. "i thought you were dead."

you couldn't even say anything, your mind focused only on the fact that he tried. he tried to reach out to you and that was all that mattered. you knew he would never leave you behind. "i had to.. find an old friend of mine. we had to fix up the ship." he swallowed, scratching at the back of his neck. "i'm sorry, i should've tried harder-"

"cal," you cut him off before he could say anything else, "all that matters now is that you're alive. you're here. we're here. you tried.. and that means more to me than you could ever know. believe me.. i tried to find you, too." you told him, eyes searching his face. "it's okay." you spoke up again, and his gaze finally met yours.

your breath hitched in your throat. he was beautiful. inside and out. he had a heart of pure gold. one that you hoped would never fade, that you knew would never fade.

bd-1 nudged at your foot before you could sink further into your daydream, and he climbed up onto his shoulders. you grinned at him, and then shifted your eyes to cal.

"come on," you murmured, taking his hand in yours. "i want to show you something."

the place you had mourned for him. yes.. but now, it was the place with a view you would share.

tags: @starwalkerwriting

[prolix-yuy]

Rising Phoenix

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: The Mandalorian offers a gift greater than he imagined.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: M, allusions to sexual acts, some heavy petting, flirty banter up the wazoo, minor injury treatment, hand kink, hand worship, plot? Plot. While this story is not explicit, my blog and the content shared on it is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: Is this an excuse for me to put all of my favorite things about Mando into one story? Yes, yes it is. Including making fun of that tin can man's ridiculous fashion choices.

Takes place after If the Moon Walks Out.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

Mando is hiding something from you.

If anyone on the outside was looking in, they’d think the opposite. They might even say he’s being more open than in months. After the bite and subsequent breakdown (which you’re still a little embarrassed about), Mando started showing you how he runs the Crest. Walking you through a takeoff sequence, demonstrating what the other buttons along the cargo hold walls do.

(you didn’t know there was a button to close Mando’s cramped cubby)

(might come in handy when you want a little privacy)

You were appreciative at first, until Mando started disappearing in the evenings with no warning or explanation. One minute he’d be feeding the child, the warm thrum of your cavewoman brain revving up -

(he wiped the child’s mouth with the edge of his cape and you had to go take a breather in the kitchenette)

- the next moment he was gone, up in the cockpit or down in the hold, wherever you’re not. A whiff of solder sometimes wafted by, or the clunk of metal on metal reached your ears. You’re curious, endlessly so, but if there’s one thing you would not betray, it’s the trust Mando has finally given you.

(he’ll come to you when he’s ready)

Instead you prepare food and tidy the hold and read on your holopad until he returns, either to bid you goodnight with the child tucked into his arm, or to put him down before sneaking back to you, large hands on your hips a precursor to his hushed question:

“Can I have you tonight, Mesh’la?”

(more often than not your nights end with him inside you)

But as the days continue, another bounty on the horizon, your treacherous mind begins toying with your insecurities. The next planet wasn’t far but Mando’s taking his time, making short hops instead of fast travel. When you questioned it, the threat of Imps and blaster residue in your nostrils, he said it was to show you how to hop in and out of hyperspace.

(the holopad full of calculations makes your head spin)

(you hold it like a lifeline)

“Mando, I appreciate you taking my feelings to heart, but moving this slow…aren’t we tempting our luck?” you finally asked, legs crossed in the jump seat when Mando pulled out of hyperspace yet again.

“I’m willing to press it,” he replied, “but not much longer. Tomorrow we land.”

“Could have landed three days ago,” you said, goading Mando to turn to you. He cocked the helmet, which still managed to thrill you, and leaned back.

“I thought you enjoyed my company,” he said, the tease making you smile. “You certainly did last night.” Your face turned molten as you played up a salacious gasp.

“That was a low blow, Mandalorian, you won’t get many more nights like that if you use them against me,” you scolded, biting back a bigger smile when Mando stood up to tower over you, cocking his hip.

(what you wouldn’t give to leave a mark on the flesh there)

(make him wear it under the armor)

(your own symbol of devotion)

“That’s an empty threat,” he said coolly, making you roll your eyes before he tucked his knuckle under your chin, swiping his thumb over your lower lip.

(a Keldabe kiss is one thing)

(this kiss is only for you)

“Only a little longer, Mesh’la. I promise it’s worth it.” he said, quieter, and you nodded, wrapping your hand around his wrist. One squeeze before he moved to the cargo hold.

“I was going to show you how to dump the waste reserves today,” he called up the ladder as he descended.

“Oh thank the Maker, the suspense was killing me!”

You chased his huffed laugh.

An arid planet comes into focus, the child perched in your lap as Mando begins descending into the atmosphere.

“We’re a day early, bounty’s not expected to be on world until tomorrow,” Mando says as the Crest leans into entry, hull shaking against the heat as it skims over the bubble-like surface of the atmosphere.

“What should we do until then?” you ask, lifting the child a little higher so he can watch the descent. “Looks like a dry planet, Bean, no frogs for you.” His trill of disappointment makes you wonder, yet again, if he understands you more than the energies you assume he’s reading. The thought is dashed from your mind as you focus on Mando’s technique, riding the curve of the planet until gravity begins to tug you down in your seat. The Crest dives like a much more graceful bird than her silhouette, weaving through clouds and pockets of rougher air as a stretch of open land surges up to meet you. With a gentle lurch (good job landing Mando), you’re back on solid ground and the child is chirping at his father.

“Yeah kid, we can go outside. We’re far out, should be safe,” Mando says, directing the last part of the sentence to you. As you make your way to the ramp Mando calls down.

“Wear something warm.”

Your head cocks at the request.

“It’s a desert, I’ll cook alive.”

“Trust me.”

You exchange a look with the child, who lifts and drops his ears in as close of an approximation to, “Beats me.” You shrug on a long-sleeve shirt (one of Mando’s old ones, you still covet a few) and comfortable boots. Giving the button a slap, you wait for Mando by the cargo ramp as hot air blows into the hold.

“I don’t agree with your opinion on the climate,” you call back, turning when his footsteps near. “I think the armor’s skewed your perception of heat.”

“You’ll need it for this.”

In Mando’s hands is a harness, leather straps reinforced with thick thread along the seams. A hefty buckle centers in the loops, which attach to the baffling item in question.

(a jetpack?)

Mando has his on too, clasped into the backplate of his armor. This secondary one is more beat-up, yellow and green paint flaking off in places. It hangs heavy, the straps gathered in one hand as he lifts it to you.

“It’s old, but it works fine. Used to belong to Cobb Vanth,” Mando says, shifting a little as you watch him with parted lips. Your eyebrows raise briefly at the name of the Mos Pelgo Mandalorian you ventured to meet when (your) Mando was still among the stars. The jetpack, however, and all its potential holds your attention.

When you don’t say anything, Mando continues. “The Rising Phoenix is calibrated to my vambrace, but this one could be programmed to a…” He trails off as you step closer, shifting the child in your arms to reach out and finger the leather strapping. “Is this okay?” he finally asks, low and quiet as you feel the T-visor burn along your cheeks.

“You made this?” you finally say, barely registering Mando taking the child from you so you can inspect the rig. “This is why we were taking so long?” you breathe out, realization warming you.The stitching is tight and neat, the soldering clean. It even looks like he tried to remove some of the flaking paint but gave up. He shrugs briefly.

“Makes sense for you to use it. It’s likely to draw attention. But if there’s trouble, it’s fast,” Mando says, his body language cautious right now. He must have been nervous at the proposition, anticipating your apprehension, but you feel anything but. This hunk of junk repurposed to protect you is a greater gift than he understands. It makes you break out into a dazzling smile.

“This is karking amazing!” you shout, the child joining in as you turn over the rig and inspect it from all angles. Mando’s chuckle sends tingles down your spine, and when you meet the visor again you can imagine a bashful smile gracing his face.

(a face you’ll never see, but dream of all the same)

“How do you…” you start, holding the jetpack to your chest like a child on Life Day.

“A desert planet with nothing to do seemed like a good place to teach you,” Mando says, sauntering down the ramp, the child’s ears bouncing. Your heart hammers into high speed while sweat beads along your hairline.

(you’re going to fly today)

Mando takes an especially long time to walk you through the components of the jetpack, how it works and what each part does. You’re barely containing your excitement, hovering over his quick-moving hands and nodding endlessly.

“What’s this for?” you ask, pointing at a cylinder in the center that looks empty. Mando shakes his head.

“That’s for another day, Mesh’la, today we’re flying,” he deflects, and you don’t push. The possibility of being weightless, suspended in air the way you’d only experienced in dreams, was a much greater distraction.

“Do you have the controller?” Mando asks. You flash the metal gauntlet on your wrist. It’s just as cleanly built, a small series of buttons that do the basics. You’ve ridden speeders with more complicated controls. Though speeders barely leave the ground.

“Ready?” he asks, holding the straps open for you to slip into. You flash him a bright smile before turning around, shouldering the bulky machinery like a school bag. It settles on the center of your back, Mando fussing with the chest clip and adjusting the tension of the straps.

“This needs a real harness, but for now it’ll work.” Mando slides his fingers under the restraints to test their tautness. “It won’t distribute your weight, so no long trips. You’ll bruise up.”

“I can handle a few bruises,” you challenge, a coy smile melting onto your face as Mando slows his pacing. He tips the helmet in, tugging on the central buckle once more.

“Cheeky,” he purrs before stepping away, typing something into his vambrace. You twist and test the harness. It’s a comforting level of snug, the kind that makes you feel made of durasteel. The child, left to his devices during the suit up, pats at your calf.

“Am I looking cool, Bean?” you ask, doing a quick spin for giggles. “I need a cape like your dad to go…with…” You trail off, a wicked little smile replacing your coy one. “Hey Mando,” you call out innocently, drawing his gaze. “Did you always have the Rising Phoenix?”

He tilts his head with some hesitancy.

“No.”

“So when we first met, you didn’t have it.”

“No.”

“And I remember you having quite the impressive cape back then.”

“I’ve always had…”

“And now it’s a little, you know. Worn. A little tattered. Maybe a little…burned.”

Mando stares you down and it takes all of your effort not to lose it.

“Do you…wear the cape when you’re flying, Mando?”

He shifts from one foot to the other.

“It takes a lot of work…”

“Oh my Stars, you do!”

Mando shifts into what you’ve come to call the Exasperated Stance, hands on his hips, shoulders squared, helmet tipped back.

“It’s easier to…”

“Mando, you are going to set yourself on fire, you kriffing idiot. I can see the scorch marks!”

Mando advances on you, and you skip backwards. Your hands fly to the controller on your wrist. It’s easy to psych yourself out thinking about flying, but with Mando stalking your way, your pounding heart could be attributed to that.

“Mesh’la…” he growls, but with little fire behind it.

(unlike the amount of fire he’s definitely set to that useless piece of fabric)

“Mando…” you mimic, hand dancing over the gauntlet like a gunslinger about to draw his weapon.

“Stop it.”

(perfect)

“Catch me and make me,” you taunt, taking off into a real run. Mando’s footsteps falter, then pick up speed behind you.

(now or never)

You press the short series of buttons to ignite the jetpack, your speed masking the initial jolt of thrust when it catches.

“Wait!” Mando shouts behind you. For a moment you do feel bad for the plaintive plea threading his shout, but adrenaline kicks in and if you do this right, you’ll be flying.

(if you do it wrong, well, you’ll just have a bruised ego…along with a few other places)

Three more long strides and the thrust lifts you off the ground, a disbelieving laugh following. Your feet dangle uselessly as you lift off, the wind in your ears drowning out further shouts. Faintly you hear another roar of ignition, Mando likely to yank you back out of the sky, but euphoria is all you can absorb. The drop in your stomach evens out as you slow your climb, easing the throttle until you’re hovering about fifty feet off the ground. You kick your legs, heat kissing the back of your thighs reminding you to be careful. Below, the sable sand and rock stretches like a rolling canvas, the undulations of hills and sharp creases of mountains in the distance shifting perspective as you absorb beauty at a height you’ve never known.

“Are you crazy?” Mando shouts, zipping into view right in front of you, broad beskar body blocking out the horizon you were just admiring. The startle makes your finger slip, and you drop ten feet fast, Mando’s hands chasing you. Regaining control, you zip away from him.

“I’m getting the hang of it!” you laugh back. His posture is rigid as he flies close behind, more disciplined with technique. You’re just happy that you haven’t crashed face-first into the hard packed dirt yet. Below the child watches you weave around, little hands raised when you zoom overhead. Narrowly avoiding Mando when he reaches out, no doubt to slow you down or scold you further, you speed up with the barest recognition that this is probably a bad idea.

“Look at this Bean!” you shout down, wobbling your shoulders back and forth until you discover how much sway banks you left or right. It doesn’t feel real, like you’re flying in a dream, even though the wind whips past your face and the straps pull painfully against your ribs.

(it feels like freedom)

A flash of silver glints in the corner of your eye and Mando is pulling up beside you, one hand clamping down on your bicep.

“Enough. Land,” he shouts, but for the first time in ages you feel light, like every care on your shoulders was left in the dirt. You don’t want to touch down and let it crawl back up yet.

Plus, it’s been too long since you sparred with Mando.

The controls are surprisingly intuitive, though considering he made them for you might that speaks to his intelligence. Or insight. But now he must be cursing his thoughtfulness because you speed up and up, the weight of his armor lagging him behind. His grip loosens and you spin away again, testing how quickly you can change direction. The dance continues, Mando’s hands coming close, his voice lost to the roar of the packs and the wind whipping against your cheeks. You push him back, kicking him in the chest once and feeling a little bad about it.

He finally yanks you down by your ankle, flipping you so the propulsion shoots you towards the ground. Righting yourself more nimbly than expected, he barrels into you and digs his fingers into your waistband.

“Stop. Teasing.” The growl is heavy, but even he can’t hide the winded excitement of the chase under the vocoder. You’re sure if you palmed him now he’d be hard.

(jetpack sex)

(no way, that’s how idiots go about dying)

“Make. Me. Mando,” you pant, hitting a random button on his vambrace. Thankfully it just stutters his jetpack, grip slipping enough for you to wriggle out. You want to see if you can do a loop, entertain the child below, fly along the horizon the way you’d always dreamed of when two desert suns set on your planet.

The jetpack lurches hard against you. The ever-present heat skirting down your thighs lessens. Something smells like chemicals and smoke.

(out of fuel)

(DANK FARRIK)

All the elation building in your chest freezes to terror when gravity pulls you, but before you can shout Mando’s hands jam under the harness, wrenching you to his chest as all your gravity-defying stunts fizzle out. You thud your forehead against his paudron as he lowers you back to solid earth, talking yourself down from the brief heart attack. Once your feet touch down you back away, Mando’s grip easing as you sweep sweat and dust from your forehead.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you mutter, cheeks hot with embarrassment before you turn your attention to the little green child hurrying his way over. “How’d you like the show Bean?” Kneeling down, he practically tumbles into your open arms, clawing his way up to your face to pat at your cheeks. “I’m okay buddy, had the time of my life up there thanks to…” Looking over at Mando you can almost see the frustration wafting off him in waves.

(kriff, you really pissed him off this time)

“Okay, how about we pop you in here and send you back to the Crest while I get a lecture,” you murmur as you tuck the child into the silver pram and send it scooting. The child looks back once, concerned ears perking, but turns back around when you wave him off. Mando’s footsteps approach heavily, scuffing in the dirt. You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry…” you start to say, ready for the harsh reprimand you’re sure is coming.

(how can you explain the wonderful gift he just gave to you?)

“Why didn’t you listen to me?” he says, dangerously low. His shoulders are tight, forehead almost pressed to yours. You can see how intimidating being on the Mandalorian’s bad side could be.

“I was…” you try to say, the emotionless visor following your gaze. The horizon, sparkling with midday sun, is where your gaze finally lands. “I’ve always dreamed of flying. I got carried away. I’m sorry.”

Seconds tick by as you wait for a scold, but it doesn’t come. Instead Mando sighs, and two heavy hands drop on your shoulders.

“You’re lucky I caught you,” he murmurs, squeezing briefly. You bring your eyes back to the smoky T-visor and quirk a wan smile.

“Seems like I’m always falling for you.”

(would that be such a bad thing?)

Mando stills, then cradles your cheek in his hand. The cool kiss of beskar on your forehead raises goosebumps despite the desert heat.

“Mesh’la,” he groans, “don’t tease.”

“Not teasing now, Mando.”

A rumble in his chest burns straight to your sex.

“Yeah? You’ll be good for me?”

(oh kark)

Mando twists you in his arms, back to front. The jetpack puts too much bulk between you, making you have to bend at the waist, but it’s immediately evident this is exactly what Mando wants. He palms your hips, dragging his hand up to stroke your stomach before sliding down to cup you over your pants.

“You want this?” he asks, but he’s already kneading at your mound, the heavy swipe of his fingers through your clothes sparking heat in your cunt.

“Mando…” you choke out, hands coming back to grab at his narrow hips. You’re unbalanced and clumsy against his unyielding stance. “The child.” His little silver pod is ascending the ramp into the Crest. Mando chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be quick.”

Your cunt clenches, ripples of pleasure as you scratch your nails into the rough weave of his pants. The jetpack tugs against your chest and you realize he’s using it as leverage to pull you back into him.

(jetpack sex jetpack sex jetpack sex)

“Feel what you do to me, Mesh’la. All the kriffing time.”

Your hands scrabble behind you, fumbling between your bodies.

(give it to me)

(all of it)

(all of you)

Mando shifts, jostling your body a fraction to the side. There’s a sudden white hotness against your arm and you cry out, jerking against his hold.

(the exhaust pipe)

The jetpack is still cooling down, hot rings of metal that just touched you at the worst possible time. Mando’s grip disappears immediately, the press of his body against you suddenly gone.

“What happened?” he says, and the vocoder can’t hide his concern. You twist your arms back up by your face, straightening back to standing. There’s a small welt, hot to the touch. You’ve barely inspected it yourself when Mando’s familiar orange-tipped gloves take your hand into his.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, careful not to touch the mark but still holding your arm so gently.

(oh Mando)

(never)

“Just touched the exhaust, nothing a little bacta can’t fix,” you say breezily, but you know the moment’s passed. Mando’s already leading you back to the Crest, and you follow begrudgingly.

(trust you to ruin some of the hottest foreplay with an injury)

The child burbles at your entrance, hovering the pram over to where you sit at the table, injury outstretched on the durasteel. You turn your arm to touch the burn against it, offering a tiny sliver of relief from the dull throb. Mando bustles into a cargo cubby, pulling out the medkit you’d put to good use barely a week before. A packet of bacta gel, and the Mandalorian, settle across from you.

“I promise, I’m okay,” you say with a lopsided smile, reaching for the bacta. He snags it up first, motioning for you to reveal the burn. It’s halfway up your forearm, the flesh rising.

“I know,” Mando says before tugging at the tips of his gloves.

(Maker)

The last time you got to watch this ritual closely (not clouded by lust or in a frantic scramble) was when he stood at the foot of the bed in Joeken’s inn. You’d admired his wide palms, his thick fingers, how capable they looked. There’s much there you remember, but age and circumstance changes all. There are more scars along his knuckles, callused and rough. He almost glows in the artificial lighting, a deep golden tone forever under his skin. Being able to savor it screams of transgression.

“Let me,” he says, breaking you from your reverie. You extend your arm into his reach, the scratch of his well-worked fingertips tracing the injury. He squeezes a small amount of bacta onto the burn and works it in with two fingers, the touch featherlight and gliding. Mesmerized by the methodical strokes, your other hand drifts to the back of his hand, your fingertips sliding over the smoother skin. His fingers falter as you both watch the slow advance of skin on skin.

“Mesh’la,” Mando breathes. You start to retract, afraid of an overstep. “No, it’s…” he stutters out, “It’s okay. Just not…used to it.”

(touch him until he forgets what it was like to go without)

Bacta application forgotten (or completed), Mando cups your injured hand, tracing the lines in your palm that supposedly speak of your future. You let your own wandering touch linger along the mountains of his knuckles, slip along the veins and raised injuries, before resting on his wrist. His chest hitches like he’s in pain, or something much sweeter.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks, now holding your hand between both of his.

“No, much better,” you answer, leaning when a flash of black catches your eye. Your mouth and one eyebrow quirks up. “Who gave you that?”

Mando turns his wrist, a black tattoo - two rings around a dot - appearing on the webbing between his thumb and pointer finger.

(target)

“Paz. A brother in arms.”

You stroke over it, no discernible texture.

“Did he give you more?” you ask cheekily. The child hovers closer to inspect his guardian’s ink, tilting his head and softly cooing.

“You’ll have to find those yourself,” he says, the edge of sass in his voice making you giggle. You move to pull away but his hands wrap around yours, warm and gentle for implements of such bloodshed.

“I never want to hurt you,” he says, much quieter. The vocoder almost loses his consonants. “If I ever do…”

“Hush,” you scold, leaning over the table to meet the visor. “It was an accident. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of them.” The stillness in his posture twists your stomach.

(he’d be devastated if he harmed you)

“You could never hurt me,” you say. Mando tilts his head, the sentiment too simplistic. But all of its meanings fill the silence.

(you would never do it purposefully)

(I’ll always forgive you)

(I would rather be hurt than without you)

With molten slowness Mando leans over your arm, raising it between you. You think it’s to inspect the burn, see that the bacta is working, but he just stares at it for a long moment. His hand drifts to the edge of his helmet, aimless and lost. When you touch him again he snaps back, standing up quickly.

“I have to make some preparations for tomorrow,” he squeezes out, taking a half step back. His movements are sluggish, quickening only when he strides away.

“Thank you, Mando,” you call as he mounts the ladder. He gives a nod, tugging his gloves on before climbing the ladder into the cockpit. The child hovers by your side, looking up at his retreating father figure before reaching up to you.

“Been a bit of a day, hasn’t it Bean?” you say, lifting the child out of the pram. The warmth of his touch lingers, the images of his hands holding yours only a blink away.

The baby yawn is all the answer you need.

In the cockpit, Din leans down and braces his hands on the console, trying to slow his pounding heart. He’s been inside you, why was letting you touch his bare hands more intimate? He’d had to cover them up to stop reliving every caress, the way your eyes roamed along the only bit of skin he’d allowed you to observe. His face burns with self-consciousness but also the thrill of your exploration.

But as much as that all excited him, it was that final moment that drove his heart into his throat and made him feel lightheaded. Because he held your hand and looked at the burn - an injury he caused, however inadvertently - and let a fleeting thought grow wild in his mind.

Kiss it better.

Something his mother would do with a scraped knee or a bruised finger.

Kiss it better.

Those three words grew from a whisper to an ocean roar as he considered how your skin would feel under his lips. If he could lift the helmet just enough to touch but not for you to see.

That wouldn’t risk his Creed.

Yes it would.

He crushed the desire down, left you behind a little more confused than before, but safe and cared for in his ship. Safe with the child and with him.

You could never hurt me.

You’re right. Din would never, could never bring harm to you. But some days, like today, he can see how much harm you could do to him. With your bright smile and open heart and patience, you could destroy the Mandalorian.

But from those ashes, Din Djarin could grow.

A flashing light grounds him as he flips on a holo-message. A halo of messy curls and a sassy expression glows to life, the dull scrapes and whines of a working hanger in the background. Din cocks his head as the message plays.

“Mando! Long time no see! Not that I miss that hunk of junk ship of yours. Well, I do miss the credits it brings in. Anyway, I’ve got a lead for you. You wanted those, right? About the Mandalorians? Got a client who may know where some are. The info’s not for free, I’ll fill you in when you get here. Bit of a time crunch, though, so you better shift that rust bucket into hyperspeed. You’re her last hope.”

Peli Motto’s image fizzles into static, and a blanket of duty settles back on Mando’s shoulders. A mission long paused. An outcome he comes to dread more with each passing day. A galaxy that spun on without the three of you for a long while.

But there is much work still to be done.

END

Episode 11 of the I Think of You Series

[nahoney22]

Hiii!

Could you write me something sweet with Cross?

He had so little screentime in the last trailer and i fear for my favorite angry crispy twig.

You rock! Bye!

Interrupted

Crosshair X F!Reader

word count: 2.1k

Crosshair tries to talk to you but no matter what he does, he always gets interrupted. So what happens when you go talk to him first?

warnings: none, fluff, slightly insecure reader and Crosshair. Not proofread. Female reader. Sorry for the wait @kaitou2417, enjoy 😊

Masterlist

Crosshair had been eyeing you from a distance, observing you as you sat outside the Marauder with your head buried in a datapad. Meanwhile, he was leaning against one of the many trees of Endor, nervously tapping his foot as he tried to muster up the courage to approach you.

Despite living in close quarters on the Marauder for the last few months, he had never truly spoken to you beyond a passing remark or two. He had overheard you talking about a book series that you were entranced by and figured that could be a possible way to start a conversation. But for some reason, he just couldn't seem to get his nerves under control.

He had never had trouble talking to women before, but something about you was different. Maybe it was because you didn't hit on him like many others did, which he found refreshing and even a bit attractive. You were sweet and innocent. Maybe even too much for a man like him.

He sighs to himself, running a hand over his face in aggravation as the negative thoughts of talking himself out of it kept springing to his mind.

"Screw it," he thought, taking a deep breath and straightening his posture as he made his way towards you after psyching himself up.

Just as you caught a glimpse of him from the corner of your eye, Tech stepped in front of you, blocking Crosshair from view. "I need your assistance," Tech said, holding a pair of tools in his hands.

You suppress a small jolt of shock at his sudden presence and you even tried to hide the crestfallen look on your face.

"O-oh, really? Me? Now?" you tried not to sound flustered, but the disappointment was evident in your voice as you tried to look over Tech's shoulder.

"Is there something else you'd rather be doing than helping me get this ship running at full capacity?" Tech asked, giving you a quizzical look.

Crosshair had vanished, and your heart sank.

You had been hoping for a chance to talk to him, but now that opportunity seemed lost. You had always been so scared to approach him first in case he didn’t like your company; so when you saw him approach, a lot of things ran through your mind. Did he want to talk to you? Did you accidentally steal one of his cloths that he uses to clean his weapons with?

Did he change his mind? Did he have something else to do? You wondered as you took one of the tools from Tech and tried to mask your disappointment.

"No, sorry, I thought I saw something," you mumbled, picking up your datapad too and following Tech towards the ship.

When back on the Marauder, traveling through hyperspace, you’re sandwiched between Echo and Wrecker who were both bickering about whose turn it is to clean up.

You’re rolling your eyes shy the situation but your head almost explodes when you suddenly lock eyes on the Marksman. He is standing in the hallway, a few feet away from you with his arms crossed over his chest.

The look on his face was unreadable, although you knew that you were on his mind.

As you look back at him, you smile. Softly. Admittedly, he hated your smile because it annoyed him. Though, not in the sense where he hated it. He adored it. A lot. Often occupying his thoughts late at night and early in the morning.

Crosshair knew this would be a good chance to pull you for a chat so he psyches himself up, knowing you would probably be grateful for a respite from Echo and Wrecker's never-ending bickering.

Just as he uncrosses his arms and rolls back his shoulders, as if to relieve the tension that was building, Hunter suddenly appears in front of him. "Have you filled out your reports for today, Crosshair?" he asks.

Crosshair feels his jaw tighten as you look away, hiding your disappointment. Why does this keep happening? Is the universe conspiring to keep the two of you apart?

"Not yet," Crosshair snarls, making Hunter, the sergeant, raise his eyebrows at his attitude.

"Something bothering you, brother?"

He sighs internally, trying to hide the fact that he was bothering him but said nothing.

“No,” he mutters before storming off.

You watch him leave and as Hunter turns to face you, it heats up as he raises a brow. Did he know something you didn’t? Maker, he could probably sense how you felt about him which made you wonder if Crosshair could ever feel the same?

——————————

You stir awake as the first light of dawn creeps in, casting a soft glow over the sleeping forms of your shipmates. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes, only to pause when you hear the soft clanging of metal coming from the center of the ship. With everyone else still fast asleep, you are quick to notice that it was Crosshair who was awake. This had to be the perfect chance to talk to him.

Quickly, you stand and straighten out your nightwear and throw on a jacket, knowing the ship can get pretty chilly when it's running on low power. You run your fingers through your disheveled hair that often resembles a nest when you wake up, trying to smooth it down, before silently making your way towards the source of the noise.

Unsurprisingly, you find Crosshair leaning against a console, lost in thought as he blows the steam from his cup of caf. You hesitate for a moment, trying to decide how to approach him. You pondered what to say first: hello, sup, hey… but nothing seemed right. This was silly really. How could you not know how to talk to him?

Though before you can say anything, he looks up and catches your eye.

You take a deep breath and point towards the caf machine, teasing him with a husky morning voice. "You not going to make me one?"

"Sure," he says, setting down his own cup and starting to pour you one. But as he works, he can't help but feel a twinge of nervousness.

He pretty sure knew how you liked it but as you were watching him, he low-key started to panic. Was it milk first then water? The other way? Did you have sugar or honey? Neither? Either?

"Teaspoon of honey, please," you tell him with an amused smile, noticing his confusion.

"I knew that," he says gruffly, fixing up the drink for you and sliding it over to you.

You both make your way to the cockpit and sit in silence, sipping your drinks. Crosshair taps his fingers nervously against the rim of his cup, until he finally musters the courage to ask, "Is your drink nice?"

"Nah," you say with a coy smile, tilting your head to look at him.

He frowns in confusion. "Really?"

You giggle softly. "You forgot to add the caf."

Crosshair blushes with embarrassment but doesn't apologize, instead falling into silence once again. You try to fill the awkwardness with a question. "Is there something you want to talk about?"

"Not in particular," he says, not meaning to sound cruel or uninterested. He knows he's not the best at talking to people, even when it comes to someone as beautiful as you. He feels guilty as he watches you slump back in your seat with a soft sigh.

"Is there," he starts, feeling nervous, "something you want to talk about?

“Not in particular.” You reply but as you both look at each other, you both find yourselves smiling. He had such a nice smile, it was a shame he hid it most of the time.

"I couldn't help but notice that you tried to come talk to me yesterday," you said, trying to sound nonchalant, but with a hint of curiosity in your voice. You couldn't shake off the feeling that you had imagined it all.

Crosshair's grin faded a bit and he nodded. "Uh, I wanted to ask you about the book you've been reading," he said, looking a bit sheepish. You couldn't help but find it endearing that he was at a loss for words, especially since he was usually so confident. But, you’re so surprised by his statement.

You spun around in your chair to face him, your eyes wide with surprise. "Really?" you asked, intrigued.

"Yeah," he said, his eyes lighting up a bit. "It sounded interesting."

Before you knew it, you were telling him all about the book, going into great detail and using your hands to animate your words. Crosshair sat back, sipping his coffee and listening with rapt attention. He didn't say much, but he could tell that he was thoroughly enjoying hearing you talk about something you were passionate about.

After a few minutes, you suddenly stopped, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Sorry, am I rambling too much?" you asked, biting your lip.

Crosshair shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "No, I like listening to beautiful girls talk," he said, his eyes meeting yours with a warm gaze.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you realized what he had just said. "Did you just call me beautiful?" you asked, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face.

Crosshair's eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to take it back. But then, he squared his shoulders and said, "Yes, because you are."

You’re stunned but elated at the same time. Obviously you were harboring unsaid feelings for the man, always finding him attractive despite the lack of conversation. You didn’t want to jump ahead and assume he likes you back because maybe, he was just being nice. Or teasing.

“You don’t mean it.” You say abashed, finding it hard to look at him as you play with the hem of your jacket.

He tilts his head to the side. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. “Nobody has ever called me that and we don’t particularly speak often so…”

“So because of that you assume I don’t think you’re attractive?” He leans forward on his chair, arms resting over his knees as he tries to get you to look at him.

His words make you halt and so you just shrug awkwardly, still blushing. “Why… why are you wanting to speak to me? Really?”

He is conflicted about whether to be truthful or to play it off, but with the others asleep and no interruptions to disturb the moment, he decides to be honest.

He stands up, offering you his hand, "You're smart, I think you can figure it out." His voice is soft, and the scent of his morning caf fills the air as he brings your hand to his lips and teases them with a light graze.

“You like me?” You rasp, your breath being sucked out of your lungs

“Have done for a while, but you can probably tell I’m bad at this.” He mumbled, not feeling all too confident in his approach. He really didn’t want to mess this up.

Your heart is almost bursting out of your chest at his confession, feeling like you should pinch yourself to know it wasn’t a dream. “Crosshair… I feel the same. I too am pretty bad at this.” You laugh softly and there’s a small smile that forms on his lips, a rare and beautiful sight.

"Looks like we'll have to help each other then, huh?" He tilts his head, and you can swear that he's glancing at your lips, reminding you of all the times you've gazed at him from a distance, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Oh yeah?” You whisper, definitely not wanting the others to wake up and interrupt this moment, “How would you like me to help you?”

“With a kiss.” He says bluntly but of course, only if you wanted to.

There isn’t a moment of hesitation on your part as you lean up and plant a soft kiss to his lips that were invitingly warm as was the feeling of his hands landing to your waist.

He sighs into you, embracing this soft and sweet moment with you.

His lips are soft and gently, like a summer breeze that dances on your skin, and you find yourself responding in kind, your own hands sliding up his tall, slender yet muscular chest. It's a kiss filled with pent up longing and unsaid affection, and you feel like you could stay in this moment forever.

Eventually, the kiss slowly comes to an end and you pull away, catching your breath. You both share a shy smile, not quite sure what to say, but knowing that this was just the beginning of something amazing.

Masterlist

Tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 7 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @theroguesully @equalityforcats @mustluvecho @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri i @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @tinyreadersmur @agenteliix @rintheemolion @kaminocasey @hotpinkplastoid @cosmic-persephone @imalovernotahater @swiftiexstarwarssimp @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @photogirl894 @s1st3r @taskfork-archive @by-the-primes

[honeydjarin]

WILDFLOWERS

REX X READER

You don’t know when you fell into the habit of bringing the Captain flowers, but now that you started you can’t seem to stop, not when he takes you in with such a soft look each time you do.

genre: fluff

word count: 1,300

a/n: This went a very different direction than I thought it was going to, but that’s okay! Rex deserves to be given flowers ♡

“Here, these are for you,” you say, shoving a small bundle towards Rex. Your hand shakes as you stretch it towards the man, and you hope the suddenness of your actions is enough to distract him from the uncontrollable movement. 

He stares at you for just a moment, amber eyes blown wide in surprise, before he reaches for your outstretched hand. His calloused fingers brush against yours for a lingering moment before he allows them to settle there, your tremor persisting even as he holds you steady, but he doesn’t comment on it. 

You forgot just how warm he is. The heat of his skin seeping into yours is more comfortable than should be possible and makes it difficult for you to focus on why you came to see him in the first place. Rex uncurls your fingers with a gentleness that, if you didn’t already know just how careful he could be with delicate things, might have been unexpected from a man of his position.

Rex holds the bundle close to get a better look at what you brought him, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips, eyes shining with a new warmth. You’re not sure if he realizes how easily his features slip into something so soft—the way everything he feels shows plainly on his face. It’s no wonder why he is a terrible liar.   

Your stomach flips, and for just a moment you think the Resolute has fallen out of hyperspace. You wait for the blaring sound of alarms warning all onboard the starship of imminent danger, but it never comes. The ground stays stable beneath you.

Rex’s gaze returns to your own, the gentle light still shining in them as he takes you in.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “They’re lovely.”

The interaction shouldn’t feel as embarrassing as it does. This isn’t the first time you brought the Captain of the 501st flowers, but somehow, every time, the exchange leaves your heart pounding. Maybe it’s the fact that you continue to seek out that gentle look the only way you know how that leaves you feeling so awkward. Gifting flowers is such a simple thing, and yet it feels almost too meaningful, too obvious.   

You don’t know when you fell into the habit of bringing the Captain flowers, but now that you started you can’t seem to stop, not when he takes you in with such a soft look each time you do.  

“Really? They’re not as pretty as some of the others,” you admit. You wring your hands together now that you’re no longer holding anything that you could use to keep yourself distracted. 

The flowers aren’t very extravagant. They’re a pretty shade of blue, their tiny faces poking out between long, thin purple leaves. They’re wildflowers from the planet you just left, the little things sprouting up from hard earth around the bases of gnarled and twisted trees. The flowers you bring the trooper are always wildflowers. There hadn’t been much time to pick them while you were planetside, the evidence of your crunch for time visible along the bottom of each stem where you broke them from the rest of the plant, but you couldn’t help yourself. They were the perfect Five Oh One blue, and they reminded you of Rex. 

Flowers always remind you of Rex.

“The color is nice,” the Captain offers, his words helping to soothe your nerves. They may not be as beautiful as some of the others, but he still likes them. Your hands still slightly, no longer needing to worry so much. Rex has never given you a real reason to worry, but still you do. You want him to like the flowers.

You want him to like you. 

Rex steps back from the doorway and into his room. It’s small, the space barely large enough to fit his bed, a few shelves, and a desk; all of which is bolted to the walls, immovable in the face of hyperspace jumps and battle. Still, the space is his alone, which is more than most of the troopers can say for their sleeping arrangements. 

You step into the spot Rex occupied moments before, not wanting to encroach on his space, but not yet ready to walk away. You watch from the doorway as he steps into the small refresher, carrying a metal cup that he “accidentally” took from the mess hall.

He returns moments later, the flowers placed inside the cup like they always are. He sets them on his desk, the only color in the room besides the fading blue paint on his armor. 

They look out of place in the best sort of way. If he didn’t seem to genuinely like the flowers you wouldn’t keep bringing them to him, but even he smiles at the little plants as he sets them down. 

Rex steps back towards you, warm eyes giving away a growing curiosity, his thoughts spinning with a question that won't go unasked for long.  

“Why do you bring me flowers?” he gives voice to his confusion, not for the first time. He keeps his gaze on you, unyielding. Your hands find each other again, as if pulled together by some magnetic force, a clear and unfortunate sign of your anxious nature.

You take a moment to respond, trying desperately to find some sort of answer that you can give him that won’t also give away too much. Finally you settle on: “I don’t know?” 

You speak slowly, as if even that weak response is too telling.   

The first time he asked you that same question, you told him it was to liven up the place. 

“I know the ship's quarters can be pretty bland,” you explained. Kamino, the Resolute, and the barracks on Coruscant are all blank, sterile, void of life despite the people who eat and sleep there. Everything had a purpose. A handful of wildflowers couldn’t do much to change that, but it was still something. The flowers meant more to Rex than you expected they would.   

Really, that particular little bundle of yellow, pink, and white flowers had been plucked and given to the Captain as if on instinct, just as the bright orange flowers you gave him the time before had been. 

Rex is always dependable and unwavering, constant despite the horrors he faces regularly. He is the exact opposite of you, with your fraying nerves that seem to get in the way of every aspect of your life except your job. 

Now that you’ve gotten to know him better, to become friends with him, find some sort of stability in the midst of the storm that always seems to rage inside you, giving him flowers means so much more. It’s the only way you can think of to show him how much you care when your hands and your voice continue to fail you.  

Rex gives you a pointed look, and you try your best to revise your answer. It takes you even longer this time to respond, but he waits patiently for you to find the words. And maybe that’s just it—Rex is strong and steady, he pushes but never blindsides. The Captain is genuine, and it draws you in more than you ever anticipated.

You’re too old for a crush to affect you so much. 

“They make you happy,” you settle on. Quieter, you add, “I really like seeing you happy.” 

He smiles again, wider this time. His teeth flash but the look he gives you is still soft. It’s as if he can hear the words you aren’t saying, the ones that would inform him of just how much he really means to you.

Just one look is enough to send your heart racing again. 

He reaches out and takes your hands in his, forcing you to stop your nervous habit. His hands are warm again, how quickly you’ve forgotten. 

“I like seeing you happy too.” 

a/n: Not everyone can be super confident around their crushes. Some of us are walking disasters instead!

[the-scandalorian]

Mutual

Pairing: Sex worker!Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: E, 18+ Word Count: 7.2k Warnings: smut, sex work, first time p-in-v for reader, first kiss for Mando, fingering, unprotected p-in-v Summary: You pay a visit to the Mandalorian for your first time. Notes: Written for an anon request. The perspective shifts back and forth between Din and the reader.

Thank you so much to @thefact0rygirl and @fisforfulcrum for reading this over for me! xx

perfect gif by@bestintheparsec

DIN

In the beginning, Din is conflicted.

It’s such an appealing idea, though, that he can’t shake it once it occurs to him. There’s no question that he’d make more money and make it faster. He’d even be able to stay in one place—fuck, the absurd luxury of that simple prospect—and that would mean fewer credits spent on overpriced fuel and less time wasted in hyperspace.

Still, he feels hesitant. There’s nothing wrong with it. He’s been to brothels before, with no shame whatsoever. But there is no denying the fact that sex work would be a nontraditional choice for a Mandalorian, and that’s putting it lightly.

I could stop at any time.

Then, he realizes how readily the clients line up—and how much they’re willing to pay—and Din finally appreciates the nuanced effect his armor and mystique have on people. He’d always thought it was pure intimidation. He thought of himself as scary—as too menacing—and he did what he could to mitigate that in friendly company. He kept his hands in everyone’s line of sight. He moved slowly and carefully. He announced his intentions. He unclipped his Amban rifle and propped it against the table. He spoke softly, politely.

But now? He knows that in some cases, there is a healthy dose of attraction mixed into that fear. The staring, the stuttering, the lingering glances that trail down his metal-clad body, the inability to meet the severe gaze of his visor?

It turns out, for many, fear and lust share a blurred edge, and Din can make thousands of credits playing in that murky in-between space.

So he settles into it.

His average client is wealthy and adventurous. They’re senators and merchants and sometimes even royalty. A thousand credits an hour mean nothing to them. They want novelty. They want danger—or, really, the illusion of danger. Some want hunter/bounty role-play, some want restraints, some want gun or knife play. He’s open to it all.

His Creed remains intact: the helmet always stays on. Most clients insist that all of his armor stay on, in fact. They want the full experience. So he pleasures them with his fingers and his cock, and no one ever complains. He knows the reason for that is twofold: how can they be upset when they’ve cum six times? And who’s going to complain to a fully armored Mandalorian?

So now, Din spends his days in high-end hotel rooms on plush feather beds. He’s well-rested and well-fed all the time. He sends an obscene amount of money back to the covert.

It’s ridiculous how much better this life is—there’s no contest between being run ragged from hunting and this. He doesn’t chase credits anymore; clients come to him. And for him because he is excellent at this job. His endurance and attention to detail easily transferred between occupations.

The one disappointing constant though, the one thing about hunting he hasn’t been able to shake, is the loneliness. There’s little companionship in being a companion, he’s found.

*** YOU

This is a great idea.

This is a terrible idea.

You pace back and forth in front of the hotel room door, eyes fixed on the sleek metal floor under your feet, trying to control your frantic breathing.

You can’t believe you’re actually here…about to blow half your savings on a night with a Mandalorian.

You heard about him through your wealthy clients at work. They rave about him—about his attention, his hands, his shoulders… his armor, his cuffs, his voice. His cock. They whisper—loudly, purposefully—about their multiple orgasms.

You’ve been hearing about him for months. Getting hornier by the fucking minute.

Just do it.

You’ve already paid, credits wired over this morning, so you might as well get your money’s worth. I’m ready. You’re completely sure of that.

You stop in front of the silver door and reach out to swipe the key card across the scanner when another wave of embarrassment hits you—not because you’re here but because you’re going to have little to no idea what you’re doing.

And he’ll know.

That’s too much to take. You turn on your heel and stride away, but you’ve only taken two steps when the door slides open behind you.

“Hi.”

Fuck.

You whip around, your face set in a guilty smile. “Hi.”

He’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his elbow propped over his head, the other leather-clad hand tucked into his belt…casually, as if he hasn’t just stepped directly out of your filthiest daydream. He’s tall, broad… the black t of his visor fixed on your face, head slightly cocked, his silver armor glinting in the dim light. You can’t decide if you’re more intimidated or more turned on. He trails his gaze down your body, and you decide it’s definitely the latter.

“Are you here to see me?”

Shit, they were right: his voice is fucking sexy.

You take a steadying breath and say, “Yes.”

He steps back, gesturing you inside with a gloved hand. And that’s enough to make up your mind for you.

There was no way you were leaving once you saw him anyways.

*** DIN

The first thing he notices is that you’re just his type. If he met you anywhere else, he’d pursue you. That’s irrelevant though.

The second thing Din realizes is that you’re not his average client.

You look... normal? You’re not some heiress or politician. And you seem nervous in a very different way than he’s used to. Usually, his clients are excited, often a little apprehensive and awkward at first. You, on the other hand, look legitimately worried.

You immediately make your way to the bed and sit on the edge, looking anywhere but at him, your hands fussing together in your lap. He stands, watching you for a moment, his thumbs tucked into his belt.

He hasn’t encountered a you yet, but he knows what to do.

He turns and takes a seat on the couch across from the bed, a low coffee table between you, pointedly giving you plenty of space. He studies you for a moment, and raptorial interest stirs in his chest as he moves his eyes over your body—your parted lips, your gorgeous tits. Din tamps that down and focuses on the job, on getting you comfortable.

“What’s your name?”

You look up quickly and tell him, then ask, “What’s yours? They just called you The Mandalorian—”

“Mando is fine.”

“Right.”

He rests his arm on the back of the couch and lets the silence simmer for a moment. Then he gets the most important thing out of the way: “My helmet always stays on. No exceptions, no touching it.” You nod solemnly, and he continues, his voice low and smooth: “Tell me about you, what you like.”

“What I like?”

“Mhmm.”

“I don’t—uh—I don’t have anything in particular in mind,” you say, still not looking at him. “Just…” you trail off, gesturing vaguely at yourself and then at him as if that will explain. “I’m just—I’m not sure—well, okay so...here’s the thing—”

He can’t help but smile behind his helmet. You’re cute when you’re flustered.

“I meant in general, not just sexually.”

“Oh…right.”

You seem surprised but relieved to start somewhere easy. To his immense satisfaction, Din watches the tension leave your shoulders as you walk him through your job and your hobbies. He asks follow up questions throughout, and soon enough, you’re actually looking at him, eyes trained directly on his visor.

“What about you?”

“Me?” He’s not expecting you to turn it around on him.

“Yeah,” you prod, “tell me about you.”

So he tells you some general things about how he used to be a bounty hunter, and you listen with warm attention, leaning back to brace yourself on your palms. Every time he thinks you’re going to be ready to move on, you prompt him with another question.

You like his voice. He can tell.

That’s not uncommon, but usually clients don’t want to spend their valuable time listening to him make small talk. He indulges you though, enjoying the way you seem to be defrosting, relaxing. Soon, you’ve slipped back to rest on your elbows, your shoes kicked off and feet hanging off the edge of the bed.

Finally, you let the conversation dwindle, and you seem comfortable enough that Din decides to move forward.

“Tell me about why you’re here.”

You sit up a bit, some of the discomfort returning to your posture. You consider his request for a moment then blurt: “I’ve never had sex.”

The words hit Din like cold water, and everything makes sense—everything except why you chose him for this. People come to him to add spice to their sex lives not to begin their sex lives. Who chooses a Mandalorian warrior for that?

“This is your first time,” he states bluntly, trying to process.

“Yeah...it is.” You shift around on the bed and meet his visor again. “I mean, I’m not inexperienced. I’ve been with men, just not…all the way. Is that okay?”

Din isn’t sure how to answer that. He’s never had to make this decision. He doesn’t know if it’s okay, doesn’t know if he wants this responsibility.

What he does know is that every time you look vulnerable, his hands itch to soothe you.

“Are you sure you want it to be with me?”

You look him dead in the eyes, even through the barrier of shadowed glass, and say, “Yes. I’m sure.”

For someone who came into the room so tentatively, with quiet steps and wringing hands, you look completely self-assured now. Your shoulders are squared and eyes clear. Din’s own uncertainty dissipates, and his gaze lingers on your slightly parted lips. Something primal nudges at his hindbrain, and a realization drips down his spine like warm honey: he decides he’s going to like the privilege of being your first time. He’s sure of that.

He nods.

That seems to embolden you because you stand then and cross the small space to sit next to him on the couch. Close. Almost touching.

You look up at him with bright eyes and ask, “Can I touch you?”

He chuckles quietly at the unexpected question. “Yes, you can touch me.”

You smile wryly at him, and he ignores the urge to brush his thumb over your bottom lip. Instead, he reaches for one of your hands and places it on his knee in an effort to break the ice, but you don’t leave it there. You bring it up and trace the severe curve at the side of his helmet with a feather-light touch, your eyes fixed on his visor.

It catches him off guard, and Din stops breathing. He feels unnerved by your direct gaze—pinned and laid bare—like you can somehow see his eyes even though he knows it’s impossible through the dark tint of the glass.

His thoughts slow, and he sees in you what he sees in himself: you’re looking for intimacy, for closeness. What surprises him is that the barrier of his beskar doesn’t seem to be preventing you from looking for that—for finding that—with him.

You run your finger back up the arched line of metal, and somewhere vague in the back of his mind, he knows he should reach up and catch your hand in his, like he always does when someone tries to touch his helmet. Instead, he abides. He couldn’t tell you why if you asked. Maybe it’s because he feels sure you’re not going to try to remove it. Your expression is open, curious—reverent, even.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse suddenly, pulling your hand back like you’ve been burned by the cold metal. “I’m not supposed to touch your helmet. That’s your main rule—I’m sorry, I just—I got caught up. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Oh, right. That is a rule.

He nods, catching your hand and holding it between his. He wants to say it’s okay, to reassure you, but he knows he shouldn’t. It shouldn’t be okay.

He brushes one hand over your cheek, and your guilty expression gives way to a smile. You scoot closer, your knee nudging his thigh. You’re quiet, your face serious, as you run your hands over the lines of his armor. Din watches your face, his helmet cocked as he studies you.

“Can I take this off?” you ask, looking up at his visor as you trail your fingers idly down his chestplate.

“Yeah, I can—” he reaches up to start the long process of undressing himself.

“No,” you say, stopping him with a hand. “Can I do it?”

“Yeah,” he says, “sure,” and shows you the complicated releases for his armor.

In general, if a client wants him naked—and they usually don’t because the armor is a large part of his appeal—they wait expectantly and impatiently for him to undress, knowing their time is ticking away as he removes each piece of beskar. So, undressing is typically a harried process of Din stripping as fast as he can while a client waits, tapping their fingers restlessly.

With you, the process is slow and intimate. You take your time to remove each plate and set them neatly in a row on the coffee table before moving on to his bandolier, his belt, his cape, his cowl. The last things to come off are his gloves, and when you spend a long time admiring his rough hands, he doesn’t know what to do or say. He lets you continue.

When you’ve stripped him down to his duraweave, you surprise him again by climbing directly onto his lap—asking, “Is this okay?” as you go—and settling in with your back against the armrest of the couch, your legs laid over his thighs, when he nods. He reacts on instinct, slipping an arm around your waist to hold you close.

You’re soft, your weight reassuring, and for some weird reason, his throat feels a little tight when you slide your arm around his shoulders and rest your head in the crook of his neck. He sets one hand on your thigh, the other rubbing reassuring lines up and down your back.

You stay like that for a long time, maybe ten minutes, maybe half an hour. Din is not acutely aware of the passage of time like he usually is when he’s with his clients.

“Okay,” you proclaim unexpectedly, extracting yourself from his embrace and getting to your feet to stand in front of him. “I’m ready now.”

To your credit, you do look about a hundred times more relaxed.

But he likes this languid pace; he wants to maintain it. So he reaches out to catch your wrist and guide you back onto his lap, this time facing him on your knees, straddling his thighs.

“We have all night, sweetheart. There’s no rush.”

Din already knows you like his voice, but he watches the word sweetheart wash over you and realizes how much you like it. Your gaze softens, and your pupils dilate: some heady mixture of affection and lust shivers down your spine.

Din feels his own answering interest pulse through his veins. His vision narrows, and all he can focus on is your mouth, the way your tongue darts out to swipe across your lower lip. He’s grateful you’re perched over him, so you can’t see the very immediate effect you’re having on his lap.

It’s partially selfish—this desire he has to take his time with you. Some part of him feels a little guilty because he wants to take care of you because it feels good for him. It’s both, though. He wants it for you, and he wants it for himself too.

He cups your face, and you melt into his touch.

“Will you let me take care of you? Let me take my time with you?”

You close your eyes and nuzzle against his palm like a pleased cat, going supple and yielding in his hands. “Mmmm, yes.”

For the first time, Din thinks he might be in over his head.

*** YOU

The anxiety dissipates. You forget to be nervous. The acute feeling of cortisol singing through your veins is replaced by a pleasant haze, by a low thrum of pleasure, and you’re keyed into every place Mando is touching you. The sensations are overwhelming. They swallow you whole: his large, warm hand sliding up the back of your shirt, his cold helmet leaned against your temple, the pads of his fingers skating down your spine, the press of his muscular thighs against the insides of your legs.

You want more.

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Mando nods and reaches up to undo the short set of buttons at the top of his shirt, then pulls it up and over his helmet, tossing it somewhere on the floor.

Yes, this.

You splay your hands wide over his pecs and scooch backward on his lap to get a better view of the expanse of skin underneath you. He’s so warm and real, so human under all that metal, and all at once, you’re desperate to feel his skin against yours. You reach for the hem of your shirt, but before you can pull it off, his hand stops you. You look up at him, and he quirks his helmet.

“Can I?”

You nod.

You keep expecting to get acclimated to his voice—for it to stop thundering through your nervous system like a cloudburst of warm rain every time he says something in that low, rolling bass—but apparently that’s not going to happen.

He undresses you with careful hands, easing your shirt over your head. He urges you to stand, and he unbuttons your pants and shimmies them down your hips, your hands resting on his bare shoulders.

Something about his concentration and care makes you even more needy—even more ready. When he has you down to your underwear and bra, he pulls you back onto his lap, and you melt against his solid chest, your lips finding his neck. You place a tentative kiss there, and he wraps his long arms around you and holds you close. Emboldened by the quiet hitch in his breathing through the modulator, you work your mouth over his neck while your hands wander, trailing over the thick, corded muscles of his arms, down the dark hair dusting his sternum, across his soft stomach.

The anxiety returns, hitting you like the wide side of a bantha, when your hand pauses between his legs. Shit. You pray that he’s fully hard because if he’s not…there’s no way anything bigger than this is fitting inside you.

The want running through your veins, however, is much louder than the fear.

*** DIN

Din feels it the moment your uncertainty returns, and he covers your hand where it’s sitting in his lap with one of his.

“We’re only going to do what feels good for you,” he reminds you gently. “Whatever you want.”

You nod against his neck then pull away to look into his visor, your fingers tightening around his cock. “I want this.”

He hums deep in his chest, his eyelids drooping closed for a moment, enjoying the feeling of your hand on his aching cock. He can’t help it—he wants you to want his cock. He knows he can make it feel good for you. He gives your hand an encouraging squeeze where it’s wrapped around him.

“I can make it feel good for you. I promise.”

You press your face back into his neck and make a sound of enthusiastic agreement—something between a hum and a whine that makes his cock throb.

Din’s control is slipping, and he knows it: that carefully constructed wall he keeps between himself and his clients seems to be ineffective with you. Or maybe, he’s tearing it down himself.

“Have you cum before?”

You tense a little under his hands. “Yes.”

He hums again, his mind flashing to a vision of you with your hand between your legs, panting and arching. His mouth waters. “Good. Are you ready for me to make you cum now?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

He pats your thigh. “Let’s move to the bed.”

*** YOU

You lay out on the big bed, Mando kneeling beside you. He eases off your last layer, blindly tossing your bra and underwear over his shoulder, his helmet glued to your bare body. That black t rakes over you, raising goosebumps in its wake—down and back up—and stops on your face.

He watches your expression to gauge your comfort level as one large hand cups your breast, the other trailing down your body. You gasp—in relief and pleasure—when his palm rides the curve of your mound and he dips his fingers into you with a groan.

“Already wet?” he asks with a cocky little jaunt of his helmet.

You’re gearing up to reply with something sassy when he puts a sudden pressure on your clit—not moving his finger, just keeping it still and steady—to silence you.

The words die on your tongue. You drop your head back on the pillow and close your eyes. He waits a moment then circles his finger firmly, and your eyes snap back open, your mouth falling open in a soundless exhale.

He continues like that until you’re writhing and whining—pleading with gasped words and wide eyes—and he slips one… and then two thick fingers inside your slick cunt.

He takes you apart—once, twice—with expert precision, with care.

You watch his hands as he does. You can’t help but fixate on them when they’re wringing so much pleasure from your body. One works relentlessly between your legs, the other providing a grounding weight over your sprinting heart.

The hand splayed on your sternum rises and falls in tandem with your rapid breaths, the obscene spread displaying the range, the reach of him. His hands are big, wide—you study the meandering blue veins that fork like rivers between the mountains of his knuckles. His fingers are long and thick, his nails blunt and well kept. Utilitarian.

He presses up against something inside you that radiates pure bliss. You arch for him; you keen.

And you’re so caught up in the intimacy that your imagination runs wild: you can envision his hands doing other things—his palm smoothing over your fevered temple, brushing away a bead of sweat with aching care, just as much as you can see his knuckles split and bloody from the pure lust of possession. You want that. You want him to possess you, to leave someone else black and blue for coveting what is undeniably his.

The weight of his warm palm leaves your chest, and he glosses his knuckles over your bottom lip, dragging it slightly, opening your panting mouth a little more so your humid breath fans over his skin. The black void of his visor is fixed there, and you can feel the want in that gesture—the need. And for a moment, you can see past the helmet with perfect clarity.

He wishes he could be touching your lips with more than his hand.

You feel completely sure of that.

He shifts and leans into you, collapsing onto his side to spread out along your body, pressing his cold helmet into the space between your ear and your shoulder. You gasp and flinch back at the initial shock of contact but bring a hand up to keep him in place when he tries to move away.

You want him close—like having him here in your space as you cum around his thick fingers for the second time—but you can’t help but wish—

“Fuck, I want to kiss you,” you breathe against the curve of beskar.

As soon as the words are floating out there, though, you realize that’s a shitty thing to say to him when there’s nothing he can do about it.

He goes completely still and grunts through the modulator, and for the first time, you have no idea where you stand. You realize he’s been keeping you tethered this whole time—with his calm demeanor, his directness—because suddenly you’re adrift.

“Shit—sorry, I didn’t mean that. I know it’s—”

Before the words of your apology are out of your mouth, though, he’s pulling away from you, sliding off the bed and striding to the other side of the room. Panic surges through you. He’s been so good to you, given you everything you need, and still you asked for more.

You scramble to the end of the bed, perched on your knees. “I’m sorry, I won’t say it again, I promise—”

You hesitate when he stops in front of the small, square control panel on the wall by the door, punching several buttons. Before you can wonder what he’s doing, every light is extinguished, and the blackout curtains on the other side of the room close with a swish. You whip your head around at the sound, watching as the last sliver of the blinking city lights is doused.

You look back to where he’s still standing. “What are you—?”

His silhouette is imposing in the dark. The mattress dips when he sits beside you, and he reaches up, slipping his thumb under the lip of his helmet. There’s an unfamiliar hiss, and you watch in astonishment as he eases the black shadow off his head and tosses it carelessly on the bed.

Your heart stops.

You’re shocked into silence, staring at Mando’s dark outline.

You’re not sure who’s more surprised by this turn of events—you or him. You can tell he has stunned himself by the stiff way he’s sitting, completely frozen, all his ease and confidence gone. You feel a surge of affection at how human and vulnerable he suddenly seems. You can see the outline of his tousled helmet-hair, and you’re desperate to soothe him, to hold his hand and guide him through this softly.

Just as he was doing for you.

*** DIN

Suddenly, the roles are reversed. Din’s breath is shallow and shaky, and it feels like the basic control of his body has shifted from autopilot to manual without his permission. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. They’re sitting uselessly in his lap, and his arms feel unwieldy and long.

He’s lost.

And what’s even worse? He knows that you can tell he’s lost, even in the complete darkness.

Is this how you’ve been feeling all night? He’s struck in that moment by how brave you are for staying because after feeling this way—this untethered and unarmored—for about thirty seconds, he is on the verge of vaporizing.

He’d ripped off his helmet in a fog of overwhelming desire—of reckless, desperate passion. You’d whispered that you wanted to kiss him, and it felt like a sign. He had been fixated—possessed by—the same thing, and the tight space inside his helmet became unbearably thick and suffocating. Years of denying himself suddenly weighed too heavy on his shoulders, so heavy that his resolve splintered…but now reality is crashing down on him.

He’s supposed to be the professional here. You paid him for this, and his job is to know what the fuck he’s doing. He’s supposed to be making sure your first time is good for you, and he just let his own needs—his own wants—take the driver’s seat.

You slide closer to him on the bed, one of your palms settling reassuringly on his chest, and Din is acutely aware of how obviously his heart is pounding.

“It’s okay,” you say, your hand sliding upwards over his pec. “Can I—can I touch your face?”

He should say no. That’s too dangerous, too familiar. It’s not worth the risk. His heart hammers irregularly under your fingertips.

“Yes,” he says, and your soft hand cups his cheek. He shudders, leaning into your touch. It’s overwhelming. It’s electric—the sensation is so good and acute that it burns. He wants you to touch all of him, to kiss every plane of his face, to sear away the pain until all that’s left is pleasure.

Right on cue, you lean forward, and Din remains completely still, paralyzed by this unfamiliar feeling of being totally out of his depth. Some panicked part of him is convinced that if he doesn’t move at all, at least he won’t have done anything wrong.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not comfortable,” you whisper against his stubbly cheek. “I’m totally fine with just—”

The only thing he’s sure about is that he wants this.

He covers the hand on his chest with his own, his other large palm cradling the back of your neck, keeping you in place, and he can feel you smile against his cheek. He wants to tell you I want this—please kiss me, but he knows if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll hate the waver in his voice.

“Let me take care of you,” you say, reflecting his words back to him, and the ice in Din’s chest thaws. You’re sweet and soft, and he knows that even if he fucks this up, you’ll still be kind to him. In a way, he thinks he might be giving you exactly what you want. What’s more intimate than vulnerability?

It feels safe to move again. He pulls back a fraction of an inch, and holding you gently in place, he tilts his head and fits his lips against yours.

He starts slow—gentle and tentative. You’re patient with him: you let him acclimate to the sensation, grounding him with the steady presence of your hand over his stuttering heart, the other framing his jaw. You press a few light kisses to his lips and start to lean away, to give him some air, but he doesn’t want air—he wants this. He wants the vacuum of space, asphyxia.

Din curls his fingers firmly around the nape of your neck to lock you in place. He leans in and kisses you harder, pressing his mouth to yours until your front teeth click together. He huffs out his embarrassment and adjusts, but you’re unfazed. You venture further, parting your lips to deepen the kiss, sliding your tongue against his when he does the same, and Din is immediately addicted to your mouth.

He wants it everywhere.

He wants your tongue teasing his nipples, your spit dripping down the length of his cock, your teeth set against his neck, your lips mouthing over his balls.

He wants.

*** YOU

Mando moans against your lips, and you feel like you’re being given a gift with the raw sound of his unmodulated voice.

The kiss goes from sweet to needy, and you both feel it. All at once, you’re pulling him on top of you while he’s pushing you back on the bed. Awkwardly, without interrupting the kiss, you scramble backward together, feeling your way through the darkness until your head hits the pillow. He’s braced over you, a muscled thigh situated between your legs, his newly bold tongue in your mouth.

He pants against your lips, forcing the words out between kisses and labored breaths: “Are you ready for me, baby?”

Something inside you turns to liquid when he calls you baby.

“Fuck—yes, please—”

You can hear him working at the fastenings on his pants, freeing himself. Despite how wet you are and the fact that you’ve already cum on his fingers twice, you're braced for some amount of pain. You’ve heard it hurts. And his cock is massive—he shucks off his pants, and it’s resting heavy and thick and long against your inner thigh—so you’re convinced it’s going to hurt even more than you anticipated. You’re trying to stay calm, trying to focus on how good it feels when he kisses you, but you’re sure he can feel you tensing beneath him.

You’re desperate for him to fill the empty ache inside you, and you’re also scared.

The pad of his thumb smooths over your furrowed brow, and he pulls away: “Relax,” he purrs. “I promised to take care of you, remember? I’ll make this good for you.”

You nod in the darkness.

He presses his lips to yours again, and your entire body unclenches. Approval rumbles through his chest, and he kisses you deeply as two of his thick fingers sink easily inside you again. He pumps them languidly before easing a third in alongside them.

It’s so good and not enough.

“I think you’re ready for me.”

“Yes,” you breathe against his lips, “I’m ready.”

“I’ll go slow. Tell me if you want me to stop, if it hurts.”

You nod again, and he swipes his cock through your folds before he fits the blunt head against you. You cling to him, one hand around his neck, fingers tangled in his messy hair, the other flat on his back. He eases his hips forward, pushing just the tip inside, and you know he’s going agonizingly slow for your benefit.

Oh yeah, it’s fucking tight.

He murmurs brokenly against your parted lips as he slips inside: “That’s it. Tell me if it’s too much. Ngghh—you’re doing so good for me.”

It doesn’t hurt though. There is no pain. It’s uncomfortable for a minute. The stretch is new, and the pressure feels foreign, and then he’s all the way inside you, his hips flush against yours, and oh fuck—

He lets out a deep, desperate groan, and you whine loudly against his ear, but you’re so overcome with the feeling, with the sheer fullness that you aren’t even embarrassed by how needy you sound, rendered wordless by pleasure.

His voice is strained when he asks, “How does it feel? Are you okay?”

“Yes—you feel so good—so big—please fuck me,” you slur, and you can feel him smile as he huffs against your cheek.

He holds you close to his chest—to his beating heart—while he fucks you slowly, deeply, and the end of each one of his strokes touches something inside you that aches in the best way. He takes his time with you, just like he promised. You pant in the dark together—for minutes? Hours? Days?

“Tell me,” he prompts again, his voice a hoarse whisper, “tell me how it feels.”

You wish you had the right words for him, wish you could string together the requisite poetry. Instead, he gets a mumbled, “Fuck—mmm—Mando it’s so good—yes, like that—”

The way he sets his teeth at the juncture of your neck and shoulder and moans makes you think he gets it anyway.

When the pleasure gets so acute that it requires remedy—when it’s so good it’s almost unbearable—you start to meet each of his thrusts, canting your hips up to chase the sensation, the fullness. He grunts lowly and responds to you: he pulls back to reach between your bodies, trailing a hand down your stomach, to start rubbing attentive circles over your clit.

“Knew you could take me—now you’re gonna cum on my cock.”

He starts to fuck you faster, and you do; he coaxes it out of you.

You pulse and tighten around him, and it’s different than what you know— a widespread pleasure, bone-deep and all-encompassing. You arch your back, nails digging into the skin of his neck, and let the heat roll through your body while he gives you his cock, again and again.

When it starts to fade, you melt into the blissful haze, muscles going warm and slack. You drop your hands over your head, and Mando reaches up to pin your crossed wrists with one huge hand, his elbow braced on the pillow beside your ear, as he follows close behind you.

After a few more punches of his hips, he rips himself away and cums across your stomach—warmth spattering across your skin—pumping himself with a broken groan.

You’re flattened, sweaty and panting, lost in the afterglow of the best orgasm of your life. He disappears into the ensuite refresher and returns with a warm washcloth, carefully cleaning you off as you catch your breath. When he returns again, he braces himself over you to kiss you deeply—and the press of your bodies, of your lips doesn’t feel new anymore. It feels familiar, comforting: like warmth and intimacy cultivated over time.

He rolls onto his back, slumping beside you on the pillow, your breathing a quiet chorus in the darkness.

You hear the muted rustle when he turns his head to look at you, so you do the same, admiring his dark silhouette.

“...are you hungry?”

“Starving,” you breathe.

And you both laugh, a long breathless laugh that has very little to do with the fact that you’re both hungry and everything to do with how easily your hands find each other in the dark.

Before you can ask what you should do about this conundrum, he’s rolling out of bed and sliding his helmet back on. You try to ignore your answering surge of disappointment. Of course it makes sense that he’d put his helmet back on.

He clicks one of the dim lamps on, and for the first time, you’re treated to the full view of him.

Your jaw drops shamelessly.

“What?” he asks, frozen.

The words are out before you can really consider them: “Stars, you’re pretty.”

He scoffs, shaking his head—the warm, golden lamplight skating over the mirrored surface of his helmet—as if you’re kidding. You’re not.

He extracts a datapad from the drawer of the bedside table, and the bed dips when he lays out beside you. He clicks it on and navigates around the interface, asking you what you want. While you decide what to order together—selecting enough food to easily feed four people—you admire the long spread of him, his wide shoulders, the hard lines of his hip bones, and the soft curve of his belly in this slightly hunched position. And all you can think about is how much you want to taste all of him.

When the food is ordered, he clicks the datapad off.

“How long will the food take?” you ask.

“Not long, probably half an hour—”

“Perfect,” you reply, a wicked smile on your lips, as you sit up and throw a leg over him to straddle his thighs. “Plenty of time.”

He tosses the datapad somewhere on the bed and pulls you down on his lap. “Oh yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “For what exactly?”

“I’ll show you,” you purr. You lean forward and suck a hard kiss under his jaw, and he runs his hands up your back.

The long, low sound that emanates from his chest makes you think he likes this just as much as you do.

“Oh, I probably shouldn’t give you a hickey,” you laugh, sitting back on your heels to look into his visor.

“Mmm, I don’t mind,” he says, lazily tipping his helmet to the side and guiding you back in with a hand on the nape of your neck.

“Oh well, in that case…”

*** DIN

He shouldn’t let things go any further, shouldn’t let them spiral. It’s already gotten out of hand. Din knows he should leave his helmet on for the rest of the night and focus on the fact that this is a job.

…but he’s hungry. And he’s already taken it off once in your presence. Would a second time make it worse?

No, he decides, not worse.

And so he lets things bleed a little further into a muddy, unprofessional territory. Control slips a little further out of his hands, unspools.

Even though he should, he doesn’t really mind that feeling anymore. What felt like a loss of control is starting to taste like…joy?

You sit back-to-back on the bed, lights low and his helmet staring blindly next to his thigh, and chat while you eat. An hour passes easily like that, maybe two. He finds himself telling you about his life—his real life—when you ask. And you tell him about yours—about your past relationships, how you’d found companions and potential lovers but no intimacy, so you’d left each one and searched on.

That hits him somewhere deep in his chest.

When you’re done eating, you offer to close your eyes so he can turn the lights off again, to keep his helmet off. He should say no, thank you and put his helmet back on. He should leave it there—in its rightful place—for the rest of the night.

But he can’t take back what’s already happened—he doesn’t want to.

So he lets the line go a little more slack. And it feels good.

He agrees and shuts all the lights off, climbing back into bed with you and pulling you to his side. You don’t even have sex again. It doesn’t come up. You just lie together, close, always touching, and talk. You kiss, taking turns initiating long stints of making out, of mapping each other with your lips, but the rest of the night is largely not even sexual. Just… intimate.

His arm slung around your shoulders, your face settled in the crook of his neck. His head resting in your lap, your fingers carding through his hair.

For the first time in a long time, Din doesn’t feel alone.

It’s a night of firsts, apparently, for both of you. In addition to his first kiss, it’s the first time he falls asleep in the presence of a client. It feels natural though: his eyes drift closed late into the night, your head on his chest, your fingers laced through his.

*** YOU

When you wake in the morning, Mando is gone, the bed cold. You knew he would leave when the time you paid for was up, but the hopeful, sensitive part of you—the part that thought maybe, just maybe, he’d also felt something for you—still feels stung.

You stretch, and your body is the tiniest bit sore, but mostly you just feel just fucked-out and relaxed, warm and lazy. Some part of you wonders if it was a bad idea to have him be your first. You’re pretty certain it’s not ever going to be better than that.

Too late now.

You sigh and sit up, looking around for your clothes. You know you left them strewn all over the room, but now, you find that everything is folded in a stack on the dresser.

You slide to the edge of the bed, and that’s when you notice a note written in neat, squared-off letters on the bedside table.

It says what must be his real name, Din, and underneath, the digits of his personal com.

[writerlyhabits]

Din’s partner figures out they’re pregnant, and is terrified. They aren’t married, this is the worst time possible, Din already has so much responsibility on his shoulders. But they have to tell him. Because Din deserves to know. She’s terrified of what his reaction might be, if he’d be angry, or excited, or dismissive, etc.

How do you think that scene plays out?

AN: I loved this prompt so much. I haven’t written anything like this yet, but is 100% in line with the unwritten fics in my head 😂And honestly, I think we all deserve a wholesome wonderful moment with this absolute sweetheart. Thanks to @deceiverofgodss for beta reading and brainstorming for our dear Mandalorian 💛 I hope you enjoy!! 

Content Disclaimer!! This is a story about pregnancy, and most of it was written a few weeks ago, so there is mention and discussion of termination and/or carrying it to term. If that makes you uncomfortable, or you’d rather not think about that right now, please do not read. But if you wanna escape to a world without recent political events, me too friends, lets go ✨

Warnings: mild cursing, pregnancy, discussion of termination, helmetless Din (I had to i'm sorry), med center/hospital setting, nervous reader, its a little angsty and about a serious topic but otherwise I can't think of any warnings? Please let me know if I missed any!!

Word count:  3k - 4.2k (there’s a split ending…)

“As you’ll be able to see on your scan, you’re in perfect health,” the Med droid explained in its cheerfully programmed inflection, and you took the chip from its outstretched limb to plug into your data pad. Din had always found them eerie, but after enough check-ups on your adventures, their strangely soothing presence was starting to grow on you. “All cuts have healed, no internal or neural injuries, and the baby is doing well.” 

Your brain short-circuited as your data pad illuminated your face, snapping your head up at the droid. 

“What?”

“You sustained no neural injuries, and all-” 

“No, not that. Did you say baby?” you snapped. You’re usually much nicer with the med droids, but right now your mind is swirling and it just needs to get to the damn point. 

“Your little one is five weeks along, and in perfect health. It’s too early to determine much, but its heart seems to be forming very strong!” Your throat felt tight as you listened with a blank expression, looking down at the scan in your hands it kept referring to. You zoomed in on the model of your body, right to your abdominal region, and saw a handful of popup passages link themselves to…

A baby.

“At this stage, they are no bigger than a citrus fruit seed, and just starting to develop essential systems. You may be feeling some of the effects already…” You tuned out the droid as it droned on about sensitivity to smell and other elaborate terms for the classic, bordering on cliche symptom; morning sickness. 

It definitely explained why you’d been so queasy the last few times you made the jump to hyperspace, and why you had felt sick when Din had prepped your favorite ration pack. The smell was so intense, but you couldn’t figure out how to explain what it was that made it so off-putting. Your sweet Mandalorian had been so attentive, trying to figure out what it was that seemed to be affecting you, only you. At least you could give him an answer now. 

How the hell were you going to tell him?

"I sense a shift in your demeanor. Is this news unpleasant?" The droid’s concerned – though mechanical– voice pattern took you out of your thoughts, and you did your best to put on a fake smile but it didn’t stay there long. 

"No, I just- well… I don't know,” you rambled, looking back down at the pad in your hands. You couldn’t stop looking at it, both in awe of the fact that a baby is growing inside of you… and nervous about how your partner would respond. 

You knew Din inside and out. You knew what each tilt of his helmet meant, the meticulous steps he took when removing his armor, you felt like you could hear the thoughts in his head as they appeared. You fit to him as if you were a layer between the Beskar that protected him from the outside world, and the heart beating underneath it, and that’s just where he liked you. But now?

You weren’t married. You drove in separate cruisers after having lost the Razor Crest. You had no home and hardly any money, keeping Grogu safe in this crazy life you two led was challenging enough. For the first time in a long time, you had no idea what Din would think. 

"It's normal to be nervous. You will find information about prenatal care installed on the chip, information for termination, and resources for support. You are not alone." 

Dank farrik… there it was, clear as day. You were either going to care for this child, or you weren’t. Either way, you’d have to make a choice. And you didn’t exactly have all the time in the world to do it with Din waiting for you outside, and a baby actively starting to form inside you. 

“Oh… thank you,” you said lamely, not sure what else to do as your brain seemed just to start filling with thoughts in every direction. 

"I still sense some unease... are you safe in your home?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes… yes!” You were quick to assure the droid so as not to start running through any of their pre-programmed protocols on dealing with unsavory hospital guests. It was a sneaky code you’d found installed in the droids at any med center worth a damn, the prime loophole objective being to ensure a safe environment for all patients. 

You’d learned this the hard way once on some big city planet, Din’s rough Beskar exterior intimidating a good many of the people he passed, which left you doing extensive scans on your own before you could go through the ordeal of bypassing the protocol. He’d been so worried about you that day; even after being escorted away and held in an interrogation room, his only concern had been about you. 

“My partner is… he’s wonderful, I couldn’t be in better hands,” you gushed, relieved when you could tell the droid was making no move to act. “It just caught me by surprise, I guess. I don't uh… well, I don’t quite know what to do." 

"Informing your partner may allow them the opportunity to support you, but if you feel you are unable to do that, there are more resources we can provide to you,” It explained not unkindly. 

“No, I’ll tell him. Thank you.” 

But that was easier said than done. 

Your body was moving but your mind was numb as the droid led you out into the hallway, immediately noticing the large wall of shining silver that shot up out of one of the seats, a green bean secure in the bag on his shoulder. A bag… why did either of you start putting him in a bag? That can’t hardly be comfortable. What if he hits his little head? Where were these thoughts coming from?

You braced for impact, mustering the energy to face them with a reassuring smile as you reached out for the little one, holding him close to your chest. Goddamn hormones… Little hands on either side of your face and a soft coo from Grogu, and you had to fight so incredibly hard to keep from getting emotional over his big eyes. 

“Mesh’la, how did it go?” Din voiced as he took you in his arms, one hand at your hip while the other rested across his foundling’s back in your arms. You picked up on the way he said the Mando’a word, a nickname he’d given you that never fails to make you smile; he’s nearly whined it, clearly not a fan of the way they opted to keep the rest of your crew waiting outside. He liked to be right where the action was, knowing he could protect you at any chance you needed him, whether it was in battle or in the examination room. 

“It’s uh… good. Everything is good,” you managed, doing your best to tame his need to watch over you while navigating your own nerves. You could tell by the slight cock of his helmet that he wasn’t buying it, he knew something was off. The man knew you too damn well. He looked up at the med droid and nodded to assure it that you were safe in his hands, and only once it had left the vicinity did he speak up again. 

“What’s going on? Talk to me,” he pleaded softly, his grip on you never faltering, and acting as a sort of tether to reality. Your heart was caught in your throat, and you did your best to swallow it down just enough to calm his immediate worries. 

“Everything is fine, I’m fine, I just…” You stared at your own reflection in the darkness of his visor, trained on you as he was no doubt scouring your features for any hint of what was preventing your usual cheery and comforting attitude from surfacing like it normally would in these situations. You had always been excited to leave the med centers, scooping up your foundling and dragging your Mandalorian out the doors. 

“Do you want to go back to the Inn? Or do we need to find a place here?” he asked calmly, his deep voice familiar and soothing as it came through the modulator. Maker, did you love him… Always at your beck and call, reading you like an open book. 

“The Inn.” He gave a short nod to your response and stayed close as he led you out the door. 

You weren’t staying far, it would have normally been a very short walk but you were sure you weren’t the only one affected by the anticipation, making it feel like a destination that couldn’t come into view soon enough. You held Grogu securely in your arms, rubbing a hand across his back as he gurgled contentedly, playing with the necklace Din had gotten you a few planets back. Din’s hand between your shoulder blades allowed you to keep your focus on the swamp rat in your arms, trusting him to lead you safely through the streets of the quaint town. 

“Me'vaar ti gar?” He asked after a while, a question you recognized; the Mando’a equivalent of ‘how are you,’ but meant exactly as such. He used the foreign phrase when he wanted a straight answer from you, no fluff, no beating around the bush, and no judgments in return. 

“Naas,” you quickly replied with what he’d taught you to be the complacent response, a confirmation that nothing had changed. “I just want to be somewhere quiet,” you continued, trying to communicate your sense of urgency without worrying him about the reason. His gloved hand rubbed a gentle circle across your back, doing what he could to soothe you. 

“We’re almost there, mesh’la.” He pulled you a little closer, and his pace picked up a little, going as fast as he could while making sure you could keep up in a comfortable stride. 

What could only have been a ten-minute walk felt like an eternity, and you only realized you’d been holding in tight breaths once you crossed the threshold into your small room and felt relieved enough for air to properly fill your lungs again. But with your ease of breath, your mind began reeling again, feeling much like you had the first moment you’d stepped out into the hall to find him waiting for you. 

The weight in your arms lifted as Grogu happily went to his father, deposited onto the cocoon of blankets and toys that had been made for him when your party had first arrived. Then you watched in what felt like slow motion as Din began removing his gloves, discarding the excess bulk on his body now that you could settle into your private space, and turned to find you still standing just inside the doorway. 

“You’re worrying me, cyar'ika,” he spoke softly, just barely coming through the helmet in a smooth transmission. His warm hands found yours, encompassing them as he led you towards the bed in the middle of the room. “Are you ready to tell me what’s going on?” 

You were gonna have to, sooner or later. As he spoke, your mouth felt dry, hands clammy, and you couldn’t have uttered anything coherent even if you’d wanted to. But you watched with adoration as he tilted his helmet up to meet your eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed while he waited patiently for some kind of sign. 

Words weren’t going to get you anywhere, you didn’t have any to help you. 

You nodded gently to give him a response, before slowly slipping your hands out of his large ones. He kept his palms open to signal his willingness to listen and receive, and it made you melt. You reached around to grab the data pad from earlier, opening up your medical scan – the collection of pixels in your abdomen a beacon now that you knew it was there – and placed the device in his hands. 

He hesitated before looking down at the pad in his hands, and you could tell that for a moment, he was confused about what he was looking at. One hand began perusing the scan, pinching in to take a closer look at the details starting from the top down. Always so methodical… but in this instance, he had permission to skip about. Your head, your shoulders, and your chest passed the screen. He stopped to read the passage about your heart, fingers hovering delicately as he read the positives. 

And then you saw the familiar set of passages appear, his hands freeze, and your heart skip. 

The baby. 

Your baby. 

His baby. 

You couldn’t take your eyes off the screen as you saw his helmet look up to you in your peripherals. Your chest felt tight, but you kept your composure, lest you worry him about the wrong thing. 

“Five weeks… Was that…?”

“Naboo,” you answered. A faint smile hit the corner of your lips as flashes of the trip entered your mind; lush greens, clear waters, as tempting a place as ever to let loose with your Mandalorian. He’d been on too many hunts that had taken a toll on his body, and it hadn’t taken hardly any convincing for him to let you take care of him... “I went in on the first day of the trip, my ear was bothering me. I think-”

“The meds must have counteracted your…” he started at nearly the same time you would have finished it for him. Your wonderful, clever, observant lover, getting to the root of your surprise crew member in mere moments. “Pregnant?” He breathed, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. You didn’t know how to interpret it. 

“Pregnant.” 

“How long have you known?” You could only manage to shake your head slowly; you hadn’t known. 

You stared at each other for Maker knows how long, and you were only briefly aware of the fact that he’d set the data pad aside before watching his shoulders rise and fall with a shaky breath, holding his hand out to you. You let him pull you into his lap, the familiar feeling of his thigh plates against the back of your legs as you straddled him, hands resting tentatively against the beskar on his chest. 

A shiver ran down your spine as he started rubbing circles on your back, and you could tell there was a lot going on inside that helmet, you just wished you knew what. The uncertainty was killing you. Din had to have felt it because it didn’t take long for him to rest his forehead against yours. The cool of the beskar was relaxing, and the intimacy urged you to close your eyes and release the breath you were holding. 

“I’m sorry.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry about?” His brashness contrasted his words and intent, something that had startled you when you first met. Now it was a comfort, not having to guess what was going on; he meant what he said, and he said it with purpose. It was something you had admired about him for a long time. 

“This is… I didn’t see this coming,” you continued with a quiet and shaky voice. The tears couldn’t be far behind as your body was coming down from its high, all of your emotions crashing down on you with a brutal force. “Din, I’m sorry. I’m so-”

“Don’t you dare apologize for this.” His voice was quiet but it was strong, full of conviction. Somehow, it steadied you. His body shifted ever so slightly, and you could tell that he was looking at you through his visor as your foreheads touched, though you still couldn’t open yours. “We did this together. Everything that happens with this… we do together. We take responsibility together.” 

You couldn’t stop your tears from falling now. The pad of his thumb brushed over your cheek to stop it from trickling very far, and he held the back of your neck as he tucked you into the crook of his neck, tilting his head up for you to fit comfortably in the space. 

“I’ll be here, no matter what you choose. I’ll help you raise this child, to be the father it deserves… if that is what you wish.” He hesitated for a moment, and if you trusted your ears, he took in a difficult breath. “And if you don’t, I’ll be beside you at every step. But this first choice is yours, mesh’la.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“Exactly the opposite.” You stilled for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall with his deep breaths, knowing he was making a strong effort to keep them so even. “I… Children – and foundlings – are the way of the Mandalore. But… but it is something you must choose, for yourself and for the child in your care. It cannot be forced, it diminishes the choice to follow the Resol’nare…”

“This is the way,” you said quietly, assuming that would be what followed after his explanation. It was not the first time he had shared the intricacies of his lifestyle, nor would it be the last, and it had given you the ability to admire his choice to follow his creed. But as you expected him to say the well-used phrase, he was silent. 

“The decision is yours to make. And I will be here to help you, whatever you choose. This is the way.” You rose from your spot tucked into him, sitting straighter to be able to look into the black of his visor, already trained on you. Your heart jumped in your throat as you imagined what expression might be hiding on the face behind the mask. 

Though you supposed he was probably glad he was wearing it, forcing you to have to make up your own mind as your reflection stared back at you, thoughts teeming about what to do with the little one developing inside you. 

“Everything that happens with this, we do together,” you started, finding a semblance of courage to pick your voice up barely above a whisper. You brought your hands to either side of his helmet as if you were cupping his face in your hands, bracing both of you for what came next. “What do you want to do, Din?” 

“That’s not my-”

“I know what I want,” you cut him off, surprising yourself with the gumption your words had found. “But only if you want to do it with me. What do you want?” 

The room was covered in a blanket of silence so thick that you were certain a war could have broken out outside and you wouldn’t have been able to hear it. Your heart was thumping in your ears as Din seemed to be looking over you with that meticulous eye of his, one hand holding you close while the other caressed your cheek. 

“Please, ner’karta…” he just about whined, his grip tightening on you as your hands flew to his neck, pulling him close for another Keldabe kiss. 

You were having a baby.

“We’re having a baby,” you managed through the smile spreading across your cheeks, disrupting the path of the tears beginning to fall. You heard his chuckle break through the modulator, and couldn’t help but return it. 

When his hands left your body you instinctively sat back, though you closed your eyes just as quickly as you had opened them when you saw his hands move to the lip of his helmet, a familiar dance the two of you had shared time and time again. Lips ghosted across yours, the prickly scruff on his cheeks tickling your skin as your hands flew to his messy curls. 

“Mesh’la… open your eyes.” If it hadn’t been for his lips crashing into yours, you would have retorted back. Instead, you sat in a confused sort of bliss as he poured his soul into you, simultaneously breathing in your very essence. “Please, I want you to see me.”

“Your creed-” 

“I am already on my way to restore the living waters of Mandalore for that creed. My foundling has seen my face when I feared I would never see him again.” You started to squirm at the implication of his words, and his strong hands found you again to ease your thoughts, tangling one in your hair as the other found a home resting gently over your abdomen. “I think the mother of my child has the right to see me, just this once… before we are married.” 

Against every instinct you had taught yourself during your relationship with Din, those words made your eyes flutter open. 

And Maker he was beautiful. 

Warm, expressive brown eyes looked up at you from under concerned brows as he put his heart in your hands. Your eyes danced across his features, finally getting to see the prominent nose and pouty lips you had felt so many times before. As you brought your hands up to play with the scruff on his cheeks, his lips curled up in a smile that made something warm bloom inside of you, your own smile growing with it. 

“Do you like what you see, cyar’ika?” he giggled, and you felt it rumble through his chest. Instead of answering you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, delighted when you leaned back and watched his eyes flutter back open from your affection. 

“You want to marry me?” you replied, and the blissed-out expression faded from his face for half a second to don a more serious one. Being graced with the opportunity to look upon your lover's face had made you realize how expressive he was, wearing his emotions plain as day the second they came to him. You figured that must have been a benefit to wearing the helmet for so many years. 

“I have for a while.” He spoke so reverently, gazing upon you like you were the Maker herself. But even in such a tender moment, you couldn’t refrain from poking fun at your Mandalorian. 

“You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?” His smile returned as he released a breath of amusement, shaking his head softly as you continued. “Don’t let this baby force you into anything you-” 

“I have wanted to marry you, to remove my helmet in front of you, for a long time. I was saving up to take you away, ask you somewhere you’d always wanted to go,” he admitted, and you were basking in his ramblings. As a man of so few words, you loved when he shared his with you, when he let you into the head on his broad shoulders. 

“What were you waiting for?” 

“We picked up a womp rat. Kind of threw off my timeline.” He gave a disgruntled look in the direction of his green child, still happily playing with the toys in his little cocoon in the time your world had been torn down and rebuilt in front of him. “I’m not about to let this child keep me from it any longer.” 

You giggled as his grip shifted down to focus on your abdomen, overjoyed with the situation you found yourself in, happy and cozy with your little mismatched family. Din began to laugh with you, holding you closer to him as he stood from the bed and turned to lay you down gently amongst the pillows. He made to crawl over you, but something stopped him, getting back to his feet and walking over to the chair opposite Grogu. 

Before you could ask what he was doing, he began the process of removing his beskar, which you were all too familiar with. Propping yourself up on your elbows you watched him meticulously release every strap, weapon, plate, and vambrace. He caught your glance and gave you a boyish grin as he untucked the duraweave top and lifted it over his head. 

“Din, I love you, but are we really doing this right now? I mean, Grogu is right there,” you teased, the foundling perking his ears and looking over at you as you said his name. Your snarky comment earned you a deep belly laugh as he shook his head exasperatedly, making his way back over to the bed. 

“I want to hold you. I don’t want to hurt the baby,” he said seriously as he crawled over you once more, settling himself between your legs so that he could be closer to your stomach, lifting your shirt and resting his bare arms on either side of your hips. 

“I don’t think the armor would have-”

“They need skin-to-skin contact, mesh’la.”

“After they’re born, Din.” 

“Well I’m going to start now,” he argued with conviction, a playful grin on his handsome face as you laughed at his antics. But your heart melted when his lips met your stomach, a series of soft pecks scattered across every inch he could reach, and going back over again when your fingers began toying with his soft curls. 

Din had told you once about an Mando’a phrase, jatne manda. He had said it was a specific way to describe your good mood, “a complex sense of being at one with your clan and life.” When Grogu had come to you, you thought you understood what that meant. But just as you once thought you couldn’t love Din in any greater capacity, you were proven wrong. This moment, was your jatne manda. And you were certain, with another little warrior on the way, you would find more moments just like this. This is the way.

Thanks for reading!! If you'd like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

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[thrawns-babygirl]

Night In (GN!Reader x Crosshair)

Hello hi

Been a while since I wrote anything, so I found some time to write a small self indulgent fic before I get around to tackling some requests sorry for the wait omg I promise I'll get around to them soon

Rating: E (18+) Warnings: mentions of drinking and being drunk, masturbation, phone sex (kinda?), cumming untouched Word Count: 1300+

Masterlist

(also can we talk about his slutty lil waist in this gif like omg-)

It had been an exhausting mission. Crosshair was tired to his very core, lying on his bunk in just his blacks as the Havoc Marauder travelled through hyperspace on its way back to Kamino after… how many rotations has it been now? 150? 200? He doesn’t know. All Crosshair knows is that the mission is over and that he can finally rest.

He’s just about to drift off into a blissful sleep when his datapad chimes. He scrunches his eyes shut attempting to ignore the device as he rolls over in his bunk with a grumble as it chimes again. And again. Resigning himself to telling whoever is attempting to contact him to kindly fuck off he retrieves the offending device from his pack next to his bunk. With tired eyes he looks at the device and his breath catches in his throat. Its you.

You, the civi he is secretly pining after, having met you at a night out at 79s a few cycles ago, contacting him on his private com channel after you begged him for it to help ‘keep him company’ while he’s away on missions. You had sent a few polite messages when you could, him replying in his usual curt manner as he attempted to figure out his feelings for you, keeping you at an arm’s length.

Clicking on the message he opens up the chat between the two of you.

>Crosssssssss

>Crosssshhhaaaaiiirrrrrrr arw u on a missionn rn?

He raises one eyebrow at your message, looking at his datapad not really knowing how to respond as the device chimes again.

>gonna call u

He quickly looks around the bunkroom of the Marauder finding himself alone as the sounds of his brothers’ voices could be heard through the door to the cockpit. He was thinking of a reply as you begin calling him on his personal frequency. He sighs and looks around for his helmet so that he could speak with you without having his brothers potentially overhear… whatever the two of you were about to talk about. He puts his helmet on and answers the call.

“Yes?” he answers the call in his usual drawl, lying back on his bed again, helmet connecting with his pillows as he attempts to relax again.

“CROSSHAIR! I missed yooouuu” your voice is loud in his helmet as the audio patches through and he flinches slightly at the volume. “Oh did you now?” he recovers from the slight startle, replying smoothly as he rests a hand on his abdomen. “Yeeaaa… You didn’ reply to my last message… I was worried ‘bout ya” there was something about your voice he couldn’t quite place, but you sounded happy and your voice was helping to release the tension in his shoulders he was barely aware he was carrying. “You don’t need to worry about me mesh’la, we’ll always be fine” he chuckles softly, testing the waters with the compliment.

He hears you sigh softly before talking again “your voice… s’ sexy Cross… keep talkin’ like that” it hits him immediately “Are you… are you drunk?” he feels like he already knows the answer but he waits for your confirmation. “Maaaaaybe” you burst out into a fit of giggles before speaking again “ ‘s ‘at a problem Crossy?” he cringes at the nickname you gave him when you first met before replying “No, I just don’t get why you’re calling me when you’re out drinking” it doesn’t sound like you’re outside or in a club, but still. “’m not out, my friends bailed so ‘m havin’ a night in” Crosshair is slightly relieved at that fact, if you’re at home then you’re not potentially hooking up with some random reg.

Your voice breaks him from his thoughts again “You know… I was thinkin’ about you all night” Crosshair smirks slightly behind his helmet “Oh yeah? And what were you thinking about?” he’s secretly elated to find out that you think about him as much as he’s been thinking about you, his voice has lost its usual snarky drawl and becomes slightly softer as he speaks to you. You giggle softly before speaking “I was thinkin’… about… your body…” Crosshair’s eyes widen at your admission and he feels heat shoot down his spine towards his cock as he thinks about you… wanting him.

His breathing has become shallow and he doesn’t realise he hasn’t replied to your admission, however you seem to want to fill the silence with more information for him “I was thinkin’ ‘bout… what y’ look like under your amour… I was thinkin’ ‘bout… other stuff…” you giggle again as Crosshair tries to adjust his growing length in his bodysuit, just in case one of his brothers walks in he doesn’t want to be seen lying in his bunk with his helmet on sporting a hard on… That’s Tech’s thing.

“You’re drunk… you should get some sleep cyare” its then that he hears it… the soft wet sounds in the background on your end of the call, he strains his ears to see if its what he thinks it is as you let out a soft moan of his name.

All coherent thoughts leave his body as he feels his length throb with need. What he wouldn’t give to be there with you right now, to watch as you touch yourself, to be the one touching you instead as he draws those sensual sounds from your mouth. “I wanna suck your cock so bad Cross” your voice is breathy, and he has to stifle a groan himself as your words send white hot need travelling through his body. “You… you should get some sleep” his voice is raspy, strained with barely contained need as he hears the sounds of your pleasure get louder, you seemingly just ignoring him as you keep spewing sweet torture through the com “I want you inside me… I bet you’re huge… I bet you would ruin me for other men” Crosshair fails to stifle his groan at your words and quickly looks towards the door to make sure his brothers didn’t hear him.

He quickly stands up and makes his way to the refresher and locks himself inside, your voice ringing in his ears the whole time “…would feel so good, you would be so good with your mouth… I wanna cum all over your face” he shudders as he looks at himself in the refresher mirror. The pants of his blacks sport a very obvious wet patch from where his cock is leaking precum, but he feels so conflicted. You’re drunk, you probably don’t want him jerking off to your drunken ramblings about him but…

His thoughts are interrupted as you keep talking “Oh Cross… I wan’ you so bad… I wanna feel your cock inside me I wanna feel you cum inside me” your breathing is getting heavier and the sounds of your self-induced pleasure is assaulting his ears as you up your pace “Cross… Cross! ‘m cumming!” you moan his name and crosshair grunts as he leans against the basin in the refresher, staining his blacks as he cums in his pants entirely untouched. He’s panting and his legs feel like their about to give out beneath him as he regains his focus.

“’m sleepy now…” Crosshair chuckles softly “then get some sleep Cyare” he hears you sigh “but… I wanna keep talkin’ to you” and he feels his heart beat faster again. “We can talk when you wake up… get some sleep” you mumble an affirmative before hanging up the call abruptly leaving Crosshair alone with his thoughts and his soiled blacks. He lets out a sigh before removing his helmet and placing it on the floor near the door and turning on the shower. He couldn’t help but wondering if you were going to remember this tomorrow and be embarrassed, or if you would remember this at all. He stands under the warm spray, cleaning himself before drying off and getting ready to finally get some much-needed sleep. He just hoped you would still want to talk to him tomorrow.

@where-is-my-mind-tho @antishadow2021 @healingskywalker @crosshairlovebot@ilovestarwarsmen725@vincentferard

Also i only have the old document with my un-updated taglist so let me know if i forgot to tag u and I'll add u to the taglist

[biggestsimponhere]

Tired - Din Djarin x f!reader

Prompt - “I’m sleepy” , I do take requests please use either one of my prompt lists and make sure to look at my rules for requesting!!!

Warning - None, unless you think Din being overly sweet is a warning 🤭 Din takes off him helmet

It’s been a long day. Bounty hunting is not easy and your bounty isn’t making it any easier. Your currently running through a forest on some planet you can’t remember the name of. Din is a few feet ahead of you. Running much faster though you’re not sure how considering he’s in all that armor and you’re in a much more simple outfit. You stop running as Din tackles the man to the ground. He picked him up and started to walking him back to the ship. You were trailing back a few feet. As you neared the ship you felt more and more faint. Din and the bounty entered the ship leaving you outside. When din went to look back he realized you weren’t there.

He walked back to the entrance of the ship and called out for you, when he got no response he stepped further out. He scanned the area looking for any trace of you and then spotted you a few feet away. He called our your name again, walking towards you. When he crouched by your side he removed his glove to check your pulse once he found it he laid a hand on your head. You were burning up, he quickly picked you up and walked back into the ship. He didn’t know where to put you so he just laid you on his bed. He assumed you’d still be passed out when he returned with medicine but you weren’t.

“Din?” You called out softly not being able to see in the dark of the room. “I’m here Mesh’la” He said crouching next to the bed. You rolled over to lay on your side facing him even though you couldn’t see him in the dark. But it was okay because you’d gotten used to it. “I’m sleepy” You said reaching out to him. You settled a hand on the side of his face which he leaned into. “You’re sick cyar’ika” He said turning his head to kiss your palm. You let out a small laugh before it turned into a cough. “Here, I brought you medicine” He said handing it to you. “Thank you” You took it from his hands and took it quickly. “Get some rest cyare” He said leaning over to kiss your head before standing back up.

“Wait, will you stay with me?” You called into the dark room. “I have to put the ship into hyperspace but i will be right back” He said squeezing your hand before putting his helmet back on and leaving the room. You turned back to face the wall, you thought you were on your bed but when you buried your face in the pillow you realized it was din’s. You smiled to yourself and pulled the blanket tighter around you. You must have drifted off sometime between when he left and came back. You were slowly waking up when you felt something warm slide into the bed behind you. When you realized it was Din you turned back around to face him. “Thank you” You whispered quietly.

“You don’t need to thank me honey, I’ll always take care of you” He said brushing your hair out of your face. You buried your face in his chest and breathed him in. “I love you din” You said, your voice muffled by his shirt. But he knew what you said. He always knew. He knew in the way your nerves would calm down when he settled a hand on you to steady you. He knew in the way you would bury your face in him because you’re so comfortable with him. He knew in the way you would check him for injuries before even thinking about yourself. He knew in the way you took care of him and he took care of you because that’s what love is. He leaned down pressing another kiss to your hair before whispering against your temple how much he loved you.

When you woke in the morning or as much a morning as you could get in hyperspace you noticed din was no longer in the bed. You frowned and sat up looking around. The room was still dark but you could tell he wasn’t in there. Right after noticing his absence he walked in the room. You hadn’t been looking when he entered the room. “I brought you breakfast, i’m not much of a cook but i tried” He said setting the tray down next to you. He slid into the bed next to you and leaned on your shoulder. You turned your head to kiss him. Catching his lips you leaned further into him. Both of you pulled away smiling like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

“You didn’t have to do this” You said pecking his lips again. “Do you not like it?” He whispered so quietly you wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been so close. “Din, I love it, I just mean I could have cooked breakfast for the two of us” You said turning to him. “I wanted to do it, you’re sick” He said pulling you into him. “Thank you” You said snuggling into his chest. The two of you ate your breakfast in peace before din stood up to let you change. When you got out of the bed you realized you would need the light to change. You’re very serious about him not showing you his face until he was completely sure this is what he wanted.

“Din I need the light, do you want to put your helmet back on or step out?” You said turning to face his general direction. “I don’t want to do either” He said confidently. You were about to question him when the lights came on. Instinctively you shut your eyes. Din walked closer to you and went to pull your hands away from your face. You took a step back and he deflated a little. “Cyare? Do you not want to see me face?” He asked quietly. “Din of course i do, i just want to make sure you’re ready. I mean doesn’t this break your creed?” You replied quickly. “The creed states that you can remove your helmet for your family, and that is what you are” He said reaching to pull your hands away again.

This time you didn’t stop him. You let it happen. Opening your eyes slowly you were met with the eyes of the man you love. He is absolutely beautiful. He’s one of the most stunning people you’ve ever looked at. He didn’t know what to take your silence as so he whispered your name. That seemed to snap you out of the haze you were in and you threw your arms around him. As you buried your face in his neck you left kisses on him trailing up to his face. You continued dotting kisses all over his face till he was smiling giddily. You looked into his eyes as you leaned in and kissed him. This time the kiss felt different. You both poured your love and adoration into every kiss you’ve ever shared but now you’ve seen him.

“I love you mesh’la” He said resting his forehead on yours. “I love you too” You said pulling away to hold his face in your hands. He’s never been looked at like that. Like he was the purest thing in the world. People usually ran at the sight of him. But you wouldn’t and you never have. You hold him there just looking at him and then the softest smile graces your features as you repeat your love for him before pulling him to a deep kiss. He’s never felt more loved than when he’s in your arms.

[moodymisty]

This is kind of a late request for your milestone follower event, Congratulations btw, you deserve it!! I was gonna send one earlier but I've been very busy this week and I didn't have the time. Anyway could you maybe do fem reader x Echo with the scenario plot of soothing them after having a nightmare. I kind of picture it with Echo having a nightmare from Skako Minor and the reader tries to calm him down, but you can write it however you want! Congrats again on your follower milestone!!

❀ from my 1k followers event ❀

Author's Note: Welcome to the party dear, and thank you!! Oh my goodness this is so cute and sad;; I really love fics that give Echo the love he deserves, both pre and post Skako minor. Like just let me give this man a fucking hug, y'all.

Relationships: TBB!Echo/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Cuddling, Nightmares, Post Order-66

Normally, the Marauder is what you would consider somewhat quiet. Other than the sound of the ship's life support systems and engines humming, Wrecker snoring, Tech rolling around in his bunk; Or Omega fiddling with something when she should be asleep. Usually Hunter scolds her once he hears, but now she's asleep for real this time.

You and Hunter had swapped spots not a long while ago, him taking watch in the cockpit while you travel through hyperspace. You've been drifting close to sleep ever since, head smushed into the pillow as you listen to the Marauder's unique lullaby. Sometimes it's ungodly annoying, other times you can't sleep without it.

Something does end up waking you up fully however, at least enough so to notice the soft 'creakkkk' of metal adjusting, and the rustling of fabric somewhere close by the bunk you're in.

You rise up into a sitting position and look around, trying to see if the source is easily visible. By doing so you notice that Echo is awake; Sitting on the edge of his bunk slouched over. His elbows are pressed into his thighs, and he seems to be just looking off into space at nothing in particular.

At first you assume he's just letting his legs stretch, or perhaps he's going to get up and take a walk around as he does sometimes; Maybe get something to drink. So satisfied you figured it out you lay back down and close your eyes, attempting to get a small bit more shuteye. But you don't fall asleep right away, and when you open your eyes again, you notice he's still sitting in the same spot.

Sitting up again you throw your legs over the side and quietly put them to the floor, taking a few steps forward before you're standing partly in front of Echo.

"Hey," You quietly say, watching as he looks up at you seeming almost surprised. Was he really so deep in thought that he hadn't heard you?

"Hey yourself. Shouldn't you be asleep?" The smile you give him is small, but there none the less.

"I could say the same to you. Something up?" Your eyebrows raise before you glance down towards his thighs. "Legs hurt?" You know he has trouble with them sometimes- the aches or sharp pains, phantom limbs- even if he tries to be quiet about it.

"No, it's not that." He rubs the spot just underneath the back of his jaw.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." He shakes his head, removing the hand from his neck.

"No, it's not that I don't want to tell you." The lights in the Marauder are dimmed down, leaving some of the lit controls and the safety lights lining the floor the main source of light. They shine against his features, lighting his soft amber eyes just enough that you can see them glance away from you for a moment.

"It's just-" He stops, trying to figure out a way to word his thoughts.

"I can't sleep. Anytime I close my eyes I'm, back there."

Oh. He's been having nightmares. You know enough about Skako Minor to be completely understanding of the fact. It's just to hear that they're still plaguing him...

You take a seat on the edge of the bunk beside him, a small amount of space between both of your arms. You don't want to push yourself onto him, and make if feel like he has to accept your help or else you'll be upset, but you also just want him to know you're here- if he needs it. That you'll always be here for him.

Echo is... It's very clear that you two are more than friends. You don't know when the feelings between the two of you changed, but they have- and you two have just gone with the flow ever since. So you want to help him, in any way you can. Seeing him like this makes your heart ache.

"Would me staying here with you help? So you're not alone?" Echo contemplates for a moment.

"I," It seems like he wants to refuse, but his actual need overrides his want to not be obtrusive. "Yes, please." His voice is raspy and tired. He's probably not gotten any sleep in a few days now, if it's this obvious.

You wait for him to lay back down first, before doing the same right in front of him. Echo now has his back against the wall, with his chest pressing against your own back, but only just barely. When he feels your leg bump into one of his own and move it slightly, he shifts it away.

He's laying down technically, but he feels stiff as a board. Like he doesn't want to pass some sort of boundary. There is no way he's going to sleep comfortably like this. Flipping over to be chest to chest with him he looks at you confused, but before he can say anything, you shuffle upward until his head is about level with your collarbone, pulling him closer so you can wrap an arm around his shoulders.

It's an almost instant difference; As he slips an arm over your waist to hold you closer. Your legs tangle together, and Echo absolutely melts in the feeling of just being held. He feels your hand on the back of his neck, and within a few minutes, he's finally asleep.

It's after a few hours of the lights being dimmed in the ship, in an attempt to make sleep even just that little bit easier, that Hunter decides to wake everyone up. He's been watching the ship for the past hour or two, so he'd gotten his needed rest not too long ago.

Getting up from the pilot's seat with a quiet grunt he rubs the back of his head, walking towards the back of the ship. Tech is technically awake, though still sitting in his bunk working on something he can't quite see from this angle. Tech often refuses to move location once he starts something and so he ends up rooted in weird places for long portions of time. Wrecker and Omega are still asleep, however.

Hunter takes one look around and notices that you're still asleep as well, but Echo isn't in anywhere to be seen.

Or at least he thinks- until he looks a little closer and just barely sees the top of his head poking out from the edge of the thin blanket, his face at level with your chest. The two of you are still out cold, and knowing Echo has trouble with such things, he decides to not wake you both up for the time being.

Walking over to Wrecker he jostles him away, only to get told off.

"Hey! What's the big-" Hunter shushes him near instantly.

"Quiet," He points over to the both of you. "They're still sleeping." Wrecker gets up and curiously peers his head at the two of you, barely noticing Echo in the same way Hunter had. Wrecker however is significantly more happy about it, trying not to laugh.

He's happy Echo's found a comfortable place with you, even if in his excitement he almost ruins it. He knows that Echo has troubles sometimes, even if he doesn't always admit them.

"Go get Omega. I'll get some rations out and make sure we're still on track." Wrecker nods, and starts to quietly make his way towards the gun nest, while Hunter turns to walk towards the cockpit.

Before either of them make it too far however, Tech's tools suddenly slip off his lap and clatter all over the floor, waking even the dead themselves. He peers over the edge of the bunk looking at them, current project still in his lap.

"Tech!" Hunter yells, watching him slide off the bunk to pick them up. Meanwhile your eyes are wide, startled awake from the noise. Echo was as well, though he has to push the blanket further down in order to see what's happened over your ribcage and arm.

"There is no need to yell, I am already picking them-" Tech takes a look to his right, and notices Echo's location.

"Oh, there you are. I was wondering where you were. Do you mind helping me calibrate something?" Echo's blurry, sleepy eyes stare at Tech, his mouth slightly agape as he smacks his sleep dried lips.

"What? No..." Tech finishes picking up his things. "Ah, well then." He voices his subtle irritation, while Hunter just rubs his brow.

Echo suddenly grabs the edge of the blanket and tugs it harshly upward, pulling it completely over the two of you and laying back down. He feels your arms wrap around his shoulders again as he presses his face to your sternum, listening to your heartbeat and ignoring Tech's attempts to rope in another helper as he goes right back to sleep.

[eatommo]

Reflections [d.d]{kd25}

Lactation kink/mirror sex/collaring

CW: pregnancy kink, mentions of breeding kink, implied sex, kissing, lactation kink, small bit of angst, proposal, soft!din, helmet comes off, mirror sex, necklace/collaring, mentions of Mandalorian culture

A/N: Another one that got away from me.

 Today was the first time you got a chance to look into the monitor and actually see your baby, well, at least the shape of your baby.

“Everything looks great.”  The doctor provided reassurance as they counted fingers and toes and checked for anything to be worried about.  “You’re almost there, how you feeling mom?”  You were talking for a few minutes with the doctor, and noticed Din staring at the monitor not breaking stern concentration until a particular topic was brought up.

“My milk is coming in.  So that’s been a little crazy.” You add it almost as an after thought, it was getting harder to sleep on the hard rolls you had on the crest, and your mind was a blank slate most hours of the day.  But you don’t miss the quick snap of his head to your face.

“What?” The modulator fails to hide his dismay.

“That’s normal, nothing to worry about, I’m sure your wife is a little tired in these final days.”  The doctors tone is harmless, but Din is quick to correct her.

“We aren’t married,” His tone is flat, and he clocks the tightening of your lips, “ why didn’t you tell me?”  On reflex he reaches for your hand, but you pull it to your chest.  

“We will talk about it later.”  You’re hushed, cheeks heating in embarassment.  “I guess we will see you in a few weeks doc.” 

The doctor lets her gaze swing between the two of you.  “Try not to get too far off planet, babies have a tendency to arrive when you least expect them.” She breaks the tension with a beaming smile, “But congratulations.” 

The walk back to the crest was quiet, but when you arrive at the hanger there’s a crew waiting to be paid.  “What was broken this time?” Your irritation plain as day.  The truth was, you had no idea why he hadn’t married you yet, you’d half expected him to drop on one knee the second you told him your cycle was late.  There was times where you thought he was going to, meeting his Alor, showing you the ruins of his planet, shortly after he nearly lost his life to an infection, but there was no ceremony and the question wasn’t raised by either of you.  

You’re willing to admit to part of the blame, but you knew they existed, that mandalorians had vows, he had told you himself, and you loved him more than you ever thought was possible.  What was stopping it from happening?

“Nothing is broken, I had them install something for you.”  Well, now he was making you feel bad.  The ramp of the crest descends as he hands over some credits to the repairmen.  “I was going to take you someplace, but its about eight hours  in hyperspace away.  So I guess we’ll stay in this system until the ad is born.”

Theres a small ache in your chest, “I’m sorry I was mean, but did you have to embarrass me like that?”

“Embarass you? She had the chart in her lap.” Its more of a exhausted sigh than an argument, which only pokes at your wound more.

You clench your jaw, and stare into his expressionless visor. You wondered what he looked like under there, he had tanned skin, and most likely had dark hair judging the hair on his legs and groin, but he still hadn’t removed his helm for you, you tried not to take that personally.

Defeated you return, “You’re right, I’m sorry.” trudging up the stairs, you nearly walked right by your present, but your own reflection nearly made you jump.  “Holy fuck, I’m huge.” Turning to your side, you admire the roundness of your belly.  

His footsteps stop right behind you, and his imposing figure dwarfs everything but your stomach, his massive palm caressing it gently.  “You look beautiful.  If you’ll let me i’ll have you looking like this, round with my child,  every chance I get.”

You try to conceal the blush that crawls up your face, “I might, depends on how cute this one comes out, you don’t have snakes for hair do you?” For the first time in a few hours you smile, and his heart skips in his chest.  

“No, I don’t.  Maybe it’s time I showed you, so if they do come out ugly you can blame me.” The ramp hisses shut, and right when you’re about to speak he presses the cold metal of his helmet to your temple.  “Let me set a course.  Ill be back down, relax, drink some water.” 

His visor falls to your belly the, double takes and settles on your chest, where two wet spots bloom on your tunic.  You hear the modulator crack out a groan and you tilt your head in question, but in a blink he scurries up the ladder and disappears into the cockpit. 

The few minutes that pass tense, but you do your best to dab at the wet fabric of your tunic, sopping up the breast milk with a rag when the door opens and he descends into the cab right as the ship begins to take off.  

“You don’t have to take your helmet off, I was teasing you.  I know the baby will be cute.”  the words tumble out of your mouth, as you try to make sense of your thoughts.  

“I have something else for you.  I should’ve given it to you sooner.”  He holds out a still hand, in it dangles a short string with a shining beskar pendant of a mudhorn.  “I didn’t have enough to craft much else,” he sets it in your hand to let you admire it, “I have her working on one for the child when they arrive.  A Clan of four.” 

Breath catching in your throat, you drape an arm over your stomach cradling your baby while examining the fine craftsmanship of your new pendant.  “Will you tie it for me?” Your voice is cut by the emotion in your throat tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks. 

He nods once, guiding you to the full length mirror somewhat hastily fastened to the wall.  You rise onto your toes, and kiss the cheek of his helmet.  In a fluid motion he presses the pendant into your palm, and moves to the latches of his helmet.  

The hiss of its release matches the gasp of air you let out as you get to gaze upon his face for the first time.  He had hair on his chin, it was dark, and his face was the same tanned tone of his body, his hair was a tousled as you expected it to be coming from inside a helmet, but his face, and most importantly his eyes are as beautiful as you imagined.  

“Your eyes are brown.” 

His moustached lip twitches to a shy smile, “Sorry?” he leans down to let his face hover over yours.  “Can I have a kiss? For real this time?” 

You don’t waste another moment, you kiss him with all the want in your heart, with all of the happiness and the joy for what is to come, and what the maker has already blessed you with.  

Its not until you go to run your hands into the tangles of his hair that you remember the necklace, breaking the kiss for a moment, you press the pendant back into his hand. 

He gives you space to turn and face the mirror, and he adjust the necklace so that it sits delicately between your collarbones, securing it with some overcomplicated knot you’ll never be able to untie. 

Your eyes are drawn together in the mirror, and he begins to undress you.  You both watch your tits bounce free of your tunic, swollen and still slightly damp from the milk that had spilled out of them.  When you go to meet his eyes again he’s still staring, gently he coaxes a few drops out between to fingers as he massages your nipples.  “Mesh’la.” 

Beautiful.  He’s called you that before, but this felt different, you struggled to comprehend it.  He pulls you a few feet back until he can sit himself on a work bench pulling you against the hard cock in his pants.  

He works his mouth along the crest of your shoulder, and then spends the rest of the night showing you how beautiful you look falling apart together.